Chapter 592: Chapter 592 The Curtains Drop
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[90+3]
Leverkusen’s bench was a picture of torment—Peter Bosz stood with hands locked atop his head, pacing the technical area like a man watching fate slip through his fingers. Rakim had collapsed to his knees, both fists pressed against the grass as if willing the earth to take back the moment. Wirtz jogged over and pulled him up, whispering something only the two of them heard.
Picking up his friend from the ground, they jogged back to their positions. Bayern, meanwhile, had wasted no time letting their opponents process things, as Neuer had already kicked a replacement ball back into play after the flattened one was retrieved. Kimmich collected it near the centre circle, shouting instructions as he moved it wide to Gnabry to calm the tempo and manage the clock.
They had one foot on the trophy, and they weren’t about to lift it off. The ball was now Bayern’s to keep, and they did so with cynical, calculated possession—Thiago and Kimmich stroking passes to one another with cruel patience. When Leverkusen pressed, they pivoted and dumped it backwards. When a red-and-black shirt lunged, they played around him. Lucas Hernández drifted forward from the back and found Perišić in space once again.
But this time, the Croatian didn’t try to drive past Bailey. Instead, he simply waited for contact, felt the nudge, and tumbled near the touchline. The referee blew the whistle and gave Bayern a free-kick. Wasting more time as tension drains from the home side.
[90+5]
Wasting more time, Neuer, now playing quarterback, ran up to take the set-piece from the halfway line. He lofted it toward the corner flag where Lewandowski and Tapsoba tangled one final time. The ball bounced out of bounds for a throw-in, but the damage was done—Leverkusen had to go the full length of the pitch with seconds remaining.
Rakim sprinted to collect the ball and launched a long throw-in toward Volland, who chested it down for Demirbay. The midfielder flicked it wide to Diaby, whose legs were still willing, even as his lungs gave in. He dribbled furiously along the flank, cutting inside past Pavard, ghosting past Kimmich—but just as he looked to deliver the final cross, Thiago slid in with a well-timed tackle, poking the ball out of play. Throw-in, but the referee glanced at his watch.
[90+6]
Bailey rushed to take the throw. He hurled it long into the box. Volland flicked it on. It pinballed around—Wirtz got a toe on it—but before Rakim could react to the loose ball near the edge of the box, Javi Martínez stepped in, clearing it high into the night sky. The whistle followed.
[FULL-TIME: Bayer Leverkusen 2 – 3 Bayern Munich]
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Final Score: Bayer Leverkusen 2 – 4 Bayern MunichScorers:
Leverkusen: Rakim Rex (70’), Alario (64’)
Bayern: Lewandowski (45+1’, 79’, 83’)
Yellow Cards:
Baumgartlinger (37’)
Aránguiz (78’)
Davies (85’)
Martínez (89’)
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"Well, there you have it, folks, after a riveting 95 minutes, Bayern walks away with a crucial three points, widening their lead to five." Derek Rae analysed as the home players sank to their knees in frustration. A commendable performance from both sides. Leverkusen threw everything they had into this. Rakim, Demirbay, Diaby—they carved Bayern open at times. But when it mattered, Bayern’s clinical edge proved the difference."
"Derek, they will be gutted not getting away with at least a point after all their effort this season." Robson analysed in a melancholic tone. "Their hopes for the Bundesliga title race might officially be over as I don’t see a team of Bayern dropping six points in the last four matches of the season."
"Indeed, my friend, I could well see them go uneaten for the rest of the season." Rae analysed after checking the remaining opponents that the German champions have to play. "However, if things align, they could well meet each other again in two more finals, one being the DFB Pokal and the other, of course, the Champions League."
As the two commentators continued discussing the end-of-season prospects for the two teams, the players below trotted off the pitch. Rakim had found one of his hoods and draped it over his head, covering most of his facial expression. However, from his and everyone else’s body language, the disappointment was clear.
He briskly walked past the press area, not giving the attendant a chance to even ask for an interview. He was never happier with the fact that the stadium was minimally staffed with reporters, not even on the premises. Wirtz caught up to him at the locker room doors but said nothing as they entered and took their seats in silence.
Inside the dressing room, the silence hit like a punch to the gut. No clang of studs on tile, no loud music, no post-match banter. Just the sound of deep breathing, water bottles being unscrewed, and the occasional rustle of tape being torn from ankles. Trainers and physios silently went from player to player, checking on them to make sure no one was seriously hurt.
Demirbay sat hunched forward on the bench, elbows on knees, staring down at his socks like they’d betrayed him. Diaby leaned against the cubby wall, still panting, sweat glistening on his brow as if his body hadn’t realised the match was over. Volland stormed into the room, walking straight to the shower area as he let loose a loud scream.
"Arggggggg, f8*k." Startled by his actions, no one moved to intervene and went on with what they were doing. Rakim peeled off his soaked jersey and tossed it aside. The shirt slapped the floor with a dull splat, its red fabric darkened with sweat and grass stains.
Peter Bosz finally entered the dressing room, his usually composed demeanour cracked like weathered stone. He surveyed his players—warriors who had given everything, now sitting in the aftermath of dreams deferred. The manager’s eyes landed on Rakim for a second, who sat with his back to the bench, wearing the performance vest and his hood still covering his face.
"Listen," Bosz began, his voice hoarse from shouting instructions that the wind had carried away. "What happened out there... that’s football. Cruel, beautiful, heartbreaking football." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "You played like champions tonight. The scoreline doesn’t reflect that, but I know it, you know it, and anyone who understands this game knows it."
Bailey looked up from unlacing his boots, his face streaked with mud and frustration. "We had them, boss. We actually had them."
"We did," Bosz nodded. "And that’s what hurts. But it’s also what should give you pride." He moved to the centre of the room, his presence commanding attention even in defeat. "We fought like a pride of lions this season, in what will go down as the most peculiar season in the history of the sport. We showed heart today, and all I ask from you is to process this and come back stronger. We still have silverware to play for this season. "
"I know most of you don’t want to hear this, but you did play well; this is just the nature of the game." He paused for a moment, looking into the still disheartened faces of his players. "I’ll be heading to the interviews; feel free to disperse from here since there are no fans. Oh, and for those who played, take the day off tomorrow, but make sure to attend to your recovery properly. For those who didn’t attend the afternoon start, we have a semifinal to play in three days." With those words, the manager turned for the exit, and the players vaguely heard him cursing the schedule under his breath.
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To be Continued...