Chapter 348: Who’s Really Benefiting?

Back at the club, Suker also began participating in team training.

This season, Suker was gunning for the Ballon d'Or or FIFA World Player of the Year.

AC Milan had also promised to fully support him in this pursuit. Provided the team delivered solid results, they would help Suker win one—or even both—of those prestigious awards.

This season was a golden opportunity for Suker.

There was no World Cup, no European Championship—awards would hinge entirely on club performances.

And for Suker, if he missed this chance, the next opportunity might be much harder to come by.

Milan's veterans were showing signs of decline.

Barring any surprises, this could be their final season before performance fell off a cliff. That meant Suker had to seize the moment and make the most of it.

Besides, if Kaká could carry the team to a Champions League title in the 2006/07 season alone...

Now with Suker in the mix, could they aim even higher?

A league title? An Italian Cup win?

Or maybe—just maybe—an unprecedented treble?

Of course, all of this depended on success in the Champions League.

There was no way Suker would sacrifice a shot at European glory just to chase domestic silverware.

And Suker was anxious.

Milan's form was clearly declining, and who knew what next season would look like?

At the very least, their current situation wasn't encouraging.

Up front, Milan's attack was practically carried by Suker alone.

Inzaghi hadn't scored this season.

Gilardino was stuck in the treatment room.

Oliveira had proven to be a complete flop.

It was essentially Suker single-handedly holding up Milan's front line and scoring output.

Fortunately, Suker was capable of handling the pressure—otherwise Kaká would be running himself into the ground every game.

But something strange happened after Suker's explosive form.

Tactical resources that had previously revolved around Kaká began shifting toward Suker.

Kaká wasn't delivering fireworks, yet Suker was scoring at an incredible rate.

That's when Suker noticed something odd.

The team hadn't seen much of the "Kaká effect." Instead, Milan was feasting on the benefits of Suker's breakout performances.

It felt like he'd signed up to ride someone else's coattails, only to end up being the one carrying the whole team.

"Shaun Wright-Phillips is really down bad!"

Kaká said, looking at the news headlines. European media was showering praise on Suker, while Wright-Phillips had become a mere background character.

The English media were especially harsh.

They loved hyping up local talent—especially so-called prodigies—but they were even better at tearing them down.

Wright-Phillips had been hyped as England's next big thing before the Euro qualifiers. Now, the English press called him a one-trick pony whose only asset was speed.

The British media were never gentle with failures. They were experts at kicking people when they were down.

Before the qualifiers, Wright-Phillips had been cocky. Now he was the face of a total collapse.

Suker's "textbook dribble" was becoming a viral execution video.

On YouTube, the clip had racked up huge views with titles like:

"Suker: Let Me Teach You How to Dribble"

"Wright-Phillips: That's Dribbling?"

"Dribbling Isn't Just About Speed"

"Suker Teaches You How to Get Past Defenders"

Wright-Phillips' pre-match talk clashed sharply with his actual performance, creating a prime example of instant karma.

In the locker room, Kaká sat on a bench watching the YouTube clip on his laptop, clearly enjoying himself.

"Even Ricardo's dribbling looks better than his," Kaká chuckled.

Ricardo Oliveira, sitting nearby, felt like he'd just been stabbed in the heart.

He knew Kaká wasn't being malicious.

But it still stung—Kaká clearly saw him as being in the same tier as Wright-Phillips.

Oliveira silently tied his untied shoelace, stood up, and quietly left the locker room.

He was going to do extra training.

No time for rest when you're struggling.

Suker watched Oliveira walk out and noted how much the guy had changed since joining Milan.

He'd arrived as a lively, confident player, but as his performances worsened, his entire aura visibly dimmed.

Still, that wasn't Suker's concern.

All he needed to worry about was himself and Kaká.

"You better start stepping up too," Suker said to Kaká. "You can't just eat and not produce."

Suker was tired. Very tired.

Just look at the Serie A top scorer chart.

AC Milan had only one player in the top 20: Suker himself. Sure, he was at the very top—but if he got marked out of a game, how was Milan going to score? And how would they win?

Suker had been waiting and waiting for Kaká to explode into form.

Kaká looked up. "Didn't I provide you with assists? I might not be on the goal chart, but I'm ranked high on the assist leaderboard."

Suker sighed. "But you also need to score!"

"It's safer to pass it to you," Kaká grinned. "We win games more easily that way—why make it hard?"

Suker's eyes widened.

Damn it!

Sure, you're relaxed—I'm the one doing all the hard work!

So who's benefiting from whom here? Weren't you supposed to be helping me?

Kaká took the last bite of his seafood rice, then used a piece of whole-wheat bread to wipe up the remaining sauce before swallowing.

"This season, I'll help you win the Golden Boot!"

Suker looked at the now-sparkling-clean plate like it had been licked by a dog, shaking his head with a sigh.

He picked it up and walked to the kitchen.

"I'm aiming for the Ballon d'Or too, you know."

"That's doable," Kaká said with a grin. "If you replicate Andriy's performance from last season and we win the Champions League again, you've got a shot."

"Last season I passed to Andriy. This season I pass to you."

Suker rolled his eyes. "Why are you suddenly so generous?"

"You said it yourself," Kaká replied. "If you eat, you work."

"…I want pork buns tomorrow morning."

"Get lost! Those are a pain to make—you have to knead the dough!"

"Then throw in a FIFA World Player of the Year too. Deal?"

"You're trading a world award for pork buns?"

"Not a bad deal! It's my only guilty pleasure. And I can't have them every day."

"…Go buy some flour."

The next morning, Kaká shook Suker awake.

When it came to food, his motivation was through the roof.

Suker had already prepared the buns the night before—they just needed to be steamed.

At breakfast, Kaká devoured the pork buns with gusto, sipping milk between bites.

"This is the last cheat meal of the month," Suker said quietly.

Kaká could only nod, mouth full of bun. He knew he'd been indulging too much lately.

To make up for it, they were headed for early training.

By 7 a.m., Suker and Kaká had already arrived at Milanello.

The locker room was still locked—clearly, no one else had arrived.

They had already changed into training gear and walked toward the field.

To their surprise, someone was already there.

In the early morning sun, a lone figure was drenched in sweat, doing dribbling drills around cones, mixing in feints and moves, then finishing with a shot.

As they got closer, Suker exclaimed, "Oliveira?"

"He's working hard," Kaká smiled.

Suker replied, "Not hard enough. I know a lunatic who arrives at 5 a.m.!"

Kaká crossed his arms over his chest.

"Those who work hard will be blessed by God."

He turned to Suker. "Come on, let's help him train."

Suker rolled his eyes. "I'm not his God—why should I help?"

Kaká's eyes lit up with a scheme.

"He said he'd buy you Chinese food!"

Suker turned around instantly. "Which restaurant?"

"You pick!"

"Deal!"

The two walked onto the field. Suker called out loudly, "Oliveira! Your God is here to help you!"

He then pointed at Kaká.

Oliveira, panting and drenched in sweat, looked up.

"I feel like something's off. It's not like La Liga."

Of course it's not!

Suk replied bluntly, "Your style relies on others creating space. You expect to get that here? Who's going to create space for you?"

"Be real—you're trying to dribble past people without any support? This is Serie A, man. You crazy?"

When Suker had just joined Milan, he didn't try to take over games with dribbles. He knew he had no support.

So he played the role of a puzzle piece—passing, creating good impressions.

Only after earning trust in the locker room, and once teammates started making runs for him, did he begin dribbling and taking over.

Oliveira, on the other hand, had joined Milan and expected everything to revolve around him—like people would bend over backward to make him shine.

Suker had earned his central role through a full season of stellar play, rising up after Shevchenko left.

You can't be a star at a big club without first proving your worth as a cog in the machine.

Suker raised two fingers.

"That piece of advice is worth two meals!"

Oliveira stared at him, seemingly beginning to understand.