I Coach Football With A System
Chapter 51: Vs Inter Milan (7)

Chapter 51: Vs Inter Milan (7)

Lecce’s third goal sent shockwaves through the San Siro. The equalizer had shattered the illusion of safety, breaking the dam of expectations and composure. Suddenly, both teams were throwing men forward, no longer hiding behind calculated strategies or compact defensive lines. The pitch turned into a bruising battlefield, every inch fought for like it was sacred ground. The once measured and cautious play of the first half had been abandoned. What replaced it was raw hunger, a wild desire to snatch all three points and walk away with the glory.

The crowd responded in kind, the atmosphere swelling to a fever pitch. It was no longer just noise. It was something primal, almost alive, like the stadium itself had been possessed by the game’s madness. Fans roared, whistles pierced the air, and a wind of pure tension swept through the stands. Several major chances unfolded in a chaotic storm as the game spiraled into an all-out campaign of desperation, brilliance, and near misses.

Inter were the first to make a statement after the equalizer. In the 64th minute, Skriniar, who had been quiet for most of the match, picked out Dimarco with a sweeping long ball down the left flank. Dimarco didn’t hesitate. He turned, ghosted past Gallo with a burst of pace, then squared a sharp pass across the box. Martinez was waiting. He stepped into the ball with a perfect half-volley, the kind of strike that usually ends in the back of the net.

But Falcone had other plans.

The Lecce keeper reacted like a man possessed. He hurled himself to his left, sticking out a strong hand just in time. The ball skidded off his palm and curled away from goal.

The crowd gasped in unison as the net rippled slightly behind the post.

["And again, Falcone!"] the commentator roared, nearly losing his voice. ["He’s just unbelievable tonight! Martinez thought he had that in the bag, but Falcone, Lecce’s guardian between the posts, said no with a full stop!"]

Barely a minute later, Inter came again, hungrier and even more dangerous. This time it was from a corner. The ball curled viciously toward the near post. Barella rose, not to shoot, but to flick the ball backwards across the six-yard box, catching Lecce off-guard. Dimarco came crashing in, his foot swinging for another half-volley. It was hit well, low and dangerous.

But Gallo was there just in time. He lunged with everything he had, stretching his leg to deflect the shot wide.

["Barely away!"] the commentator called, almost laughing from the sheer tension. ["Lecce’s defense are digging in like soldiers in a trench. But Inter, they’re turning the screws here. You can feel it. This pressure, it’s building, and it might just break something soon!"]

Inter weren’t finished. Not even close.

In the 68th minute, another threat came, this one more sudden. Brozović read a pass from Pongračić like an open book, stepping in to intercept before Lecce could reset. He surged forward like a man with a mission, dancing past two challenges, before drilling a low shot diagonally across the box. It was hard and fast, aimed just inside the post.

Falcone, once again, dropped like lightning. His outstretched hand reached out like instinct itself, tipping the ball just wide.

["Falcone again!"] the commentator gasped, breathless. ["What can you say about this guy? It’s like we’re watching a keeper possessed. He’s making these stops look unreal, like he’s bending reality out there. Every few minutes, it’s another miracle save!"]

But Lecce didn’t just bunker down. They answered the pressure with fire of their own.

Just before the 70th minute, Rebic found a spark down the left wing. He powered forward, dribbling past one defender with a cheeky feint before flicking a pass inside. Ramadani received it, but didn’t force it. Instead, he laid it back to Berisha, who stood twenty yards out, just inside the arc. Berisha took one touch, then another, before curling a right-footed effort toward the top corner.

It looked perfect, but Sommer wasn’t going to be outdone.

He leapt and stretched to tip the shot over the bar. The crowd roared in appreciation, even from the neutral corners.

Krstović nearly got to the rebound, but it bounced just out of reach.

["Sommer tips it over, and that was needed!"] the commentator yelled. ["This game, I don’t even know how to describe it anymore. Everyone’s giving everything, and both goalkeepers, they’re just... they’re defying logic tonight!"]

Then came Lecce’s closest chance yet.

At the 75th minute, it started with a quick exchange near the top of Inter’s box. Berisha poked the ball to Rebic, who returned it first-time to Luca. The teenager took a deft touch and flicked a clever pass into space. Dorgu latched onto it in full stride. He shifted inside, beat his man, and unleashed a shot.

It thundered off the post.

The entire bench stood up in shock as the ball spun away from the goal, teasing the edge before finally rolling out.

["That one rattled the woodwork!"] the commentator exclaimed, half laughing, half shouting. ["I thought that was in, I swear I did! Lecce aren’t just surviving anymore. They’re dancing on a tightrope up there, and they’re doing it with style and no fear!"]

In the middle of the chaos, Alex Walker made his call.

He turned to the bench, gave one sharp nod, and called for Kaba. Ramadani came off, visibly exhausted, as Kaba jogged on with energy to spare.

Alex reshaped the team, shifting into a hybrid 4-4-2, with moments that looked like a 4-2-3-1 when they pushed high. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t cautious.

But it was a move to win.

["Walker is going all in,"] the commentator said with a mix of respect and disbelief. ["No hesitation. He’s not playing for a draw here, not sitting back. He’s thrown out the map and said let’s see where the fire takes us!"]

The San Siro buzzed with confusion. Lecce, the so-called underdogs, weren’t backing off.

They were leading the charge now.

Kaba didn’t need time to settle. He exploded into the game like someone had been holding him back on purpose.

And then, ten minutes later, it happened.

It began with Luca.

The teenager had been quiet for most of the second half. Not absent, just subtle. Threading passes, holding shape. But now, he stepped into the spotlight.

Berisha found him in midfield with a crisp pass. Luca took a touch, paused, then waited just a moment longer than expected. That pause, it sucked defenders inward.

Then he moved.

A sudden pass to Rebic, who ran straight at the defense. Two center backs drifted, unsure. Rebic didn’t shoot. Instead, with perfect timing, he back-heeled the ball to the edge of the area where Dorgu appeared on the left.

Dorgu didn’t force it either. He looked up, then floated a diagonal pass to Berisha, who was waiting on the opposite wing. One touch inside, then a clean flick back to Luca.

It was choreographed brilliance.

Luca didn’t hesitate. He chipped the ball over the defense, aiming it perfectly between Bastoni and Acerbi. They looked at each other, hesitated, and in that sliver of doubt, Kaba surged through the gap.

["Oh, this is magic!"] the commentator screamed, unable to hold it in. ["Luca Ferretti! Are you kidding me? This kid is orchestrating like a composer out here! That touch, that pass, it’s pure intelligence and timing. What a player!"]

Kaba brought the ball down in stride, shifted inside to lose the defender on his tail, and curled the shot with precision. Sommer dived, but it was too late.

The ball kissed the inside of the post and settled into the net.

4–3.

Lecce were in the lead.

The stadium fell silent for a heartbeat. Then, it exploded.

["Unbelievable!"] the commentator shouted. ["Kaba puts it in! Can you believe this? Lecce were buried, they were down and out, and now they’ve turned it on its head!"]

["This right here is the kind of moment you’ll tell your kids about. This is what football is about. Grit, guts, and magic!"]

The Lecce players lost it. Some collapsed to their knees, others jumped into each other’s arms. On the touchline, Alex Walker didn’t move for a second. Then his fists clenched, and he let out a scream.

He had gambled, and the return was beyond anything he imagined.

Luca dropped to one knee, breathing heavy. There were tears, but his face was calm. He had made his mark. The whole world, watching from the San Siro, had seen what he could do.

["This... this is astonishing,"] the commentator said in a quiet, awed voice. ["Luca Ferretti, in his first start at the San Siro, has done something unreal. That pass... that was surgical."]

["What a debut!"] the second voice chimed in. ["Lecce have clawed this one out of the fire. And now, unbelievably, they’re leading!"]

Alex stood still, his heart pounding. This wasn’t just a victory forming. This was something more.

And as a new roar built in the distance, ready to carry them into the final minutes, Alex whispered, barely audible over the noise.

"That’s what fearless looks like."

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