Reincarnated As A Wonderkid

The ball was back on the center spot, the score was 2-2, and the San Siro was a roaring, trembling cauldron of raw emotion.

Leon stood there, his heart pounding, not with anxiety, but with the thrilling, ice-cold clarity of a hunter who had just spotted a fatal weakness in his prey.

[Optimal Attack Zone identified: Right Flank.]

The message from his 'Manager Mode' was a flashing, neon sign in his mind.

The Sassuolo right-back, a player who had been run ragged by Dimarco and Palmer all game, was on a yellow card and was physically and mentally exhausted.

He was a walking mistake, a ticking time bomb.

As the referee blew his whistle to restart the game, Leon didn't sprint forward.

He jogged over to Cole Palmer.

"Cole," he said, his voice a low, urgent murmur. "Their number 22. He's finished. His legs are gone. Every time you get the ball, I want you to run directly at him. No mercy."

Palmer, his face a mask of cool composure, just gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod.

He understood.

Leon then relayed the same message to Dimarco on the left and Barella in the middle.

The hunt was on.

What followed was a beautiful, brutal, and utterly one-sided assault on Sassuolo's right flank.

The first time Palmer got the ball, he didn't try a clever pass.

He just put his head down and dribbled, a blur of motion aimed directly at the exhausted defender.

The poor man, terrified of conceding a penalty or getting a second yellow card, could only backpedal desperately, allowing Palmer to get to the byline and whip in a dangerous cross that was scrambled away.

Two minutes later, it was Dimarco's turn.

He overlapped with blistering speed, and the right-back couldn't keep up. Another dangerous cross, another panicked clearance.

"INTER HAVE FOUND THE WEAK LINK!" the commentator roared, his voice filled with the thrill of discovery. "They are targeting the Sassuolo right-back with a relentless, merciless assault! It is a siege! The poor man is on an island, surrounded by sharks!"

On the sideline, Coach Chivu saw the shift in tactics.

He looked at Leon, who was conducting the play from the midfield, and a look of profound, impressed understanding passed across his face. He knew. Somehow, he knew this was Leon's plan.

In the 78th minute, the inevitable happened.

Sassuolo, in a desperate attempt to relieve the suffocating pressure, won a corner.

They threw everyone forward, a final, hopeful gamble. The ball was whipped in, and a towering header was met by the iron fists of Yann Sommer, who punched it clear.

The ball was cleared again by Bastoni, and it fell to Sommer's feet.

The Sassuolo team was completely committed, caught high up the pitch. Sommer saw it.

In his mind's eye, he saw the acres of green grass, the single, lonely defender on the halfway line. And he saw a blur of motion, a tiny, indefatigable mosquito who had started his sprint the moment the ball was saved. Julián Álvarez.

Sommer didn't hesitate. He didn't kick it.

He launched the ball with a powerful, flat, overarm throw, a thunderbolt of a pass that flew 70 yards through the air, perfectly weighted, a pass that any quarterback in the world would have been proud of.

The ball bounced once, perfectly into the path of the sprinting Julián.

The entire stadium was on its feet.

Julián was one-on-one with the last defender.

He ran at him, a manic, joyful grin on his face.

The defender didn't know whether to tackle him or run away.

Julián feinted to shoot, sending the defender stumbling, and then he was past him, bearing down on the keeper.

The keeper came rushing out. Julián, with the composure of a veteran, simply chipped the ball over his head.

It floated in a perfect, gentle arc, and nestled into the back of the empty net.

3-2 to Inter!

The San Siro imploded. The Inter bench cleared, every single player and staff member sprinting to mob their goalkeeper. A GOALKEEPER ASSIST IN THE SCUDETTO RACE!

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT! I DO NOT BELIEVE WHAT I HAVE JUST SEEN!" the commentator screamed, his voice completely gone. "A GOAL FROM A GOALKEEPER'S THROW! A 70-YARD PASS OF PURE, UNADULTERATED AUDACITY! Julián Álvarez, the agent of chaos, the super-sub, has surely won the match for Inter! That is one of the most incredible, most ridiculous, most brilliant goals you will ever see!"

The third goal didn't just break Sassuolo's defense; it shattered their will.

They were a beaten, exhausted team, waiting for the final whistle. Inter, on the other hand, was now playing with a joyous, ruthless freedom.

In the 85th minute, they put the final nail in the coffin.

The ball was worked to Julián Álvarez on the edge of the box.

He was an unstoppable ball of confidence now. He was marked tightly, with no obvious path to goal. He feinted to go right, then dragged the ball back, sending his defender sliding past. He looked up, and for a player not known for his finesse, he produced a moment of pure, unadulterated beauty.

He curled the ball with the outside of his right foot. It was a strange, audacious, wonderful shot, a "trivela" that started wide of the post and bent back in a vicious, beautiful arc.

The keeper was a statue. The ball flew past him and crashed into the side netting.

4-2. Game over.

"HE'S DONE IT AGAIN!" the commentator wailed, laughing now.

"JULIÁN ÁLVAREZ! The mosquito has become a dragon! A goal of pure, South American flair! He has won this game single-handedly! Inter are on the brink of glory!"

The final whistle blew a few minutes later. The players collapsed to the grass, not in despair, but in pure, triumphant exhaustion. They had faced a scare. They had stared into the abyss of another disastrous draw. And they had come roaring back, led by the intelligence of one player and the chaotic genius of another.

They did their lap of honor, the applause of the San Siro washing over them, a sound of pure love and relief.

As they walked off the pitch, their job done, their eyes were all drawn to the giant screen in the stadium, which was now showing the final score from the other crucial match of the day.

[Serie A - Final Score]

[AC Milan 2 - 1 Lazio]

A quiet, determined silence fell over the group. They had done their part.

But their rivals had done theirs too.

The updated table flashed onto the screen, and the reality of their situation was laid bare for all to see.

[Serie A - Standings]

1. Inter Milan - 90 pts

2. AC Milan - 87 pts

One game left.

Their final match... was away, against Lazio.

The very team that had just lost to AC Milan.

The very team that would have nothing to play for but pride, and the sheer, unadulterated joy of stopping their hated rivals from winning the Scudetto on the final day.