I Coach Football With A System
Chapter 63: Vs AC Milan (4)

Chapter 63: Vs AC Milan (4)

The second half began like an explosion after a long, burning fuse. No more chess. No more waiting. Both teams charged out of the dressing rooms with fire in their legs and something close to fury in their hearts. Whatever had been said during halftime, on both ends, it had worked. The match transformed, right in front of everyone.

Gone was the tactical caution of the first half. Now, this was open war. A wide-pitch brawl, a game no longer about containment but domination. Milan came out pressing hard, showing their teeth again, but Lecce didn’t shrink from the challenge. They met it with steel in their bones and energy in their boots.

It was Lecce who landed the first punch of the second half. It happened at 47 minutes. Luca Ferretti, planted right in the middle of the chaos, made a sharp interception near the center circle. One touch took him into space, and his second was a slick pass to the left for Banda. The Zambian winger didn’t hesitate, he sized up Theo Hernández, beat him with a tight drop of the shoulder, then tore past him with a burst of pace.

Banda reached the edge of the box and whipped in a low, fizzing cross across goal. Krstović was waiting. He met it first time, his volley angled toward the far bottom corner. It was hit with venom, and for a moment, it looked like the net would ripple.

But Sommer reacted like lightning, springing to his right, arm fully extended. The ball clipped his glove and curled just wide. A huge save. Banda chased down the rebound, refusing to give up, but Milan’s defenders threw their bodies in the way like men defending a fortress.

For the first time since the half had begun, the entire San Siro stirred. The tension broke into a wave of murmurs, a ripple of genuine appreciation.

["That is absolutely stunning from Sommer!" the commentator gasped, practically shouting over the crowd. "Krstović thought he had buried it, Banda thought he had the rebound, but no! Milan survive by a fraction, a hair, a miracle!"]

Lecce didn’t let up. Not even for a breath. Less than sixty seconds later, they came again, with even more venom. Dorgu, who had shifted wider now, picked up a quick switch pass on the left. His first touch launched a high arcing ball over the top. Banda, lurking between the lines, made a sudden dash behind the defense and took it down beautifully.

He barely needed two touches. With the third, he fired a low shot toward the near post, hard and accurate.

Sommer, who had been scrambling back, dropped low with expert timing and managed to save it with the inside of his boot, sending it spiraling out for a corner.

["Unbelievable pressure!" the commentator cried, voice cracking with emotion. "Milan are under siege now, completely overwhelmed! Lecce are not just fighting, they’re storming the gates!"]

Before Milan could even reset, Lecce were back. There was no pause in their hunger. Banda again drew defenders to the flank, but this time he slipped the ball inward to Luca Ferretti, who had made a driving run all the way from the edge of Lecce’s penalty box.

Ferretti surged forward, weaving past one challenge, then spotted Krstović making a diagonal run. But instead of the obvious pass, he faked, sending two Milan midfielders the wrong way. The move opened up space for Dorgu on the right.

With perfect timing, Ferretti released the ball to him. Dorgu smashed a cross into the danger zone. Milan’s defenders scrambled and just about cleared it, but the ball fell again to Ferretti on the rebound.

He didn’t think twice. He took the shot first time. The ball screamed toward the bottom corner.

Sommer reacted, barely, managing a sliding save with the heel of his boot. The ball ricocheted across the turf like a stone on a pond, then was clumsily cleared by a scrambling Milan defender.

["Ferretti, again and again!" the commentator shouted. "What ambition from the young man! He’s carrying this Lecce team forward with every run, every touch! He’s not afraid, not even for a second!"]

Milan’s fans were no longer singing. They were watching nervously. Lecce’s away section, however, had become a choir of belief. Chants filled the air. Even some neutrals in the stadium were nodding in appreciation. This underdog was playing like they had nothing to lose and everything to prove.

But Milan weren’t done either. Seven minutes later, in the 53rd minute, they snapped back with fury.

Tonali, deep in his own half, muscled past two Lecce players and created the opening. He spun out of the pressure and then played a piercing pass to Pulisic on the right wing. The American didn’t slow down. He charged forward, cut inside onto his left foot, and hammered a shot with everything he had.

The ball soared toward the top corner.

But Falcone was ready.

He launched himself into the air, full stretch, and managed to get his fingertips to the ball, redirecting it just enough to tip it off the bar. It bounced down wildly into the box. Milan’s follow-up shot was smothered and eventually cleared by Sala with a desperate but clean challenge.

["Oh my word, Falcone again!" the commentator yelled. "Back-to-back heroics from the Lecce keeper! That man has wings! Milan came at him like a tidal wave and he stood tall again!"]

Lecce refused to be shaken. They struck back immediately. In the 55th minute, a beautifully choreographed buildup saw Ramadani break up play and release Berisha, who flicked the ball forward for Banda.

Banda turned on the jets, his boots eating up space across the top of the area. He faked a shot, sending one defender sliding the wrong way, then chipped a perfectly weighted pass to Krstović who was darting in from the right.

Krstović met the ball with a side-footed volley. It was on target. Clean. Deadly.

Sommer, somehow, anticipated it. He dove backward, palms outstretched, and managed to tip it over the bar. Banda threw his arms in the air, spinning in disbelief. Ferretti ran up and embraced him, full of adrenaline and raw emotion. On the Lecce bench, coaches were on their feet, fists clenched, shouting praise and encouragement.

["They just keep coming!" the commentator bellowed. "Every time you think Lecce are finished, they rise again, stronger, faster, hungrier! This is unbelievable football from the underdogs!"]

But Milan were not content to defend. In the 57th minute, they responded with venom of their own. Tonali, who had been everywhere, sent a quick diagonal switch across the field. Leão brought it down and reversed the ball to Morata. The Spanish forward cut inside, shaking off a defender with a brilliant feint, then curled a vicious shot toward the far corner.

It looked like a goal.

But once again, Falcone denied it.

He hurled himself across the face of goal, fingertips brushing the ball just enough to push it wide. The crowd gasped. Milan’s bench clutched their heads.

["Another miracle from Falcone!" the commentator cried out. "How many times is this man going to save his team? It’s a clinic! A one-man army at the back!"]

By the 60th minute, it felt like no one in the stadium could sit still. The match had become an emotional rollercoaster. Every attack from Lecce felt like it might explode into a goal. Every Milan counter seemed destined to punish. The commentators’ voices were hoarse with drama, while fans on both sides bit their nails down to nothing.

Ferretti began to take control once more. He directed the tempo, pointing, calling, barking instructions. Banda made a darting run down the left, Krstović hovered on the edge of the defensive line, hungry for one more opening.

Lecce worked the ball into the final third again. Ferretti picked it up, some twenty-five yards from goal. He passed it to Krstović with a no-look back heel. The striker held it for a moment, then slipped it to Dorgu who had crept in from the right.

Dorgu didn’t hesitate. He fed the ball low and quick into the area, looking for a return run.

But just as Krstović lunged for it, Fikayo Tomori flew in. A crunching, but clean, interception sent the ball spinning out for a corner. Gasps of disappointment echoed from Lecce’s bench. But behind them, in the away stand, the fans were standing, fists pumping. They had seen something few had expected.

["That is what football is all about!" the commentator said, voice full of awe. "Lecce have crafted four golden chances in fifteen minutes, and they’re dancing with Milan now. They are seconds, inches, hairs away from equalizing. This is poetry on grass!"]

There was a brief lull as Milan gathered themselves, whispering to each other, slowing the game. The clock ticked toward the 60th minute. Each second carried the weight of potential.

Then, suddenly, the tempo snapped again.

Milan broke. Fast.

Pulisic raced through the center, a long pass finding him in stride. The crowd gasped. He was through. No defenders in sight.

Only Falcone stood between him and the goal.

The entire stadium leaned in, breaths caught. This was the moment.

["It’s Pulisic!" the commentator shouted, nearly breathless. "One on one with Falcone, here it is! This could be the pivotal moment, the moment that changes everything!"]

Time froze.

And the world waited to see what would happen next.

A/N: Alrighty, this is 2/2 bonus Chapters for the gift, and then there’s one more tomorrow for the golden tickets