The three days between the Bernabéu baptism and the trip to the BayArena were a blur of ice baths, physiotherapy, and tactical meetings.

The heroic, defiant goal Mateo had scored had injected a vital dose of belief back into the squad, but it couldn't erase the physical and emotional toll of the 3-1 defeat.

The bodies were aching, the minds were weary. The dream of a Champions League final was hanging by a thread, and now they had to drag their exhausted frames back into the relentless attrition of the Bundesliga title race.

Bayer Leverkusen away was, under normal circumstances, a fixture that demanded full-throttle commitment. Under the guidance of former Liverpool legend Sami Hyypiä, they were a disciplined, athletic, and dangerous side.

But coming just 72 hours after a war in Madrid, it felt like a monumental task. The air in the dressing room before the match lacked its usual electric buzz. It was replaced by a quiet, grim determination. This was not a day for champagne football; it was a day for rolling up their sleeves and going to work.

Mateo felt the fatigue deep in his bones. The adrenaline that had coursed through him in Madrid had long since dissipated, leaving behind a dull ache and a profound sense of weariness. The System, usually a source of boundless energy, was now flashing low-power warnings. Stamina levels at 68%. Adrenaline reserves depleted. Recommend conservative energy expenditure.

He sat on the bench, staring out at the pristine turf of the BayArena, the red and black of Leverkusen's colors a stark contrast to the sea of white that still haunted his thoughts.

Klopp had made the decision to rotate the squad, resting several key players, including Lewandowski and Reus. Mateo, however, was on the pitch. Klopp had pulled him aside before the match, his expression a mixture of concern and expectation.

"I know you are tired, Mateo," he had said, his voice low and serious. "We are all tired. But today, I don't need the magician. I don't need the hero. I need the soldier. I need you to be smart, to manage the game, to pick your moments. We cannot afford to lose this match. A draw is not a disaster. A loss is."

The words resonated with Mateo. It was a new kind of challenge. He was not being asked to win the game on his own, but to ensure they didn't lose it. It was a subtle but profound shift in responsibility, a sign of his growing importance to the team not just as a creator, but as a leader.

The first half was a cagey, attritional affair. Leverkusen, sensing Dortmund's fatigue, pressed high and hard, their energy and intensity a stark contrast to the visitors' weary legs. Dortmund's passing was sloppy, their movement sluggish.

They were a team running on fumes. Mateo, following Klopp's instructions, played a disciplined, conservative game. He dropped deep, helping to shield the defense, his focus on maintaining possession, on calming the game down, on taking the sting out of Leverkusen's attacks.

He was not the dazzling, dynamic player the world had come to expect. He was a quiet, efficient operator, his every touch, every pass, designed to conserve energy and control the tempo.

He was playing with his head, not just his feet. The System, which he usually used to identify attacking opportunities, was now a defensive tool, highlighting passing lanes to relieve pressure, predicting the runs of Leverkusen's attackers, helping him to be in the right place at the right time.

But even with Mateo's intelligent game management, the pressure was relentless. In the 35th minute, it finally told. A swift Leverkusen counter-attack, a clever through ball from Sidney Sam, and the veteran striker Stefan Kießling was through on goal. His finish was clinical, a low, hard shot that gave Weidenfeller no chance. 1-0. The BayArena erupted.

The Dortmund players looked defeated. They had been hanging on, and now the thread had snapped. As they trudged back to the center circle, Mateo saw the slumped shoulders, the downcast eyes. He knew that if they didn't respond, the game, and perhaps the title race, would be over.

He clapped his hands, the sharp sound a small act of defiance in the face of the roaring crowd. He looked at his teammates, his expression a mixture of frustration and determination. He pointed to his head, then to his heart, a silent message that they needed to be smart, but they also needed to fight.

At halftime, the dressing room was a somber place. Klopp, however, was not angry. He was pragmatic. He knew that his team was on the verge of breaking, and he knew that he needed to find a way to inspire them without demanding the impossible.

"I am not going to shout," he said, his voice calm and measured. "I am not going to tell you that you are not trying. I know you are. But you are trying in the wrong way. You are fighting the current, and you are drowning. Stop fighting. Start thinking. We are tired. So what? We are still a better team than them. But we have to be smarter. Mateo," he turned to him again.

"You are doing well. But now, I need a little bit more. Not a lot. Just one moment. One moment of magic. Can you give me one moment?"

Mateo looked at his coach, at the man who had given him his chance, who had believed in him when no one else would. He nodded, a single, determined gesture that spoke volumes.

The second half was a different story. Dortmund came out with a renewed sense of purpose. They were still tired, but now they were playing with a controlled aggression, a smart, disciplined intensity.

Mateo, who had been a soldier in the first half, was now a surgeon. He was still playing a conservative game, but now he was looking for that one moment, that one opportunity to cut through the Leverkusen defense.

He found it in the 68th minute. He received the ball in the center of the pitch, surrounded by red and black shirts. For a moment, it seemed like he was trapped. But then, with a shimmy of the hips and a drop of the shoulder, he created a sliver of space.

He looked up and saw Julian Schieber, the hard-working but often-maligned striker, making a run into the box. It was not the incisive, intelligent run of a Lewandowski or a Reus. It was a hopeful, desperate run. But it was enough.

Mateo, with a touch of pure genius, threaded a pass through the eye of a needle, a perfectly weighted ball that bypassed three defenders and found Schieber in stride.

The striker's first touch was heavy, but he managed to get a shot away, a scuffed, hopeful effort that took a wicked deflection off a Leverkusen defender and looped over the helpless Bernd Leno in the Leverkusen goal. 1-1. It was a scrappy, ugly, lucky goal. But it was a goal nonetheless.

Mateo didn't celebrate. He simply turned and jogged back to the center circle, his face a mask of calm focus. He had provided the moment Klopp had asked for. Now, it was time to see the game out.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.