0011 Which jersey number do you prefer? (Please support by subscribing and voting)

Monica, barefoot, gently drew aside the curtains; outside, dawn was breaking, though the sky had yet to fully brighten. She glanced at Lu Deyang, still deep in slumber. Having just completed her transformation, Monica Bellucci rose and made her way to the bathroom.

Washing long hair was cumbersome, so she decided against it. After a simple freshening up, she applied a light touch of makeup to ensure that when her beloved awoke, he would see her at her most perfect.

She hadn’t brought a change of clothes, and her hair was casually tied back with a hairband. Once ready, Monica quietly settled on the sofa, watching over the sleeping Lu Deyang.

They had only known each other for a few days.

She had always considered herself a rational person, but when confronted with reality, she realized that emotions often defied reason. She had previously given up law school to pursue modeling. Now, she wanted to alter the course of her life once more.

About half an hour later, when Lu Deyang awoke, breakfast was already laid out on the service cart, accompanied by several widely circulated newspapers.

“Did you not eat?” Lu Deyang asked.

Monica leaned in to kiss him and replied, “Not hungry yet. I was waiting to eat with you. By the way, someone called for you earlier.”

Lu Deyang searched his pants and pulled out a pager. “It’s the club. Probably something urgent. If you’re curious, you can check it.”

“No, I’m not curious,” Monica smiled and shook her head.

Her mother was a painter and a homemaker, and many aspects of Monica’s demeanor were influenced by her.

Lu Deyang picked up the phone and made a call. After a brief exchange, he asked in surprise, “Who did you say? Gianni Rivera wants to see me? Is it the Rivera I know?”

“Yes, it’s him—the former superstar of AC Milan!” The coach on the other end advised, “Deyang, he probably wants you to join Milan. Don’t miss this opportunity.”

“Don’t worry, coach,” Lu Deyang replied. Holding the receiver between his shoulder and ear, he asked, “Should I contact him directly?”

“No need. I’ll call him back. We’re old acquaintances,” said Scala on the line.

“Alright, I’ll wait for your call,” said Lu Deyang.

Just as he hung up, Monica threw herself onto him with delightful surprise. “They want you to play for AC Milan? Really? I’m so happy for you, darling!”

“Maybe. I can’t be sure yet,” Lu Deyang said. Though excited at first, his rational mind had returned. There was an unavoidable issue—the foreign player slots at AC Milan.

The team already had three Dutch players. Were they really going to sell Rijkaard or Gullit to make room for him?

“If you play in Milan, you’ll become a star quickly. Promise me you won’t become a playboy like Maldini,” Monica asked with concern.

As a second-generation football star, Maldini had been notorious for his nightlife antics in his early days, only changing after a stern talk from Sacchi—a story he later recounted in his autobiography.

“Don’t worry, I’m not that kind of jerk,” Lu Deyang laughed, then looked at Monica and asked, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Monica replied stiffly, steadying herself.

“Then let’s eat breakfast quickly. We might have to go to Milan to meet Mr. Rivera later,” Lu Deyang said, pulling Monica along.

A man in love could be surprisingly clingy. They fed each other, and if not for the important meeting ahead, they likely would have found another place to continue their intimacy.

The phone rang at just the right moment, interrupting them.

“Deyang, Gianni Rivera is already driving to Genoa. Wait for him in the hotel restaurant,” Scala said briefly before hanging up.

Lu Deyang hurried to find his clothes. Genoa was just over 100 kilometers from Milan.

“Too bad you don’t have a suit,” Monica said, helping him straighten his denim jacket. “In a suit, you’d be the most handsome man in all of the Apennines.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the entire Apennines no matter what you wear,” Lu Deyang said, holding her waist.

Monica’s eyes glistened with affection. They kissed repeatedly until Monica wiped the lipstick from his lips with a towel, and then they headed to the hotel restaurant.

Genoa was a tourist hotspot year-round, and the restaurant was still quite full.

Lu Deyang ordered a coffee to keep alert.

“You don’t seem as composed as yesterday. I thought you weren’t afraid of anything,” Monica teased, sipping her lemonade.

“That’s because it’s Rivera!” Lu Deyang said. “AC Milan’s and Italy’s legendary midfielder. Anyone who loves football knows the honor that name carries.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re even better. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have driven all the way here,” Monica smiled.

While waiting, Lu Deyang noticed an elderly man repeatedly glancing their way but paid no mind. After all, a Chinese man with a beautiful Italian woman naturally attracted attention.

Just as Lu Deyang ordered a second coffee, a windblown Rivera approached them, removed his hat, and said, “Sorry to interrupt your date, but I have something important. May I meet your companion, Deyang?”

“Monica Bellucci, my girlfriend,” Lu Deyang replied.

“Well then, Miss Bellucci, I apologize once again. If I were younger, I doubt I’d like the man I am now. I might even think, ‘What a nuisance this old man is,’” Rivera joked self-deprecatingly.

Monica covered her mouth, laughing softly. “You’re quite witty. So, you’re here to ask Deyang to join AC Milan?”

“Yes, exactly!” Rivera nodded excitedly. “I guarantee Deyang will become another flagbearer for AC Milan. That guy Gigi introduced you to me, and I’ve learned a lot about you recently. You’re a natural Milan player…”

His words filled Monica’s face with radiant joy. She hadn’t expected Rivera to hold Lu Deyang in such high regard.

Lu Deyang remained silent, stirring his coffee slowly as he listened.

When Rivera finished, Lu Deyang asked, “Sir, is AC Milan planning to sell one of Rijkaard, Gullit, or Van Basten?”

Rivera was momentarily stunned. After clearing his throat, he said, “I’m trying to push for a policy allowing four foreign players or three on the field. Many old friends agree. You can continue developing. I promise, at most three years, no, two years, and you’ll be playing in Milan.”

Lu Deyang nodded. He could see Rivera’s faith in him. Otherwise, the legendary player wouldn’t have driven over a hundred kilometers early in the morning to meet him.

But Rivera no longer held real power in Milan. The real decision-making belonged to Berlusconi’s right-hand man, Galliani.

To spare Rivera embarrassment, Lu Deyang asked about amusing anecdotes from his playing days.

Even if Rivera held power, Lu Deyang knew he couldn’t pin his future on someone else’s promises. With difficulty obtaining a work permit in England, perhaps Germany or Spain would be better options.

After chatting for over an hour, Lu Deyang and Rivera exchanged contacts. After promising to visit Rivera’s home next time, they stood to see the former star off.

“You can tell he really likes you, darling,” Monica said proudly.

“Too bad he isn’t the Milan chairman,” Lu Deyang shook his head.

“It’s not a big deal. If you play abroad, I’ll go with you. I can also resume law studies then. Being a lawyer has always been my dream,” Monica comforted him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your conversation,” a man nearby said, stepping forward to introduce himself. “I’m Paolo Mantovani. I have a team. If you’re looking for a job, why not consider us? What jersey number do you like? Our team’s doing well—Sampdoria is Genoa’s pride!”

Lu Deyang was puzzled. No wonder the old man had been watching them earlier.

“I suppose you don’t know me. I’m currently with Reggina, just promoted from Serie C2. Why invite me to join Sampdoria all of a sudden?” Lu Deyang asked.

Mantovani sat down where Rivera had been moments ago and smiled. “The fact that Rivera drove all this way this morning to convince you to wait for AC Milan says it all. I trust Rivera’s judgment!”