Chapter 164: The Backheel
Dortmund's higher line worked initially, the way a desperate gamble pays out until the house takes it all back.
Pushing their backline twenty yards forward produced the immediate spark Klopp needed. It hemmed Schalke deep inside their own defensive third, and the yellow wall, stunned into silence after the second goal, found its collective roar again as the home side set up camp outside the penalty box. For several minutes, the derby settled into the high-intensity script everyone had predicted before kickoff. Yellow shirts swarmed forward in waves, the acoustic pressure climbed, and Dortmund hunted the single breakthrough that would blow the contest wide open.
With the pitch compressed, Mario Götze finally found room to turn with the ball, and giving Götze space was one of the most dangerous sights in European football.
He collected a crisp pass from Shinji Kagawa and drove straight at Farfán, snapping into quick stepovers, shifting his center of gravity with fluid ease, and rolling the ball across his studs quicker than normal defenders could track. He slipped past Farfán's shoulder, and a roar surged up from the South Stand as twenty-five thousand supporters sensed an immediate route back into the derby.
Jamie Vardy sprinted back to challenge from the front while Uchida stepped up from behind, executing the exact defensive trap Magath had drilled during the closed sessions. Whenever Götze took possession, two men engaged immediately. Götze glanced up, recognized the tightening corridor, and smartly chipped a lateral ball to Nuri Şahin before spinning away toward the touchline to reset.
Şahin drove a sweeping diagonal across the pitch, sending a forty-yard aerial ball straight into the chest of Kevin Großkreutz. The winger brought it down cleanly with a single touch, spotted Lewandowski peeling away from Metzelder's blind side, and curled an angled cross toward the penalty spot.
Lewandowski met the delivery with textbook authority. He powered a downward header toward the bottom corner, the exact kind of clinical finish he had buried dozens of times in the Bundesliga.
Neuer was already in position.
He did not parry the effort or push it wide for a corner kick. Neuer smothered the ball with two firm hands, plucking it out of the air right in front of Lewandowski's forehead with the casual, commanding presence that made him the most coveted goalkeeper in the world. He clamped the ball against his chest for half a second, sending a collective ripple of anticipation through the traveling supporters because everyone in Gelsenkirchen understood his habits on the counter.
Neuer scanned the horizon. Huntelaar was accelerating into a central sprint, and Mateo had pivoted to exploit the vast acres Dortmund abandoned by pressing so high up the pitch.
Neuer skipped the short release entirely. He wound up his right arm and launched a flat, bullet throw forty yards downfield, releasing it with the speed of an Olympic handball player straight into Mateo's running path.
The distribution carried immense pace, perhaps slightly too heavy, carrying Mateo a yard past his ideal receiving stride just as Kagawa anticipated the trajectory.
Kagawa had deliberately held his position during the previous attack, tracking Mateo's movement. Reading the flight of Neuer's missile, the Japanese midfielder accelerated toward the landing zone, positioning himself between Mateo and the ball to snuff out the transition before it breathed. From the technical area, the break seemed dead on arrival. The ball was descending behind Mateo's stride directly toward Kagawa's chest, with Mateo facing away toward the Dortmund goal.
Mateo did not stop his run or twist his body to fight for a physical duel. He let the ball drop behind him.
At the exact moment of impact, without turning his head, he flicked his right heel backwards and caught the leather perfectly on the volley. The delicate scoop lifted the ball over his own shoulder and sailed cleanly over Kagawa's head, looping into the green grass waiting ahead.
Kagawa lunged toward empty space where he thought the ball was arriving. It was already floating above him, and Mateo spun on his heel, rounded his opponent, and collected the bounce on the opposite side before a full second had ticked by.
The pocket of blue supporters tucked away in the upper corner let out a collective, disbelieving shout that cut cleanly across the stadium.
The South Stand sat entirely frozen. Twenty-five thousand ultras simply watched their creative talisman get bypassed by an audacious blind backheel, completely stunned into silence.
Mateo took the ball in his stride, leaving Mats Hummels as the sole barrier between himself and Roman Weidenfeller.
He decelerated slightly, stabilized his footing, and allowed Hummels to settle into his defensive crouch while taking stock of the runners. Vardy was screaming for a square pass on the far right. Huntelaar was actively dragging Subotić wide to widen the gap. A simple, safe layoff was wide open, the kind of selfless distribution that his system interface would historically highlight in bright green and demand without question.
The glowing overlay painted the passing lane. Then, right beside it, a secondary trajectory flickered into view: a solo drive directly into Hummels's stance, flashing an aggressive shooting lane where an assist path had previously stood alone all season.
His offensive rating was still eighty-five, but the invisible boundaries of his game were already beginning to shift. Standing over the ball with Hummels balanced in front of him, Mateo understood he had complete authority over the outcome.
He could dish it off, just like he had always done. Slide a cushioned pass into Vardy's path, celebrate someone else's name on the scoresheet, and collect another assist for the season tally. That was the conservative play, the reliable rhythm he had honed since arriving in Germany.
Or he could take the glory himself.
During his early months, that choice rarely felt like an actual decision. The system's luminous prompts had consistently steered his mind toward the playmaking lane, conditioning him to favor the pass until unselfishness became an automatic reaction. Looking back, he recognized how much he had relied on those suggested paths, letting the system guide his decisions during critical moments.
Those mental guardrails were gone now. The tactical freedom grew stronger with every match he influenced, and looking at Hummels crouching low to protect the goal line, Mateo felt the full weight of the decision resting squarely on his own instincts.
Hummels held his ground patiently, perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet, entirely confident that the young playmaker would take the predictable option and square the ball to an open teammate.
Mateo dipped his left shoulder, feinted toward the pass, and exploded straight at him.
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