Milan City.
Icardi stands on the rooftop of his luxurious duplex apartnt, gazing at the nearby azza Stadium, radiant with lights at night.
He checks the ti on his wristwatch.
At this ti, the Inter Milan players should have already lined up in the player tunnel.
Serie A, Round 37, Inter Milan vs Lazio is about to start.
"Honey, can this really work?" Icardi scratches his head.
Wanda is lying on a deck chair on the rooftop, eating fruit while scrolling through social dia.
"Don’t worry, darling. Inter Milan can get by without anyone except you. They’ll soon back down. If they lose to Lazio, they’ll beg you to co back."
"Really? Last match they put Bonazzoli on for , and he scored a hat-trick." Icardi’s tone was slightly anxious.
"Bonazzoli’s nothing. Scoring a hat-trick at a countryside team like Palermo in Sicily, what’s there to be proud of? Never mind the last round of the Milan Derby, I don’t think Bonazzoli can score against Lazio. Inter might end up goalless at ho."
Though Wanda spoke lightly, Icardi was quite uneasy inside.
Feigning injury to boycott the match isn’t Icardi’s true intention; it’s a thod taught by his wife and agent, Wanda.
Even blocking all teammates and coaches’ phone numbers was Wanda’s rotten idea.
However, Icardi couldn’t bear to block Tang Long’s number, leaving only his number unblocked at the entire Inter Club.
The goal, naturally, is to get a raise and new contract at the end of the season.
In Wanda’s view, earning more money from Icardi needed much more than 3 million euros after tax per year.
At least seven or eight million would align with her husband’s value.
"But this way, my European Golden Boot will be gone. With only two rounds left, if I don’t play this one, even if I play in the last Milan Derby, I’m still four goals behind C Luo. What if he scores?"
Icardi still had his European Golden Boot in mind, clearly not understanding his situation at the club.
This naive kid was entirely manipulated by his wife Wanda, becoming a true human puppet.
"What’s the use of the European Golden Boot? You’ve scored 40 goals this season; in the past, that would’ve been the European Golden Boot hands down. ssi and C Luo are old, they’re 30, and you’re just 22! Honey, the future of European football belongs to you."
Wanda didn’t even lift her head, continuing to scroll through social dia.
She was monitoring Icardi’s account on Ins, watching for any beautiful models paying attention to her husband.
"But..."
Icardi hesitated to speak.
Icardi is actually very simple-minded.
His only goal is to get on the field, score goals, enjoy every match, even the unimportant ones against weaker teams, as long as he can score, he is happy; failing to score makes him irritable.
But soccer matches have always been more than just scoring and not conceding; there’s a lot of human relations involved.
Especially in Italian football.
Icardi gazed toward the azza Stadium, where the fiery clouds were fading and the moon was beginning to show its bright silhouette.
At this ti, the DJ at azza Stadium began announcing the starting lineup nas.
When the na of number 99, Tang Long, was announced, unprecedented cheers erupted on-site, clearly louder than for other players.
Hearing this, Icardi’s nose turned sore.
Wondering tonight whom Tang would assist in scoring? The European Golden Boot, it seems I’m destined not to get it this season.
...
Bang! Thud~
Bonazzoli rocket-shot, hitting the crossbar on a breakaway.
Fans at the North Stand behind the goal let out a gasp!
"That was a pity."
Bonazzoli also clutched his head, stunned.
He couldn’t believe Tang Long passed him such a perfect through ball, and he missed an easy breakaway.
"What I should’ve done was use a pendulum trick to bypass the goalkeeper and shoot into the empty net."
Bonazzoli lowered his head, walking back, even afraid to look towards Tang Long, worried he might be blad.
After all, if it had been Icardi, Inter would’ve been leading by now.
"Hey, what are you doing? Keep your head up, keep going."
Tang Long ran to his side.
Bonazzoli shuddered, hurriedly explaining:
"Sorry, I wasted your chance. I saw Mauro’s previous goals; he would’ve chosen to shoot into the top right corner. I was just trying to imitate him; who knew..."
Bang!
Tang Long slapped Bonazzoli’s backhead hard.
"Stop ntioning Mauro, Mauro! That guy is already gone!"
"You! Bonazzoli! Today you’re our starting center forward."
"No need to imitate him, just be yourself; you can score."
"Also, set your sights higher, don’t imitate Icardi anymore; if you must imitate, aim for our big brother Naldo, have so ambition, young man!"
...
When the referee blew the final whistle, all the Inter Milan players made a synchronized move —
Hands raised above their heads, heads tilted back, roaring at the sky, raising their arms in victory!
2:0!
Inter Milan decisively defeated Lazio at ho.
Tang Long, in the 71st minute of the second half, used a ghostly running position to skillfully bypass Lazio’s two center-backs, as if calculating exactly, intercepting the ball’s landing point, and pushed with his left foot, sending the ball into the near corner, opening the scoring for the team.
And just five minutes later, Bonazzoli, who had originally been lost under Lazio’s defensive siege, finally found his way into the small penalty area through a one-two partnership with Tang Long, cleverly placing the ball under Lazio’s goalkeeper.
Bonazzoli killed the ga for Inter Milan, and it was Tang Long who provided the assist!
After the match, more than twenty people including all Inter Milan players, substitute players, coach Mancini, assistant Herrera, Chiwo, etc., all went to the North Stand.
More than 20 people lined up, hand in hand, sprinted towards the North Stand, leapt high into the air, and celebrated with raised fists towards the fans.
Tens of thousands of fans in the North Stand were also generous in waving their fists at the Inter Milan players, fists waving wildly, even from dozens, hundreds of ters away!
This match was truly a release for Inter Milan.
aning that even without main striker Icardi, they still defeated the strong opponent Lazio.
The banner from the die-hard fans in the North Stand was particularly inspiring.
[In Inter Milan, no one is irreplaceable!]
Though Icardi’s na was not ntioned, it was obvious who they were pointing at.
Many die-hard fans in the North Stand had already discerned the rift between Icardi’s claid injury and the club’s stated technical choice.
Fans chose to believe the club!
Many of these old fans had ancestors watching gas at azza Stadium.
Most of them are season ticket holders with seats that haven’t changed in decades.
When the grandfather passed away, the seat was passed to the son;
When the son passed away, it was passed to the grandson.
Generation after generation, the spirit of Inter Milan has been carried on.
The iron-clad barracks, the flowing soldiers, a player’s golden career is only about ten years.
Fans have seen many players shine, be diocre, fail in Inter Milan, and then leave, and they’re long used to it.
The only thing they believe:
"At Inter Milan, no one is irreplaceable. If there are, they are those fans who always support the club, those twelfth n who attend every match to support the team."
Fans shouted Bonazzoli’s na, shouted Tang Long’s na, shouted Captain Ranocchia’s na, Podolski, Shaqiri, Handanovic, Santon...
Every starter, every substitute player, their nas were shouted by the fans in the North Stand.
The only na not shouted was Icardi’s.
That night, Wanda went out drinking with her girlfriends.
Icardi was the only one still standing on the apartnt rooftop, gazing at azza Stadium, watching from dusk till deep into the night.
Inter Milan won again, Tang Long assisted again.
Unfortunately, the assist Tang Long provided wasn’t for him, and Inter Milan’s victory had nothing to do with him.
Standing on the rooftop, hands on the slightly cool railing, Icardi suddenly felt a pang of heartbreak.
Suddenly, an unwelco thought surged in his mind.
Wanda had said that feigning injury in protest could make Inter Milan value his importance more, thereby securing a favorable position in contract renewal with a pay raise at the season’s end. But what if Inter Milan simply doesn’t renew or raise his pay, what then?
Wanda said that then leave the club in the sumr to Juventus or the Premier League, La Liga, to a bigger platform.
But Icardi rembered his contract with Inter Milan still had a full three years.
What if Inter Milan was determined not to release him, keeping him on the bench, not letting him play, what then?
Wouldn’t it be that there’s no ga to play? A professional player without a ga for half a year is practically done.
He had already fallen out with the club.
Inter Milan is a giant club in Serie A, could it really be led by Wanda’s nose?
The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt, hearing his heart pounding, almost ready to jump out of his chest.
At this point, Icardi suddenly panicked.
He dialed his wife Wanda, she answered impatiently, saying she was drinking with her girlfriends, then hung up after a "bang".
Icardi grew more anxious, and in desperation, dialed Inter Milan’s sporting director Ossilio.
Ossilio did not answer his call.
In a panic, Icardi then dialed Tang Long to ask for his opinion.
But unexpectedly, the response from the receiver was that he had been blocked.
[Sorry, the number you dialed is busy, please dial again later.]
Icardi stood dumbfounded.
With a clatter, the phone slipped from his hand and shattered on the ground.
His whole body went limp and he sat down heavily...
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