When i scored his hat trid Napoli's fifth goal, the Bernabeu fell into a stunned silence.

  For a moment, the vast stadium seemed eerily quiet. But within a minute or two, scattered appuse began to echhout the stands. It wasn't ing from oion or a single group, it appeared spontaneously from fans scattered across the stadium.

  Yet at the same time, a different se was unfolding.

  Fans began to rise from their seats, their heads hung low, and silently filed out of the stadium.

  It wasn't just a handful of people but a steady stream of disillusioned supporters leaving long before the match was over. With more than half an hour left to py, this exodus was a striking visual protest.

  The fans leaving early weren't just expressing their disappoi; they were making a silent, powerful statement against the pyers od the club executives watg from the VIP stands.

  Five goals down. Was this really happening? Was Real Madrid going to e another humiliati?

  The fans couldn't accept it. Their dissatisfa, grief, and anger spilled over in the only way they could express it: by leaving.

  The live broadcast director, perhaps out of respect or tact, avoided showing the departing fans during the game. But from the stands, Calderon and Mijatovic saw everything.

  The sight of fans leaving early was like a public sp to their faces.

  Calderon's and Mijatovic's expressions were grim, their frustration and embarrassment obvious. This wasn't just any loss, it was a humiliating colpse, and at the Bernabeu, no less.

  For them, this felt like the ultimate humiliation: their first Champions League home game of the season ending in disaster.

  ---

  Ba the pitch, after Napoli exteheir lead to five goals, Real Madrid's fight seemed to evaporate entirely.

  The pyers begareating deeper and deeper into their own half, seemingly resigo damage trol.

  Uhe bright floodlights, most of the Real Madrid pyers looked utterly defted, like wilted flowers after a frost. They trudged across the pitch, their movements g energy or belief. Only a few, like Raul and Ramos, tio fight with everything they had.

  But even their desperate efforts were in vain. Every run, every challenge, carried a sense of futility.

  Real Madrid had lost their spirit.

  This wasn't Schuster's tactical pn. He didn't order his pyers to defend passively. But their body nguage and positioning on the field told the story: they had made the decision themselves, either out of exhaustion or despair.

  ---

  Miguel Porn Noguerol known to many by his niame, do—sat silently in the Real Madrid dugout.

  do, once a key pyer in Real Madrid's golden era of the 1980s, was a club legend. As a right-back, he had helped the team win five secutive La Liga titles. Though not as celebrated as some of his poraries, do had built a sting legacy.

  After retiring in 1998, he transitioned into coag aually joined Real Madrid's ba staff. When Schuster took over as head coach, he promoted do to the first team as an assistant.

  Now, sitting in the dugout, do watched the nightmare unfold around him.

  He saw the fans leaving the stands in droves. He saoli's relentless attacks pushing Real Madrid's defense back. And he saw his team—the pyers he loved, reduced to mere shadows of themselves.

  Real Madrid's midfield was exhausted. Their defense was in shambles. And their morale was ent.

  do ched his fists, his frustration mounting.

  "We o shore up the defense. Let's make some substitutions," he urged Schuster.

  Schuster turo g him, his face drained of energy. Theurned back to the pitch without saying a word.

  "e on," do insisted. "We o make a ge now."

  Schuster closed his eyes briefly, as though trying to block out the noise. When he opehem again, there was a look of stubborn resolve.

  "No, do," Schuster said firmly. "We need a goal."

  do's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you out of your mind? We're already five goals down! Right now, we o stabilize the defense and minimize the damage."

  His voice rose, but Schuster remained unmoved.

  "I still think we score," Schuster said, his voice tinged with desperation.

  Without another word, Schuster called fuain to warm up.

  His pn was to repce Van der Vaart, who had been iive on the left wing. Schuster believed Higuain's youthful energy and aggression could break through Napoli's defense.

  do could only wat helpless frustration.

  When Schuster finally made the substitution, Van der Vaart walked off the pitch, his head down. Schuster didn't even aowledge him, letting the Dut ght to the bench.

  To Schuster, the problem wasn't his tactics; it was the pyers failing to execute them. And in his mind, Van der Vaart was the biggest culprit.

  do couldn't hold baymore. "Do you even know what you're doing?" he demanded.

  "I kly what I'm doing," Schuster replied without looking at him.

  "Then why aren't you adjusting?!" do's voice cracked with exasperation.

  "I am adjusting," Schuster snapped, his voice growing louder. "But I need a goal!"

  do froze for a moment, stunned by Schuster's stubbornness.

  It was then he realized: Schuster uood the situation perfectly. He knew how dire things were. But his pride wouldn't let him back down.

  "I must score a goal," Schuster repeated, his tone defiant.

  do took a deep breath, his frustration boiling over. He stood up, left the dugout, and walked straight into the tunnel, unwilling to waty further.

  This was a tragedy, ohat could have been avoided.

  ---

  Ba the pitapoli tiheir relentless assault.

  Real Madrid ceded a free ki the right side of their defehird after Higuain fouled Lichtsteiner.

  After getting up, Lichtsteiner quickly took the free kick, sending the ball down the right fnk to Sanchez.

  The Chilean witempted to spin past Marcelo but failed. He adjusted, turning back to shield the ball before passing it io Rakitic.

  Rakitic received the ball, advanced forward, and spotted i dropping deep from the penalty area. Without hesitation, Rakitic passed the ball and surged forward into space.

  i, surrounded by Real Madrid defenders at the top of the box, wasted no time. He pyed a clever, oouch pass to his left, slipping the ball behind Heinze and into Rakitic's path.

  Rakitic sprinted past Heinze, trolled the ball, aered the penalty area unmarked. One-oh Casils, he calmly struck the ball with his right foot.

  The shot flew past the diving Casils and into the .

  "GOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!"

  "6-0!!!!"

  "The humiliation is plete!"

  "Real Madrid has been utterly dismaonight!"

  "Schuster's team has beeen into submission by Napoli."

  "This is a night no one expected, a historic thrashing at the Bernabeu."

  The boos from the remaining fans were deafening.

  By now, the stands were a third empty, as many fans had already left. Those who remained made their dissatisfa painfully clear.

  Even Florentino Perez, watg from the VIP box, looked pale. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing.

  "Did Gao Shen pn for this?" he murmured.

  Valdano shook his head. "Probably not. He was very cautious at the start, almost passive for the first twenty minutes."

  Florentino nodded. If this art of Gao Shen's pn, it would be terrifyingly brilliant.

  But even if it wasn't, Gao Shen's ability to turn the game around and lead Napoli to six unanswered goals was nothing short of extraordinary.

  "In just two years, he's grown so mu Italy," Valdano said, his admiration evident.

  Gao Shen had once again demonstrated his tactical mastery. To e to the Bernabeu and achieve such a stunning victory was a testament to his ability and vision.

  "This performance has ted his pce among Europe's elite coaches," Valdano tinued. "It's truly remarkable."

  The only question nohether Napoli would scain before the final whistle.

  Real Madrid finally made their sed substitution, repg Robben with Javi Garcia. The move, inteo shore up their midfield, gave Valdano and Florentino a moment of relief.

  At least the scoreline would remain 0-6, a tie for Real Madrid's most humiliating home defeat. That, they thought, was better thaing a new record.