The match was reaching its breaking point.
The crowd's energy turned frantic,a mix of hope, desperation, and raw excitement.
Every possession mattered.
Every tackle, every pass, every decision could be the difference between glory and regret.
The clock ticked past 85 minutes.
Still 2-2.
Still everything to fight for.
On the Bayern bench, Kompany barked instructions, urging his players to keep pushing.
On the pitch, Mateo wiped the sweat from his brow, chest rising and falling like a war drum.
His body screamed for rest —but his heart refused.
There was no way he was letting this opportunity slip away.
Not here.Not tonight.Not in front of the world.
Barcelona pressed forward again.
Pedri found Gavi, who flicked a quick ball to Lewandowski.
Lewandowski pivoted, trying to turn —but Upamecano lunged in with a clean tackle, winning back possession.
The ball spilled loose.
Kimmich pounced on it,and immediately scanned the field.
And there — wide open —he spotted Mateo sprinting down the right.
The pass came like a missile.
Mateo caught it perfectly in stride.
One touch.
Two touches.
He was flying.
The Barcelona fullback gave chase,but Mateo's legs moved like machines fueled by sheer willpower.
He approached the final third.
Options raced through his mind.
Harry Kane was charging into the box.
Musiala was trailing just behind, ghosting between defenders.
Sané floated wide on the opposite side, dragging attention.
Mateo faked a cross, freezing the defender.
Then cut inside.
Right onto his left foot.
The opening was there —small, fleeting.
But enough.
He planted his foot.
Swung.
The ball screamed off his boot —a low, bending shot toward the far bottom corner.
The entire stadium inhaled sharply.
The Barcelona goalkeeper dove full-stretch.
For a heartbeat,time slowed.
Everyone watching could see it.
Was it enough?
Would it go in?
Fingertips brushed the ball.
But it wasn't enough.
The shot kissed the inside of the post...
And nestled into the back of the net.
GOAL.
The Allianz Arena erupted like a volcano.
Mateo dropped to his knees, arms spread wide, screaming to the heavens.
His teammates swarmed him, tackling him to the ground, laughing, shouting.
Up in the stands,his mother clutched her chest, tears in her eyes.
His grandparents roared with pride.
And somewhere in the VIP section,Klara jumped to her feet, hands over her mouth, glowing with joy.
The scoreboard flashed:
Bayern Munich 3 - 2 Barcelona
Minute 88.
Mateo González —the boy who came from the youth academy,the boy who dreamed of playing among legends —
had just given Bayern the lead.
The weight of the moment crashed into him.
He wasn't just surviving on this stage.
He was shining.
As the team reset for kickoff,Mateo stood at midfield, breathing hard.
Across from him,Lamine Yamal watched with an intense, burning look.
No anger.
No resentment.
Only a fierce, respectful acknowledgment between two future kings of the game.
"It's not over yet," Mateo thought.
"Not until the final whistle."