Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

Chapter 46: If You've Got Questions, You Can Ask Me

"Admit it—you really are our lucky charm! All our scoring luck has gone to you!"

"Finally broke through Udinese's defense. I almost thought we were up against Julio César!"

"Well done, well done!"

"Damn it, you're a seriously likable kid!"

As his teammates howled and shouted around him, Li Ang's head was buzzing.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought he heard the system's notification sound—but whatever it said was drowned out by the celebratory chaos.

Finally, after all the hugging and shouting, Gattuso and Zlatan helped pull him off the ground.

Only then did Li Ang have a moment to soak in the moment—his first real chance for a little solo celebration.

He had no idea what to do.

He didn't have a go-to celebration prepared.

So, instinctively, he copied the pose of a fictional character he used to like in his past life—Dybala's famous "mask" pose.

One hand pointed toward the southern stand where the most diehard Milan ultras roared, while the other hand formed a circle with his thumb and index finger, placed just under his nose in a mask gesture.

The crowd erupted again.

The fans loved it.

It wasn't just the move—it was the face.

That fresh, beaming, sunlit face of a young hero in red and black. The cameras flashed madly. Reporters frantically scribbled notes.

This celebration might just become Milan's new fashion trend of the week.

Allegri and his assistant had already finished their sideline celebration.

Now, the manager stood on the edge of the technical area, waving frantically to his players as they jogged back into position.

"Shut them down! No counter! We go into halftime with the lead!"

Under Allegri's booming orders, the Rossoneri quickly settled into a deep, compact block.

Li Ang and Gattuso pulled back even closer to the 30-meter defensive zone.

Boateng dropped into a sweeping role near the center circle.

Even lazy Robinho had no choice now—he hustled to get into formation.

At this point, only Zlatan was allowed to keep standing high, acting as the lone striker and offensive threat.

But his mere presence pinned Udinese's back line. They couldn't commit fully to the attack while the Lion stalked near their box.

Udinese started to panic.

From the coach to the players, the whole squad looked frantic to equalize before halftime.

But Milan's defensive lines were tight. The clock was ticking. Time wasn't on their side.

They threw everything into three or four fast break attempts.

But Milan's midfield, packed in tight, refused to break.

Sánchez's talents were useless without space.

Di Natale was starved for service and had to drop deeper and deeper to get touches—robbing him of his killer instinct inside the box.

A predator that leaves the penalty area?

Might as well be a house cat.

By the time the halftime whistle blew, Li Ang could feel the frustration radiating off the Udinese players around him.

It was perfect.

Tactically ugly, maybe—but damn effective.

He gave Allegri an invisible thumbs up in his head.

Milan might not be pretty to watch, but they were lethal. Make the opponent lose their cool—and the match was already halfway won.

In the dressing room, Li Ang was once again the center of attention.

Everyone cracked jokes. Everyone praised him. Allegri, too.

What else could the coach say? Li Ang had been nothing but surprises.

Last match: a game-changing assist.

This match: a goal of his own, breaking Udinese's resistance.

And the defense? As solid as ever.

He'd earned every bit of praise.

"Second half, we keep suffocating their wings. But be alert—if Sánchez switches to the left, Li Ang, you and Gennaro need to switch, too.

Shut him down. Whatever it takes.

Also, be ready for an early sub—if they try to storm us straight from kickoff, stay sharp."

Allegri laid out tactical contingencies.

Maybe they'd need them. Maybe not.

But at least the defenders were mentally prepared.

After going over the defense, the coach turned to the offense.

"They'll be throwing everything forward.

That means counters.

Just clean up the finishing and we kill the match."

Robinho looked a bit awkward—he'd missed too many chances in the first half.

Zlatan just nodded, focused and silent. You could tell—he was ready to finish it himself.

The second half kicked off. The mood was tense but confident.

Sure enough, Udinese made a change.

Domizzi came off. Denis came on.

Sánchez shifted to the left wing. Udinese were switching to a 4-3-3.

"Li Ang!"

Gattuso called out.

Li Ang responded immediately, trading places with the veteran to cover Sánchez's new position.

The battle resumed.

Sánchez came at him again—and again—and again.

Sometimes he got past. Most times, he didn't.

When Li Ang was out of position, Abate was right there to clean up.

Together, they sealed the flank like a coffin lid.

Without service, Denis and Di Natale struggled to get involved.

Eventually, Udinese had no choice. They simplified the plan: throw crosses into the box.

Denis finally had a role.

But Thiago Silva was a beast.

Of the 11 crosses Udinese whipped in after the break, 8 were cleared by either Silva or Bonera.

Di Natale got one shot off under pressure—skied it.

Denis won two headers—both harmless.

Meanwhile, Milan bided their time.

Finally, in the 83rd minute—

Zlatan struck.

Cassano, just subbed on, slipped a perfect through ball past the back line.

Zlatan rounded the keeper and tapped into an empty net.

3–0.

Game over.

San Siro went berserk.

"WE'RE WINTER CHAMPIONS!"

No matter what Napoli did in their match, Milan were now officially the halfway leaders of Serie A 2010–2011.

Li Ang high-fived his teammates, beaming.

Two games since arriving. Two starts. Two wins. Thirty system points earned.

How could he not be thrilled?

"Li Ang, if you ever have questions—come ask me."

As Pirlo clapped his hand and pulled him in for a hug, Li Ang finally received the nod of approval he'd been waiting for.

"Thanks in advance, Andrea."

"Hah, don't mention it."

As they separated, Li Ang clenched a fist toward the sky.

"Mission accomplished."

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