Chapter 202: Twin Ghosts At The Gate

"You hesitated the first time. I could've passed the ball directly!"

Suker went straight to Inzaghi.

Inzaghi scratched his head.

He had indeed hesitated just now—mainly because, back when he played, not only did he need to make a run, but also had to make sure the teammate with the ball could see him. That often required him to pause slightly.

"Just run straight!" Suker clapped his hands and shouted, "Super Pippo!"

Ten minutes later, Suker sent out another through ball.

This time, Inzaghi didn't hesitate at all and immediately took off.

In a flash, he broke away from the defense and found himself one-on-one with the keeper again.

"Mark Filippo!"

"I've been watching him! But he seems… faster now!"

Nesta was stunned.

Damn it! Inzaghi's this fast?

"No, it's not that he's fast—it's that his timing is perfect!"

The assistant coach grinned.

He finally understood.

Inzaghi and Suker were both playing on the edge of the limit.

Sukere passed the ball at the exact moment Inzaghi started his run.

The two were almost perfectly in sync.

"With that kind of run timing, eight out of ten are probably going to be ruled offside," the assistant coach muttered.

In an era without VAR, these borderline offside runs were nearly impossible to judge by eye.

Ancelotti's gaze was piercing.

"Even if eight get ruled offside, there are still two one-on-one chances."

Ancelotti clenched his fist.

Inzaghi seemed to be reactivated.

The chemistry between Suker and Inzaghi was electrifying.

How were these two so perfectly in sync?

On the pitch, Inzaghi's cold demeanor had vanished. He waved excitedly at Suker and then hugged him tight.

"Hahaha! You're amazing, man!"

No player dislikes a teammate who passes the ball to them.

Especially not someone who delivers such pinpoint through balls.

Every one of Suker's passes landed right in Inzaghi's sweet spot.

They were both playing on the edge!

Maldini and others looked at them with visible frustration.

But things were about to get more complicated.

"Kaká! Pirlo! Seedorf, go to the reserve team!"

Ancelotti pointed at Suk. "Suker and Inzaghi, move up to the forward line!"

Suker slowly stepped forward.

Inzaghi smiled and patted Suk's shoulder. "If I pass it to you…"

"I'll draw the defender out wide for you," Suker nodded, then added, "But if you don't have a shot, you must pass!"

Inzaghi turned to leave.

Suker shouted after him, "If you won't pass and I won't pass, think: who gives you more chances—me or them?"

Inzaghi turned back with a glare. "Got it! I'll pass to you!"

Suker rolled his eyes.

Getting you to pass feels like pulling teeth!

Suker had entered the pro circuit playing various attacking midfield roles under pressure—left winger, wide midfielder, central mid, second striker, you name it.

If he'd been a pure center forward like Inzaghi from the start, passing probably wouldn't come easy to him either.

The reserves made another switch.

Suker and Inzaghi now stood side by side at the front, a classic two-striker setup.

Kaká and Pirlo ran the midfield.

Suker would sometimes drop deep, but more often stayed level with Inzaghi.

And when Kaká beat Gattuso…

Suker and Inzaghi were already poised to explode down the flanks.

"Mark…"

Whoosh!!!

Inzaghi had already burst forward.

At the same time, Kaká sent a lightning-fast through ball.

Inzaghi once again broke the defensive line.

This time, he was ecstatic. The match felt exhilarating. He could make forward runs freely.

Of course, after a few earlier incidents, Stam and the rest of the defense were recovering much quicker.

"Block him!"

"Follow up! Follow up!"

"Surround Filippo!"

Just as Stam and the others were about to corner Inzaghi near the six-yard box, he suddenly looked up.

Stam instinctively stuck out his foot to block the shot.

But the next second—Inzaghi lightly tapped the ball with his right foot…

Stam's eyes widened, his eyeballs practically popping out.

Maldini was just as stunned.

Even Gattuso, rushing back to help, had his jaw on the floor.

Every player on the pitch felt like they'd been struck by lightning.

Filippo… passed the ball!

Whoosh!

Boom!!

Suker appeared from the side out of nowhere, met the ball with a side-footed shot from a tight angle.

The ball went straight into the back of the net.

Suker laughed wildly as he ran to the corner flag, leapt up, and landed with a stomp.

He turned to look at Inzaghi.

And he also caught the stunned faces of the other players.

Inzaghi's perfectly timed run!

Inzaghi's pass!

And Suker's ghost-like movement!

Two ghosts haunting the back line with unpredictable runs.

Twin Ghosts at the Gate!

Are you scared yet?

On the first day of training camp, Suker had performed incredibly well, completing all tasks with excellence.

The scrimmage ended quickly.

Ancelotti soon called a halt to both the game and the training session.

Too much had been revealed in this match—Suker's synergy with the team was creating a chemistry overload. Ancelotti needed to process everything.

As soon as he stopped the session, he rushed back to his office.

He unzipped his jacket, let out a breath.

Then grabbed pen and paper and began furiously scribbling.

He wrote down Suker's name and marked it with a highlight.

Then began compiling everything around Suker.

First, feedback from Suker's performance as an attacking midfielder.

Inzaghi had been activated, and his efficiency skyrocketed. Though there was a risk of being ruled offside, it also meant multiple explosive runs that put enormous pressure on opposing defenders.

This version of Inzaghi was terrifying!

No one could let him roam freely anymore—he'd demand full attention.

And that freed up Kaká and Suker.

A symbiotic effect!

Next—Suker and Kaká could both drive forward like arrows.

On the counter, both were devastating with pace and solo ability.

On either wing or through the half-spaces, they could break open the defense at any time.

Lastly, when Suker dropped back, he, Pirlo, Seedorf, and Kaká formed a stable midfield control unit.

When Suker pushed forward, he and Inzaghi's forward runs were mutually reinforced.

Suker's "ghost" attribute wasn't easy to utilize.

He wasn't like Inzaghi—Suker often dropped deep and scored frequently, so defenders always had eyes on him.

But when Inzaghi made his run and Suker followed half a beat later, that's when Suker's ghostly unpredictability came into play.

Like that sharp angled run earlier—receiving Inzaghi's pass and scoring.

Most impressively, they actually got Inzaghi to pass the ball—a rare feat in itself.

And on top of all this, Suker was ambidextrous and could play both wings.

Ancelotti let out a long breath.

A sense of excitement was rising within.

The arrival of Suker had brought new life and possibility to AC Milan.

That €30 million was a bargain.

In fact, with Suker's infinite potential, even Milan as a team could undergo a massive transformation.

As the captain of the ship, Ancelotti had to steer carefully.

The next morning around 8 a.m., Suker was dragged out of bed by Inzaghi.

Inzaghi sat in his convertible in a casual suit—white shirt with a gray vest, long flowing hair, sunglasses on.

The definition of a stylish Italian man.

"Hey—"

Inzaghi's voice cut off mid-sentence.

He looked at Suker—wearing a baggy white T-shirt, black shorts, floppy black hair sticking to his head, and slippers.

A fashion disaster in his eyes.

"What are you wearing?!"

Inzaghi complained.

Suker looked down.

"Clothes. I always dress like this."

Inzaghi got out of the car, circled to Suker's front, arms folded, scanning him.

"You need a total makeover."

Suker tilted his head. "Makeover for what?"

"Let's start with an iced espresso every morning."

He pulled out two cups of iced coffee, handing one to Suker.

"I don't like coffee," Suker said.

Inzaghi cupped his coffee like a prized possession.

"It's not for drinking."

Suk was confused, but Inzaghi didn't elaborate.

"Let's hit the mall—I've got a 10 a.m. hair appointment. We've got an hour and a half."

Suker quickly got in the car.

"Why the mall? My hair's not even long!"

Inzaghi smiled. "Length isn't the issue. It needs to be refined."

He flipped his own long locks dramatically.

Over the next hour, Suker lost count of how many outfits he tried on—he was exhausted.

Inzaghi made all the selections.

Casual suits.

Trendy streetwear combos.

A total of six full outfits.

Even shoes, hats, underwear, and socks were matched.

Inzaghi's philosophy: Fashion lives in every detail.

Even the unseen parts should give off that striking, unforgettable flair.

After the shopping spree, Inzaghi took Suker to the hair salon.

The stylist asked about preferences while Suker was pinned to the chair.

"I want something fierce!" Suker grinned.

The stylist rolled his eyes.

With that baby face? Fierce?

"You ever thought about growing it out?" Inzaghi asked eagerly.

Suker firmly refused: "No!"

"Long hair is a man's romance!"

"I don't want romance! And you're Italian, not French! Just trim it simply, thanks!"

By noon, Suker was completely drained from the fashion assault.

And the worst part? Inzaghi went to his house and mooched a meal.

Only then did the two head to the training facility for the afternoon session.