After signing with AC Milan, I will be the king of football!-Chapter 133 - 0109 Burn, Hero! (Subscription Requested)_2

Nesta made way.

Dida rushed up and kicked the ball hard toward the field.

Kevin had just run over to get the ball.

Then the referee blew the halftime whistle.

Kevin looked up.

There were still several seconds of injury time left.

He sighed.

And walked back with his teammates.

Ancelotti handed Kevin a towel, asking with concern, "Are you really okay? Should we substitute you in the second half?"

"I’m fine. You saw the kickoff just now."

Kevin said, smiling.

In any case,

Fat Ancelotti still cared a lot about him.

Ancelotti sighed with relief and said, "It seems the amulet really works. Indeed, when a Chinese is cursed, only a Chinese wizard can help."

Kevin: ...

Damn the Chinese ’wizard.’

That’s called a Taoist.

And it’s his "Immunity Card" that is awesome.

Not some ’amulet’ being useful.

Watching Ancelotti go further and further down the path of mysticism.

Kevin didn’t even know what to say anymore.

Speaking of which, it’s shameful.

It’s all the mischief he, Kevin, had caused.

That led Ancelotti to continuously give money to those charlatans.

Turning him into Milan City’s biggest cash cow.

After returning, he would discuss it with the young mistress.

About giving Ancelotti a raise.

...

In the visitor’s locker room,

The Milan players all sat on the benches.

No one spoke.

The atmosphere wasn’t good.

They were all still angry at the referee.

Inzaghi was the first to break the silence.

"The referee is an idiot. He must have taken money!"

Inzaghi stood up and, venting, kicked the bench.

The force of action is mutual.

The bench was harder than Inzaghi’s foot.

After a dull thud,

Inzaghi cried out in pain.

Hopping around with his right foot,

His movements like a fighting cock.

Together with Inzaghi’s wails, it looked utterly ridiculous.

"Filippo, do another one," Pirlo clapped and egged him on.

Even the stern-faced Vieri was snickering.

Even Ancelotti teased Inzaghi, asking, "You seem injured. Should we substitute you?"

"No way, I haven’t scored yet!"

Inzaghi protested wildly,

and the moment he let go of his right foot, he lost his balance.

He was about to fall backward.

The stubborn Inzaghi flailed his arms in the air.

But he grasped at nothing.

The whole person fell onto the bench.

"Ten points, I give ten points!"

"Well done, Filippo, are you planning to join Cirque du Soleil after retirement?"

"Charlie Chaplin was just lucky. If Filippo had been born a few decades earlier, what would have come of Charlie Chaplin?"

"Hahaha!

Unable to hold back, Kevin slapped Kaka’s thigh and asked, "Filippo, does it hurt?"

Inzaghi responded to the question with a scream.

For a moment, the changing room was filled with joyful atmosphere.

While the team doctor was treating Inzaghi,

everyone shrugged their shoulders and stifled their laughter.

It was unclear whether Inzaghi was genuinely injured,

or he couldn’t handle losing face,

and asked Fat Ancelotti to substitute him.

He only reappeared in the second half.

The fourth official then raised the substitution board.

On the bench, Inzaghi grimaced, clutching his ribs.

Shevchenko stood by the field, ready to enter the fray.

"It looks like Inzaghi is off due to injury." ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

"That shouldn’t be the case, they just had a halftime break."

"Did AC Milan have an infight during the break, or end up fighting with a teammate?"

Zhang worriedly asked.

"It can’t be, AC Milan is quite united, maybe they had a clash with the Central Army in the tunnel."

"Hey, don’t say it, it’s quite possible."

"The referee isn’t handling it well today, players from both sides are fired up."

Pirlo took the ball in the backfield.

Daniel Carvalho charged up to press him.

Pirlo twisted his body to avoid a tackle.

The moment Ambrosini received the pass, Zhirkov was already charging at him.

Seeing Zhirkov’s outstretched foot,

Ambrosini twisted his body to shield the ball.

The opponent’s foot kicked Ambrosini’s foot.

Ambrosini, enduring the pain, passed the ball to Cafu.

He immediately turned and pushed Zhirkov.

"Asshole, you did that on purpose!"

Zhirkov, not backing down,

pushed Ambrosini right back.

Nesta stepped in ready to throw punches.

The referee quickly ran over and stood between them.

He showed yellow cards to both Ambrosini and Zhirkov.

It seemed like a fair decision to blame both.

But Milan was at a big disadvantage.

They originally had the ball possession, now it turned into a free kick for the opposition.

No matter how you look at it, they were at a loss.

Several forwards from the Central Army gathered to discuss their strategy afterward.

Zhirkov and Krasić took their positions behind the ball,

upon the referee’s signal.

Zhirkov ran up and kicked the ball toward the penalty area.

Maldini jumped sideways,

blocking the shot.

The ball deflected into the middle.

Rakhimov, rushing up, fired a distance shot which was blocked by Pirlo’s foot.

The ball flew toward the right side.

Unmarked, Daniel Carvalho controlled the ball at his feet and immediately sent a through pass into the penalty area.

"Wagner Love is charging."

"He is really fast."

"But Nesta is so experienced, he blocked the position well."

"I shield the ball out of bounds, no matter how fast you run, it’s useless."

"AC Milan’s goal kick."

"Oh-oh, Dida just threw the ball to Wagner Love now, Wagner Love didn’t get the ball just now, is this a compensation?"

"Wagner Love again rushes inside from beside Nesta, he shouldn’t be able to get through."

"Wagner Love is trying to force his way through and falls down, isn’t that diving, feigning injury should warrant a card...what?"

"The referee pointed to the twelve-yard spot, penalty, referee awarded a penalty!"

Nesta hadn’t understood what was happening,

when he saw the referee pointing to the twelve-yard spot.

He was about to explode with anger.

Because of his anger, Nesta’s face turned beet red.

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