Chapter 439: Sancho Trapped in the Inner Demon, Mukoko Takes the Stage to Face the Boasting

The British flashlights were as dense as a torrential downpour, and reporters were like sharks smelling blood.

He focused the microphone and camera firmly on Dortmund’s players’ tunnel.

The Sun’s front-page headline was enormous.

“The miracle at forty-one, or the final madness. After Cristiano Ronaldo overstrained Allianz, can he still stand up in the Premier League’s meat grinder? "

The Daily Mail targeted Erling Haaland.

“The deserter returns, the demon abandoned by Guardiola’s tactical system—will he regret leaving the Premier League?”

And the most vicious and malicious remarks were poured out on Jadon Sancho without reservation.

“A 100 million euro flop, a loser despised by Manchester United fans. Did he return to England to prove how uncomfortable he was with the rhythm here? "

“Sancho’s dark history in the Premier League, along with his ten most disastrous mistakes.”

“Fan vote: Is Sancho Manchester United’s worst signing in a decade?”

Each report and headline is like a poisoned knife, stabbing precisely at Sancho’s most vulnerable nerves.

Sancho lowered his head, covering most of his face with the hood of his hoodie, hands in his pockets, hurrying through the media area.

Even though he tried hard not to listen or look, those harsh words still echoed in his ears like a demonic sound.

Back at the hotel, Sancho locked himself in his room.

He opened his phone to check his family’s messages, only to be overwhelmed by a flood of social media and private messages.

Countless insults, vicious curses, paired with a highlight GIF of his mistakes at Manchester United, flooded his screen like a virus.

“Get out of England.”

“You useless fool, don’t come here and make a fool of yourself!”

“Looking forward to another disastrous performance at St James’ Park.”

Sancho’s hand was trembling.

He suddenly threw his phone onto the bed, as if that would isolate him from that malicious world.

He lay on the bed, covering his eyes with his arm, his mind in chaos.

The painful memories of playing for Manchester United, condemned by the media and fans, were like a demon unsealed, once again occupying his mind.

He was afraid.

He was afraid of disappointing everyone again.

He feared that Sir Alex would see in the stands a cowardly self completely crushed by the Premier League.

Match day arrives at St James’ Park.

Fifty thousand Newcastle fans turned this place into a sea of black and white.

Their singing is powerful and clear, carrying the unique ruggedness and toughness of northeast England.

This is the home turf of the iron-blooded team built by Eddie Howe from scratch.

Their tactics are simple yet extreme.

The entire 4-3-3 formation ran wildly, maintaining suffocating high pressing from the very first second to the last.

Their defense is extremely resilient, like steel repeatedly battered—hard and tenacious.

In this season’s Champions League, they held AC Milan to a draw here, and against the dominant Real Madrid, they narrowly lost by just one goal.

This is a real tough nut.

In the players’ tunnel, Cristiano Ronaldo glanced at Sancho beside him.

The young English winger still looked grim, his eyes somewhat evasive, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze.

Cristiano Ronaldo said nothing, but just as he lined up and walked out of the aisle, he reached out and gave Sancho a hard pat on the back.

Sancho’s body visibly trembled, and he instinctively turned around to see Cristiano Ronaldo’s calm and resolute gaze.

There was only one sentence in that gaze.

Lift your head and go fight.

The whistle sounded.

As everyone expected, Newcastle United launched a mad dog-style siege from the very first second.

The three forwards charged like hunting dogs toward Dortmund’s defense, while the three midfielders acted like three moving walls, blocking all the outbound routes.

With every pass and every receive, Dortmund’s players could feel the intense physical contact and pressure from their opponents.

This is the rhythm of the Premier League, this is the quagmire at St James’ Park.

Dortmund’s attack struggled under the opponent’s tight defensive system.

In the 12th minute, Cristiano Ronaldo received a pass from Sabitzer at the edge of the penalty area. As soon as he controlled the ball, Newcastle’s center-back Botman and midfielder Guimarães instantly formed a circle, tightly trapping him like two iron pincers.

Cristiano Ronaldo tried to force a turn with his body but unusually lost his balance during the contest, losing the ball.

In the 21st minute, Erling Haaland received a long pass on the left flank, using his speed and physicality to beat opposing full-back Trippier.

But when he broke into the penalty area to shoot, center-back Schär had already covered in time, and a precise sliding tackle broke the ball out for a corner.

Dortmund’s attacks were repeatedly deflected by their opponents.

Cristiano Ronaldo and Erling Haaland were like two sharp battle axes, constantly striking the black-and-white city wall.

But it only sparks sporadic and can’t cause real harm.

Meanwhile, the team’s right flank was almost paralyzed.

Sancho’s condition was worse than anyone had imagined.

He didn’t dare to make any moves, didn’t dare to go one-on-one.

After receiving the ball, the first choice is always a back pass.

In the 28th minute, Reus delivered a brilliant through ball from midfield, breaking through Newcastle’s defense and finding Sancho making a forward run.

This was a golden opportunity—he only needed to step forward and could have a one-on-one attack.

However, facing goalkeeper Pope who was advancing, Sancho hesitated.

Countless images flashed through his mind of being mocked by the media after failing to score in the Premier League.

In that brief hesitation, the chasing guard Dan Byrne slid the ball away from behind.

St James’ Park erupted in huge cheers and laughter.

Sancho clutched his head, kneeling painfully on the grass.

Pepe, standing on the sidelines, looked extremely grim.

He watched Sancho on the pitch as if sleepwalking and finally made his decision.

The halftime whistle blew.

Back in the locker room, Pepe didn’t lose his temper; he simply walked calmly up to Sancho.

“Jaden, rest for the second half.”

Sancho suddenly lifted his head, his eyes full of pleading and unwillingness.

Pepe didn’t give him a chance to speak. He turned and looked at the eager young forward in the corner.

“Mukoko is getting ready. You go in the second half.”

“Forget the previous matches, this is the Premier League.”

Mukoko’s eyes lit up instantly.

When the second half began and Dortmund’s players re-emerged from the tunnel, the broadcast at St James’ Park broadcast the substitution announcement.

“Dortmund made a substitution of number 17, Yusufa Mukoko, replacing number 21 Jadon Sancho.”

The moment Moukoko’s name was announced, 52,000 Newcastle fans in the stadium were present.

Suddenly, a loud and hostile shout erupted.

“That fool.”

“Fools who break through the open door and never get in.”

“This isn’t Germany. No one would indulge a kid like you who pretended to fall.”

Clearly, Moukokoko’s uncompromising red card in the El Clásico has been heavily hyped by the English media, becoming a new label for him.

The deafening boos pressed down on Mukoko, who had just stepped onto the grass, like an invisible wall.

This nineteen-year-old boy faces immense hostility and pressure during his first Premier League away trip in his career.

His face was tense, his eyes tense, but even more so, there was a fierce determination to admit defeat.

He wanted to prove himself.

He wants to use the goal to silence those boos.

Massive boos swept over Mukoko alone like a tsunami, sweeping from every corner of St. James’ Park Stadium.

Every subsequent touch of the ball drew thunderous ridicule and jeers.

Newcastle fans put psychological pressure on him in the most direct way.

Pepe watched from the sidelines, her gaze icy cold.

There’s no way around it—this is growth.

A top striker must not only be able to conquer cities but also possess a heart that can stand against the entire world.

If Moukoko wants to truly realize his talent, he must learn to swallow the boos and then use his goals to make both opponents and fans suffer.

Sancho’s exit and Moukoko’s appearance subtly shifted Dortmund’s formation.

Mukoko is not a traditional winger; he is more like a pure nine, an opportunist inside the penalty area.

His arrival means Dortmund’s attacking firepower will be more concentrated in the center.

Pepe walked to the sidelines and made a tactical gesture to captain Reus, who was on the pitch.

Positional prerequisites: strengthen central lane linkage.

Royce understood immediately.

After the second half began, Dortmund’s style clearly changed.