In the neighbouring dressing room, Guardiola reviewed the first half with the Manchester City players, then pulled De Bruyne aside for a quiet conversation.
As Mourinho had guessed, Guardiola's original plan had indeed been to hold De Bruyne back until after the sixtieth minute, then send him on to seize complete control of the tempo and crush United in the shortest possible window.
That's right.
Guardiola might enjoy experimenting, but his tactical intelligence was beyond doubt. Every decision had a reason, and every risk had a purpose.
...
The fifteen-minute break passed quickly.
Players from both teams returned to the pitch, and the Wanda Metropolitano once again filled with noise.
Ling glanced toward the LED screen near the sideline.
Manchester United 1-0 Manchester City.
Simply defending that lead would be difficult. City's attacking line was far too luxurious.
Sergio Agüero, Leroy Sané, Bernardo Silva, and the others were all among the best players in their positions.
So United still needed to find a way to score again.
Beep!
The referee's whistle cut sharply through the noise.
The second half began.
Manchester United had possession.
Ling passed the ball back to Pogba, then immediately turned and ran toward the right flank.
There was a reason he went right instead of left.
In Manchester City's back-three system, the left-sided defender was Kyle Walker.
No matter how chaotic Walker's private life might be, his ability on the pitch was undeniable, especially over short distances.
His explosive recovery speed was terrifying.
Ling was not completely confident he could overpower Walker in a direct contest.
On the other side, however, Aymeric Laporte had not looked right since his serious injury. Ling had already noticed the Spaniard's poor condition.
Mahrez had beaten him several times in the first half, and if not for Otamendi and Fernandinho covering behind him, the score might not have remained only 1-0.
So the target was clear.
Attack.
Attack.
Attack.
Use Laporte as the weak point and tear Manchester City's defence open from there.
And as long as United's front line applied enough pressure, City's own attacking pressure would naturally decrease.
Sometimes, the best way to defend against a team like Manchester City was to strike at the source before their attacks could fully form.
Pogba received the ball and passed it back again.
There was no need to rush.
First, they had to stretch City's formation and create enough space for the attacking players to run into.
City did not hold back either, they launched into a high press.
But this press was different from before.
The two wingers and the centre-forward dropped back into midfield, forming a seven-man pressing group with the two central midfielders and the defensive midfielder.
At the same time, two centre-backs pushed higher, creating a secondary defensive line with the midfielders, while one centre-back stayed deeper as the final layer of insurance.
This system borrowed ideas from Guardiola's Bayern days, but with more refined adjustments.
Its purpose was to compress space and block passing lanes, especially those leading to the flanks, reducing the defensive pressure on the wide areas.
The ball eventually reached David Luiz.
There were many ways to break a high press: quick passing, third-man combinations, switching wide.
But the simplest method was still the most direct.
Hit it long.
David Luiz had the ability to do exactly that.
The Brazilian's technique was superb.
Even in a Brazil national team full of stars, he had earned the right to take free kicks. Look at his most spectacular goals, and almost all of them were world-class strikes.
He had a unique way of scooping the ball with his instep, producing passes that were fast, accurate, and dipped sharply at the end.
Thwack!
With a crisp sound, the ball flew across half the pitch toward the right side.
But the intention behind the pass was too obvious.
Fernandinho had already taken up position, with Ling closing in right behind him.
Although Fernandinho was getting older, his experience remained immense. He knew exactly how to contest this kind of aerial duel.
He raised his right arm to press down on Ling's shoulder, lowered his centre of gravity, and shoved backward with force.
His left hand was not idle either.
"Hiss—"
A sharp pain shot through the soft flesh near Ling's waist.
He had come to understand something over the years.
Every defender in football seemed to have a hobby of pinching people.
Atlético Madrid, in particular, had taken that art to a terrifying level.
After just one match against them, Ling had been covered in bruises as if he had been tortured.
After being pinched so many times, though, he had almost grown used to it.
Ling tracked the ball's flight and answered with a full-force shoulder challenge.
Fernandinho instantly felt an overwhelming surge of power hit him.
Experience was valuable, but youth still had its cruelty.
No one could truly ignore time. It wore down everything in the world, including the body.
Fernandinho stumbled backward, unwilling to give up. He stretched out his right hand, trying to drag Ling down with him.
But Ling had already sprung upward.
His remarkable hang time allowed him to graze the ball with his head, even from a slightly unfavourable position.
A backward flick.
The motion was almost textbook.
The ball seemed to become a relay baton in mid-air, suddenly gaining extra height and direction as it moved beyond Fernandinho.
Laporte misread it.
He had assumed Fernandinho held the better position.
Even if Fernandinho could not win the first contact cleanly, he should at least be able to disturb Ling enough to force a poor header.
"Aymeric!"
Otamendi shouted as he sprinted back.
Laporte snapped out of it and immediately turned to chase.
But someone was already ahead of him.
Mahrez had been hovering on the offside line, and the moment Ling flicked the ball forward, he exploded into a sprint.
One body length.
Two body lengths.
The Algerian winger created separation instantly, surging forward like a dagger thrust into open flesh.
"Ling has turned nothing into something," Jim said, surprise clear in his voice. "That is a brilliant flick-on from a difficult aerial duel, and Mahrez reads it immediately."
Peter followed the break, his voice rising with the noise. "Mahrez is away now, and Manchester City are scrambling back toward their own goal!"
Inside the Wanda Metropolitano, the roar grew louder as Mahrez charged forward.
The camera swept across the pitch.
At the centre of the frame, Mahrez had already begun to slow slightly, adjusting his steps and shaping his body for a possible shot.
Otamendi felt a flash of relief that he had reacted early. If he had been even a second slower, he would never have caught up with Mahrez.
Seeing the Argentine centre-back set himself firmly in front of him, Mahrez abandoned the idea of taking him on directly.
Not because he was afraid.
But in a Champions League final, there was no need to gamble recklessly when a safer option existed.
Meanwhile, after winning the aerial duel, Ling had sprinted at full speed toward the edge of the penalty area.
Fernandinho, however, stayed close to him.
The Brazilian midfielder's professionalism was beyond question.
After losing the duel, he did not stop, did not complain, and did not throw up his hands to blame anyone else.
He simply tracked back and clung to Ling like stubborn glue.
Mahrez spotted Ling's run and acted almost by instinct.
Stop.
Adjust.
Pass.
Three movements flowed together cleanly, and the ball rolled swiftly toward the edge of the box.
Fernandinho's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as he slowed half a step.
Ling had Otamendi in front of him and Ederson positioned slightly toward the right side of the goal. The shooting space was practically nonexistent.
So Ling would have to control the ball first and search for an opening.
And the moment he touched it would be Fernandinho's chance.
Because no player could control the ball with perfect continuity.
No matter how skilful Ling was, there would always be a tiny gap between the first touch and the second. The difference between players lay in how big that gap was.
Ling had already guessed Fernandinho's intention.
Suddenly, it was as if his mind floated above the pitch.
Not a true bird's-eye view.
Nothing that exaggerated.
It was simply his graphical memory at work.
During his forward run, he had glanced back several times, fixing the positions of key players into his mind. He did not need to remember all twenty-two players; that would demand too much mental energy.
He only needed the important ones.
Once he knew where his teammates were, predicting their movement became a matter of deduction.
In his mind, Ling could already see Pogba behind him.
Then, under the gaze of tens of thousands of fans, Ling lifted his right foot and swept it backward.
Thump!
The ball flew past him from behind and rolled into a blind spot in City's defensive shape.
"How did that even get here?"
Pogba's eyes widened in surprise, but his feet did not stop.
There was no defender within three metres of him.
John Stones, the closest, sprinted over at full speed, but he had started too far forward.
Even he knew he was too late.
In the end, his lack of familiarity with the hybrid midfield role had left him just out of position.
Pogba adjusted quickly.
Then he unleashed a fierce shot.
Ederson threw himself across in a desperate dive, but it was little more than a gesture.
The ball smashed into the net, spinning violently against the mesh until its momentum died. It bounced a few times after hitting the ground, then finally settled.
2-0!
Unlike the stillness of the ball, the stadium exploded like a live volcano.
Manchester United fans waved their flags and roared with everything they had.
"Manchester United!"
"Manchester United!"
"Manchester United!"
The chant tore into the Madrid night.
"POGBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" Peter cried. "Three minutes into the second half, Manchester United have struck again!"
Jim added, "That is a wonderful goal, Peter. Ling looks like he has eyes in the back of his head. He knows Pogba is arriving, he knows Fernandinho is waiting for the touch, and instead of controlling it, he sweeps the ball into space first time."
"Academy to academy," Peter said, letting the moment breathe. "Ling to Pogba, two sons of Manchester United, combining on the grandest stage in club football."
Jim nodded. "And tactically, it's a huge blow for City. Stones is caught a little too high, Fernandinho is drawn toward Ling, and Pogba suddenly has the one thing you cannot give him around the box: time."
In the stands, Sir Alex Ferguson rose with the United supporters and applauded warmly.
Defending the Champions League had been a dream Manchester United had never achieved.
During Ferguson's own reign, United had reached the final twice in four years, winning one and losing two to Barcelona.
For him, that remained one of the few regrets that time could never quite smooth over.
But now, Manchester United were only one step away from achieving it.
In an ordinary Champions League final, a two-goal lead would already feel enormous.
Of course, the Champions League had never been short of miracles.
The Miracle of Camp Nou.
The Miracle of Istanbul.
And many more.
Could Manchester City create one of their own?
Until the final whistle blew, no one could say for certain.
After scoring, Pogba sprinted toward the corner flag and dropped into an emotional knee slide.
He had been holding this in for too long!
You had to understand one thing about Pogba: he was a performer at heart.
Yes, he was now playing in his dream role as an attacking midfielder, and he had even reunited with his national-team partner Kanté.
But compared with his first season after returning to Manchester United, things were still different.
He touched the ball less.
That was unavoidable.
Mourinho's tactical system revolved almost entirely around Jeremy Ling.
Recently, people had even started calling it the "Ballon d'Or system."
A style of play in which one supreme player dominated the attacking structure, receiving the ball in midfield, initiating attacks, orchestrating the rhythm, breaking lines with passes, spreading play wide, or finishing moves himself.
In that process, everyone served the core.
And that core was Ling.
For someone like Pogba, who loved the ball, loved expression, and loved controlling the spotlight, there were times when it must have felt restrictive.
But tonight, on the biggest stage, he had his moment too.
Ling's assist had given it to him.
And Pogba took it with both hands!