Chapter 365: I Am God!

"The match was delayed for a while, but the first half is almost over!"

"AC Milan still hasn't found a good chance to equalize!"

Suker continued to search for opportunities on the flank.

Kaká was doing the same on the other side.

However, Kaká was facing heavy double-teams. Perhaps due to his earlier aggressive runs, Inter Milan had clearly focused on locking him down.

As a result, Suker suddenly found himself under much less pressure.

Time was running out.

But Suker kept running relentlessly. He could feel that a goal was within reach.

He just needed the right opportunity!

At this moment, Suker saw Pirlo in midfield playing short passes, pretending to be patient.

But he kept glancing upfield, clearly searching for the right passing option.

Seeing this, Suker immediately began positioning himself behind the defensive line.

Finally, after searching for a while, Pirlo spotted Suker.

He faked a pass wide, then suddenly pivoted and sent a powerful through ball forward.

The ball soared over the defenders' heads and dropped toward the open space behind.

Suker instantly accelerated toward the ball's landing point.

Cordoba was closely marking him.

The ball dropped between Suker and Cordoba but slightly favored Suker.

Cordoba didn't dare get too close—he feared risking a penalty if things went wrong.

And Suker seized that tiny gap. He lifted his left leg, the ball ricocheted off it and moved slightly forward—perfect control.

Suker hardly slowed down.

Seeing that, Cordoba's eyes twitched uncontrollably.

"Damn it! What the hell?!"

As the ball bounced up, Suker swung his left leg, making it look like he was about to shoot.

Cordoba lunged in to block.

But at that moment, Suker cut the ball back sharply, completely fooling Cordoba and facing the goal.

Despite a slight imbalance in his stance, Suker relied on his powerful core strength to finish the shot.

The ball flew toward the far corner.

Inter Milan's goalkeeper dived with all his might, but the ball slipped past his outstretched fingers and into the net.

"GOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!—"

"A goal in the final moments of the first half! Suker! A stunning goal!"

"Perfect control! Perfect feint! Perfect finish!"

"Suker demonstrated every quality a top striker should have with that shot."

"Pirlo's timing on the pass was excellent, but Suker's brilliant technique was even more jaw-dropping."

"That goal was pure art!"

Commentator Aldo Serena shouted with excitement.

He was utterly amazed by Suker's goal.

That perfect touch, that elegant move in full sprint, and that composed finish…

As he said—this was art!

Meanwhile, the entire San Siro erupted with deafening cheers.

"SUKERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR——!"

This wasn't just generic cheering; it was tens of thousands of AC Milan fans shouting his name in unison.

A goal this clutch and beautiful deserved every bit of that praise.

At the sidelines, coach Ancelotti was pumping his fists passionately, caught up in the moment.

Chubby Carlo was visibly emotional.

This goal erased Milan's previous slump in one shot.

Equalizing just before halftime completely eliminated their psychological disadvantage heading into the second half.

Inside Milan's Detention Center.

Previously loud Inter fans fell silent.

They stared at the TV in disbelief, watching the roaring sea of AC Milan supporters.

"How could this happen?!"

An Inter fan muttered in shock.

The final minute.

Literally the last minute of the half—and they conceded.

This was the worst possible moment.

In contrast, AC Milan fans in the next cell were going wild.

"Suker! Suker! Suker!"

A bunch of them danced around excitedly in the cell.

Bob even mocked the next-door Inter fans:

"Look! Suker's right there—sending the ball straight into your net!"

Hahahahahaha!!

The Milan fans burst into laughter.

The Inter fans were furious but had no comeback.

That goal from Suker—damn beautiful.

After scoring, Suker sprinted toward the stands to celebrate.

The Milan fans gave him the loudest ovation of the night.

Tens of thousands roared like an earthquake.

Even hearts felt like they were pounding in sync.

Suker grinned widely.

He looked at the surging crowd, the massive wave of red and black.

Yes.

He was born for this. Born for this pitch.

"He still scored!"

Srna shook his head in frustration.

His emotions were mixed.

Disappointed they conceded.

But proud that his national team's star striker was so damn good.

Zlatan Ibrahimović also stared at Suker, his hawk-like eyes locked on him.

A younger player, yet already more famous and more expensive.

This was supposed to be his prime in Serie A.

But Suker had stolen the spotlight.

Last season, this guy helped AC Milan win the Champions League.

This season, with Shevchenko gone, he exploded with goals.

Ibra took a deep breath, his gaze sharpening.

None of this would break him.

He was Zlatan Ibrahimović—the man who calls himself God.

Halftime arrived, and both teams headed in for adjustments.

"Pass me the ball more in the second half. I'll score. Trust me—I'll get another one!"

Ibra said coldly.

He believed he deserved more tactical emphasis.

He didn't want to be a mere role player.

At Inter, he wanted the whole attack to revolve around him.

"So cocky…"

Srna muttered.

Even Suker didn't dare speak to him like that.

Meanwhile, in AC Milan's locker room—

Suker was chewing on a banana, mumbling:

"Let me keep attacking that back line. I can break them!"

He reached out and grabbed another banana from the assistant coach.

Lately, for some reason—

Every match made him feel super hungry.

Watching him scarf down bananas, Maldini felt both envious and exasperated.

Envious of someone who could eat during such intense exertion.

Annoyed because—what a damn show-off.

"Ambrosini, Jankulovski—start warming up."

After assigning warmups, Ancelotti turned to Gilardino with a touch of frustration in his eyes.

Gilardino hadn't played well at all this match.

Suker had drawn defenders, scored, and led the line by himself.

Gilardino, by contrast, contributed next to nothing.

Not even off-the-ball runs.

Ancelotti knew Gilardino wasn't happy playing second fiddle to Suker.

But if he couldn't be the supporting player…

Then he wouldn't get to play at all.

This season, Ancelotti had made it clear:

Suker is the offensive core.

No one questions that.

Halftime ended.

The second half began, and the teams switched sides.

Immediately, Inter launched a fierce offensive.

"Crespo with a through ball to Ibrahimović, who turns and shoots—saved by AC Milan's keeper!"

"Another aerial duel won by Ibrahimović! Nearly broke Milan's goal again!"

"The second half just started, and the Swedish striker is already on fire, relentlessly attacking Milan's defense!"

54th minute.

Crespo sent a diagonal long pass from midfield.

The ball dropped into the penalty area.

Ibrahimović outmuscled Maldini and lifted his left leg high in a taekwondo-style swing.

The shot bounced off the turf—

And once again beat Dida to give Inter the lead.

This time, Zlatan didn't hold back.

He ran toward the AC Milan fan section.

Arms wide open.

Scanning the stands—

Like God surveying mortals.

"I am God!"

Kaká turned to Suker: "What did he say?"

Suker pointed at Ibrahimović and muttered:

"He said—'I am God.'"