Chapter 411: Are You Sure It’s Not Suker You Love?

Under the first rays of morning sunlight, Maldini rubbed his sleepy eyes and stretched as he got out of bed.

A dull ache pulsed in his shoulder—sharp enough to sting with even a slight movement.

This was the result of the previous match against Lazio, a product of intense physical confrontation.

Despite having taken some emergency measures, it didn't seem to be improving.

Maldini sighed softly.

He wasn't sure exactly when it started, but his body was taking longer and longer to recover. His drive seemed to be fading. His mindset had grown calm—no longer fueled by competition as it once had been.

After putting on a short-sleeved shirt, he glanced at his sleeping wife, then went to check on the kids in their room before heading out for a morning run in the sunlight.

After back-to-back matches, Maldini was starting to feel the strain.

But he wouldn't give up. As the season neared its end, everyone was gritting their teeth and pushing through. As the captain, he couldn't give up easily.

Injuries were part of every athlete's life—this one was nothing serious.

Despite his fatigue, Maldini didn't mind. At this stage of his career, he was no longer Milan's core player.

At first, it had been hard to accept.

After all, he had once been "the king of the pitch." But one day, a realization clicked in, and it no longer felt like a difficult thing to accept.

Maldini had stayed at AC Milan primarily because of last season's "Calciopoli" scandal. Otherwise, he would've retired after this season.

For Milan, he delayed his retirement while also trying to help solve the team's issues.

Now, AC Milan was doing very well.

Especially after the explosive performances of Suker and Kaká, Milan seemed to have returned to its former glory.

Though they'd gone through turmoil, the club had found new sources of strength—youthful and energetic.

After running for a while, Maldini returned home to the sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen.

His wife was busy preparing breakfast.

Their two children were already awake, chasing each other around the house.

"You two, don't fall!"

Maldini gently reminded them, then walked over and turned on the TV.

He tuned into a local Milan sports channel, just in time to catch news about Suker.

"Two days ago in Matchday 30 of the league, Milan's No. 10 Suker scored a goal, becoming the third player in Serie A history to score 30 goals in a single season."

"Thanks to Suker's outstanding performance, AC Milan defeated Lazio away from home."

The sports anchor's tone was calm, but it still made Maldini's mouth curl into a smile.

"You should let the media see you right now. Where's the captain's composure?" his wife teased, passing by with a plate in hand, rolling her eyes. "Come eat!"

Maldini touched the corner of his mouth and smiled, "That's exactly why I'm happy—as a captain, seeing my teammates do well makes me proud."

"You like Suker that much, huh?"

Maldini's wife couldn't help but shake her head.

She knew better than anyone how much Maldini liked Suker.

In the past, Maldini rarely talked about training or games after returning home.

But since this season began, he had been talking about Suker nonstop.

One moment praising Suker's dazzling training sessions—calling him Milan's future.

The next, raving about how many goals Suker had scored in a match—how amazing he was, and so on.

Maldini's wife had never seen her husband praise a player like this before. Maybe Suker really was something special.

"Help me pack my things. We're heading to Munich today!"

"They're already ready—by the door!"

"Adriana, I really do love you the most!"

"You sure it's not Suker you love?"

"Heh…"

"See! You didn't deny it!"

"That's different," Maldini said with anticipation in his eyes. "He is Milan's future!"

That morning, Maldini drove to Milan's training base.

Before he could even enter the locker room, he heard a commotion—shouting, thuds, and crashes.

Creaaak—

Maldini opened the door.

He saw Suker shirtless, skillfully dodging Gattuso's tackle like a parkour athlete, vaulting over a table with one hand.

"Blehhh!" Suker stuck out his tongue, making a face. "That move won't work on me again!"

Gattuso was fuming, growling as he ran around to corner Suker, only to be outmaneuvered again.

If he could, Gattuso probably would've flipped the tactical table in the center of the room.

Sigh…

Maldini sighed deeply.

He was used to this by now.

At first, he had tried to stop them, get them to behave. Now he'd given up.

Suker and Gattuso were still playing their ghost-chase game.

Maldini plopped down next to Kaká.

"How long have they been at it?"

Kaká, while organizing his bag, looked up and replied, "Since Suker walked into the locker room—they haven't stopped."

Maldini nodded and glanced around.

"Where's Pirlo?"

Suker and Pirlo teaming up to prank Gattuso was nothing new.

In Milan's "prank squad," those two were always involved.

"Haven't seen him," Kaká shook his head. "Guess he's not here yet."

Maldini didn't ask further.

Soon, even Inzaghi had arrived, but Pirlo was still missing.

Finally, Ancelotti walked in, rubbing his forehead, and announced: "Pirlo has the flu. High fever. He won't be playing this match!"

Athletes are human too. Illnesses happen.

The team was a bit disappointed, but also relieved.

Better a fever than a serious injury. With an athlete's physique, he'd probably recover in a week.

With Pirlo out,

Ricardo Oliveira was added to the Champions League squad list.

The team soon finished their preparations and set off for Munich.

By 4 p.m., the Milan team's plane landed in Munich, Germany.

In the first leg of the Champions League quarterfinal, AC Milan had crushed Bayern Munich 5–0, putting Bayern in a very tough spot.

Masses of Bayern fans had shown up at the airport to greet them.

Booooooo!!!!~~~~~~~~~

Waves of jeering erupted in the airport, as enthusiastic Bayern fans nearly booed the Milan squad out of the terminal.

As the man behind the "San Siro Massacre 2.0," Kaká received plenty of "warm greetings" from Bayern fans.

"I told you to take it easy," Suker shrugged, egging him on. "Now look—you're getting booed!"

Kaká looked grim, clenching his teeth. "I'll make them eat their words!"

Seeing Kaká fired up, Suker's lips curled into a smirk.

That's exactly what he'd been waiting for.

"Just pass me the ball. I'll help you!" Suker patted Kaká's shoulder.

Kaká nodded firmly.

The Milan squad had arrived in Munich, and the next day they would face Bayern Munich in the second leg of the Champions League quarterfinal at Allianz Arena.

For Bayern, this was a monumental challenge.

They needed to score six goals at home to advance.

But their opponent was Milan.

It was, frankly, a near-impossible task.

Even Bayern fans and players had splitting headaches thinking about it.

The general consensus was that Bayern had one foot out the door in the Champions League.

Surprisingly, Bayern Munich was eerily quiet before this match—no trash talk at all.

Not that they had any right to.

The last time they taunted Milan, they were absolutely pummeled at San Siro.

When Podolski tried to provoke Milan again, he was once more beaten so badly he couldn't find his bearings.

Now Bayern didn't dare talk big.

They had a few strategies prepared, but even the players and coach weren't confident.

Five goals behind?

How the hell were they supposed to catch up?

Unless an "Allianz Miracle" happened, it just wasn't going to happen.

Bayern Munich had no choice but to charge in.

Score what they could.

Even if they lost, they couldn't afford to lose ugly.