Mancho is a good person

"From 2-0 to 2-4, it took a mere eight minutes. The Nerazzurri are probably still struggling to comprehend what actually happened and why the world has turned upside down."

"Mancini scored a hat-trick, but I do not believe he deserves the lion's share of the credit for this match. Dejan's opening long pass, followed immediately by a solo run to equalize, that was the absolute turning point of the game."

"Inter Milan have fallen to Sampdoria once again. Klinsmann escaped by the skin of his teeth due to injury, but even if all three Germans had started, it wouldn't have changed the outcome."

"After claiming the Coppa Italia last season, Sampdoria have now captured the Supercoppa Italiana. Yet this is merely the beginning, and it feels as though the journey is far from over."

"On such a frenetic night, we must congratulate Dejan and his teammates, congratulate Boskov and his coaching staff, and we must offer our praise to Paolo Mantovani. He utilized a precious foreign player quota, and the results are plain for all to see—he has secured a new emperor!"

Rossi shouted with a hint of agitation.

Despite his lengthy career and the vast number of years spent both playing and broadcasting, a match of this magnitude still stirred intense emotion within him.

The madness of four goals in eight minutes was a phenomenon nearly impossible to rationalize.

The city of Genoa had transformed into an ocean of joy, with only the supporters of Genoa C.F.C. nursing their quiet grief in the shadows.

Their club was named after the city, but henceforth, whenever anyone mentioned Genoa, the first team that sprang to mind would invariably be Sampdoria.

Fans in the stands waved their club flags with ferocious energy, straining their throats as they roared.

Strangers and acquaintances alike embraced one another tightly.

The WAGs and family members were equally ecstatic.

Quite a few of them were already waving from the stands—a scene entirely distinct from the demeanor of the English WAG contingent.

This was because Sampdoria was a youthful side, and the average age of their partners barely exceeded twenty-one.

"Let's go, it's time for the presentation," Boskov reminded them.

The veteran coach had already regained his composure, yet the smile at the corner of his mouth proved impossible to suppress.

This championship had arrived with delightful unexpectedness.

"I went and scored a hat-trick, Boss!" Mancini shouted toward Mantovani.

The aging president applauded with a beaming smile; this Genoese businessman possessed a genuine, profound love for his hometown club.

"That long pass today was brilliant," Vialli remarked as they walked down the tunnel toward the dressing room.

Every delivery was perfectly weighted, allowing him to time his run and receive the ball precisely where he needed it. The feeling was simply magnificent.

With a defender of Bergomi's caliber contesting every inch, even the slightest miscalculation in the trajectory—requiring an extra touch to adjust or drag the ball—could result in an interception or a blocked shot.

These were quite simply some of the most comfortable minutes of his professional career.

Otherwise, were Inter's world-class defenders just standing around doing nothing? They hardly allowed him to execute successful passes unhindered every single time.

Even Vialli wouldn't dare claim he could comfortably take a touch, dribble past Bergomi, and still deliver a pristine ball into the heart of the box.

Lu Deyang smiled and waved dismissively.

The [Effenberg] trait was simply monstrous.

Many mistook him for a pure forward or a brute, but in truth, he was the orchestrator of Bayern's midfield.

Though he and Matthäus did not see eye to eye, his own moral compass was hardly spotless—he had brazenly stolen a teammate's wife, only to discard her the moment the novelty wore off.

Green pitch Hollywood remained the most tumultuous theater in football, just as the Glazer family would later forcefully propel Manchester United to heights the Red Devils never truly belonged to.

After briefly tidying up their appearance, the entire Sampdoria squad lined up on either side to afford the Inter players a guard of honor as they ascended the podium to collect their medals.

The Inter players moved with brisk haste, striding up the steps and immediately descending the other side, displaying zero attachment to the occasion.

The Italian Super Cup simply did not carry that kind of weight.

Yet even in a mere friendly, surrendering a lead to suffer a comeback was deeply bitter, and conceding four goals in eight minutes guaranteed they would be firmly nailed to the pillar of shame.

Baresi glanced back over his shoulder.

Every member of the Sampdoria squad wore a radiant smile.

Sigh.

Baresi turned and strode into the tunnel. He was no longer young, and he had no way of knowing whether he would ever have another chance to redeem this defeat.

Roar—

When it was Sampdoria's turn, the San Siro finally erupted into cheers.

Even the Rossoneri fans were applauding Sampdoria's display.

This was the magic of football; until the very final second, no one could predict what might unfold.

Antonio Matarrese, the president of the Italian Football Federation, draped the medals around the players' necks.

"Dejan, I hope you achieve even greater honors and allow more fans to experience the allure of the Italian league," Matarrese said.

He had always been accommodating toward exceptional foreign talents.

After all, if they became unhappy, they could always transfer; Serie A wasn't the absolute only destination.

While the English First Division was currently struggling, La Liga and the Bundesliga still boasted plenty of giants.

"Thank you."

Lu Deyang accepted his medal and followed his teammates down the steps.

Mancini clutched the trophy with palpable excitement. Last year, right here at this very San Siro, they had fallen short against the red half of Milan, forced to watch helplessly as their rivals claimed the crown.

A year later, they were finally the victors.

And everything had been transformed by his good brother.

"Mancio, get over here!" Pari waved and shouted.

"Idiot, don't call me that!" Mancini yelled back.

A group of players squatted behind the trophy, joined by the coaching staff and the elderly president.

Although the triumphal arch had been prepared by the British for the Olympic football tournament as early as 1908 and had gradually grown in popularity, the Italian Super Cup organizers had neglected to make similar arrangements for its second edition, illustrating once more that the Italians faced minor organizational flaws across the board.

The eventual decline of Serie A would stem from far more than mere economic and broadcasting factors.

The rudimentary venue, however, could not dampen anyone's spirits.

Amidst the countdown of the supporters, Mancini hoisted the trophy high into the air.

"Champions!"

"Champions!"

"Champions!"

Compared to the long-absent Pellegrini, Mancini proved a much more reliable vice-captain.

Photographers' shutters clicked incessantly.

Mantovani and Boskov each grabbed one of Lu Deyang's arms, posing intimately for a photograph together. Combined, the two older men had over a century of life experience between them, yet both smiled so broadly their faces crinkled into map-like lines.

"Congratulations, my darling!"

Monica bounded into Lu Deyang's arms, immediately prompting catcalls and whistles from nearby teammates.

Lu Deyang chuckled as he raised his middle finger, gesturing for them to bugger off.

"Dejan's buying drinks tonight!" Mancini bellowed, terrified someone might somehow remain unaware.

Lu Deyang glanced sidelong at the showboating bastard; he would have to find time to teach him how to play Dou Dizhu.

"Dejan..."

Pezzoti approached him.

"Doping control?" Lu Deyang asked.

"Of course not, you've passed every time. If they're going to test anyone, they should thoroughly inspect the Germans," Pezzoti joked, well aware that Germany had long been rumored to have a heavy pharmacological footprint.

Lu Deyang rolled his eyes; Italy wasn't exactly trailing far behind in that regard.

"Go on to the press conference. The press has an insatiable appetite for you, and since you haven't given interviews in a long time, Vujadin might struggle to handle them alone."

"Alright."

Lu Deyang patted Monica's back and turned toward the player tunnel.

Watching Lu Deyang's retreating figure, Monica pressed her thighs together tightly.

...

The Meazza press conference hall.

Baresi and Trapattoni were already seated, both offering polite, dignified nods.

Lu Deyang returned the gesture in kind.

The moment he and Boskov took their seats, the assembly of journalists instantly surged with restless energy.

"Dejan, do you have any comments regarding Charles's high praise?"

"Dejan, tell us about your passing. Do you feel you were the primary architect behind today's victory?"

"How do you evaluate Mancini, considering he just served a four-match suspension and then returned to score a hat-trick today?"

"Mr. Boskov, what are the team's targets going forward? Will Sampdoria dip into the winter transfer market?"

"Giovanni, who bears the responsibility for today's defeat?"

"Giuseppe, do you think Franco and the lads will win their next encounter against Sampdoria?"

"..."

English, Italian, German—the room dissolved into a cacophony.

Though fewest in number, the British journalists managed to generate the most volume; Fleet Street remained a century ahead of its continental peers in this specific craft.

Boskov spread his palms, signaling for the Inter contingent to speak first.

Once he and Lu Deyang answered, the reporters might lose focus, potentially leaving the Inter manager and captain in an awkward position.

Trapattoni pulled the microphone closer and said, "I have no desire to criticize anyone, because my players gave everything they had. The players did nothing wrong, so if we lost, the responsibility rests entirely on my shoulders. If I had managed to persuade the president to sign Dejan during the summer, the situation might have been entirely different."

Boom—

Absolute pandemonium!

The reporters had expected his usual stock responses, yet he had just dropped a bombshell of this magnitude.

One had to remember that Inter's three foreign player slots were occupied entirely by Germans. If Trapattoni had wanted to sign Lu Deyang, precisely who would they have had to offload?

"Are you expressing dissatisfaction with Matthäus?"

"Does this mean Klinsmann is no longer vital to Inter?"

"Do you believe Brehme isn't good enough?"

Trapattoni suddenly remembered the implications of his words and awkwardly clarified, "That wasn't my intention at all, but reality is what it is. If you ask anyone else, they would want Dejan as well."

With that, he pushed the microphone away.

Giuseppe Baresi hastily stepped in to rescue his mentor, stating, "Today's match has left the entire squad deeply saddened, but that is the reality of football. As for my brother, I sincerely hope he achieves favorable results."

The master and disciple stood up together and departed the press conference room.

Even a typically level-headed coach had spoken out of turn in the wake of a defeat, and Baresi feared what else might slip out if they stayed.

The dressing room was already harboring underlying tensions due to Matthäus's prior remarks.

If the players genuinely believed the coach was dissatisfied with Matthäus as well, things would get wonderfully chaotic; someone might well proactively ignite a conflict, especially since Matthäus wasn't exactly the most universally beloved figure.

Boskov addressed the media directly: "We are not considering reinforcements in the winter. Even with a few minor injuries, our current squad is fully equipped to handle every competition."

He wanted to spare his players any anxiety regarding their positions; the team had finally achieved a delicate equilibrium.

"What about today's match? Was the victory entirely down to Dejan?" a reporter pressed.

"I would love to claim that football is purely a collective sport," Boskov said with a smile. "However, certain individuals transcend the collective, transforming football into an exercise in individual heroism. Whenever I need it, my team always possesses such a hero, and as Giovanni mentioned, he is quite envious."

"The coach is exaggerating; the victory is the fruit of everyone's labor," Lu Deyang pulled the microphone toward him.

"My teammates are second to none. Their defending carries a distinct Italian flair, our midfielders possess ample composure and ball-retention ability, and our forwards are exceptionally clinical. That is the true foundation of our triumph."

Boskov smiled and lowered his microphone.

Lu Deyang's response reassured him deeply; humility was the quickest path for a player to win enduring respect within the dressing room.

No one wanted a teammate who claimed all the glory after a win while dodging blame the moment they lost.

"How do you view the royal family's fans? They seem very supportive of you," a journalist inquired.

Lu Deyang immediately caught the drift, pausing for a few seconds before smiling. "It's wonderful that they enjoy watching Sampdoria. We treat every supporter equally, though certain individuals naturally attract more attention. The Princess is a deeply compassionate person, and we will support her charitable endeavors through our actions. Their Princes attend ordinary schools, which is vital—it demonstrates that she remains connected to the common people, and I believe the whole world is pleased to witness that. Of course, Prince Charles is also remarkable, though I hear The Sun is always rather fond of photographing him. Is that true?"

"Not at all, we focus much more on the Princess," the reporter replied without missing a beat.

He happened to be from The Sun.

Lu Deyang fought down a mental urge to sigh—couldn't these bastards go bother Charles and Camilla instead?

"Very well, I suppose I received faulty intelligence, though Prince Charles certainly possesses plenty of charm," Lu Deyang noted smoothly.

William took after his father, after all.

Break up, find someone else, return to Kate. Grow tired of it, break up, find someone else, return to Kate—it was an endless cycle.

For Kate to endure all of that meant she was far from ordinary; calling it pure love felt almost insulting. Even if she were paired with massive football stars, one doubted she could stomach such treatment. Ultimately, the Mountbatten-Windsor surname played a heavy role.

"Let's talk about the match, Dejan. You had to come on for the team to complete the comeback—does that mean Sampdoria has inherent flaws?" another journalist asked.

Lu Deyang instantly shifted his expression, turning serious as he answered, "Even when trailing, my teammates expended a massive amount of the opponent's stamina. That exhaustion was the true root of the comeback. No one can win a football match entirely by themselves, not even Pelé or Beckenbauer."

"What about Mancini? How do you evaluate his performance today, and his flying kick against Dunga earlier?" the reporter probed.

Lu Deyang replied deadpan, "Mancio—that nickname implies a gentleman. With a moniker like that, you needn't doubt him for a second; Roberto is a gentle, refined soul. In private, he enjoys reading, studying philosophy, and has a weakness for sweets. He is compassionate and brimming with passion for life. He's rather like Italy's James Bond—dangerous in the eyes of his enemies, but the moment you get close, you discover his irresistible charm. While he can occasionally be hot-headed, he genuinely cares for everyone around him. His hat-trick was the reward for his relentless hard work. As for the earlier red card, I have no desire to point fingers at the referee or anyone else, but Mancio is no villain..."