The match resumed at a furious pace.
Barcelona's goal had lit a fire under Bayern.
And for Mateo,the flame burning in his chest had turned into an inferno.
He replayed the nutmeg in his mind.
The smirk.The taunt.
It stung.
But more than that —it challenged him.
And Mateo González was never one to back down.
The next five minutes were a test of wills.
Barcelona tried to hold the ball and slow the tempo,looking to suffocate Bayern's rhythm.
But Bayern pressed higher, sharper,like a wolf pack scenting weakness.
Kimmich barked orders.Musiala buzzed around like a wasp.Tel fought bravely up front.
And Mateo?
He waited.
He watched.
And when the moment came —he struck.
Minute 32.
Goretzka intercepted a risky lateral pass from Gavi and immediately launched a quick counterattack.
He spotted Mateo peeling off wide, just inside the halfway line.
The pass came hard and fast.
Mateo controlled it in one silky touch —then exploded forward.
The Barcelona fullback scrambled to recover,but Mateo was already at full speed.
His Explosive First Step triggered almost unconsciously —his legs moving like coiled springs released.
One marker closed him down —he feinted inside, then snapped the ball outside with a deft flick.
Gone.
Another came from the center —Mateo dropped a shoulder, accelerated diagonally toward the box.
The space opened up before him like a parting sea.
The crowd rose to its feet.
This wasn't just speed.
This wasn't just power.
It was flow.
It was art.
Approaching the box,he spotted Tel cutting toward the near post, dragging defenders with him.
Perfect.
Mateo chopped the ball back onto his left foot —and with surgical precision, curled a cross toward the penalty spot.
Sané arrived like a missile.
He leapt between two defenders and met the ball perfectly with his forehead.
A thunderous header.
The net bulged.
GOAL!
The Allianz Arena exploded.
Roars, cheers, the pounding of feet against the stands.
1-1.
Game on.
Sané sprinted toward the corner flag, sliding on his knees in celebration.
His teammates mobbed him.
But several — Kimmich, Musiala, Davies —pointed directly at Mateo as they celebrated.
They knew.
It was his play.
His brilliance that cracked Barcelona open.
Mateo jogged back to midfield, breathing heavily,but with a wide, uncontainable grin.
Across the pitch,he saw Lamine Yamal watching him.
This time, it was Lamine who nodded slightly —a small, almost reluctant gesture of respect.
Mateo nodded back once.
The battle between them was far from over.
But tonight, Mateo had answered the call.
The match was alive.
The stadium was alive.