Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

Chapter 47: Longing from Spain

"Magic continues—'Lucky Kid' helps Milan secure back-to-back wins!"

"Mysterious power? Since Li Ang joined Milan, Napoli's dropped two straight!"

"Winter Champions secured—Milan's key to first-half success."

"Allegri: Stubborn, but successful."

"Zlatan, the key to Milan's victories."

After AC Milan's win over Udinese and their coronation as the 2010–2011 Serie A winter champions, it seemed like all of Italy was caught up in praising Milan's achievements.

Sure, when the season began and Milan's form was still shaky, the press in Milan hadn't gone easy on Allegri. His tactics were ugly, the results weren't great, and he seemed dead set on pushing out the old guard.

But now?

Now, any criticism of Allegri's tactics was reduced to the occasional note about them being "too conservative."

No one questioned their effectiveness anymore.

Because the man who had brought Milan back to the top of Serie A for the first time in six years—and done so with clinical efficiency—had earned the media's and fans' support.

Pretty football?

Forget it.

If they had to grind out every match, Milan fans would grit their teeth and suffer through it, just to keep seeing their club perched atop the league table.

If you win, all is forgiven.

And Li Ang? He was really starting to understand the difference between Milan fans and Madridistas.

Back at Real Madrid, he'd had to deal with the most fickle, demanding supporters in the world.

Even just sitting on the bench, he'd felt the sting of boos from his own fans.

He got used to it—but that didn't make it feel any better.

January 10th, 2:00 p.m.

The day after the win over Udinese.

After sleeping in and eating well, Li Ang popped a bottle of his mid-grade stamina recovery potion—the kind the system gave him every 10 days.

Recharged and refreshed, he headed straight to Milanello for an extra training session.

A video of him driving into the facility went viral online that very afternoon.

Milan fans noticed.

But just like always, Li Ang didn't care about the chatter.

Good or bad, he ignored it all.

After his extra session, he followed Allegri's instructions and hit the therapy center for massage and muscle relaxation. By the time he finally drove home, it was nearly 6:00 p.m.

The next day?

Same story.

While the rest of the squad rested, Li Ang kept working.

So when Milan's first-team training resumed on January 12th, Li Ang was already miles ahead in fitness and form.

Even Flamini and Merkel, who'd previously felt a bit slighted, had no more complaints.

They couldn't match his defense. Couldn't match his stamina. Couldn't match his work ethic.

They accepted their place.

With internal friction eased, a strong league standing, and a winning streak in progress, Milan's training ground atmosphere felt lighter than it had in weeks.

January 16th, 8:45 p.m.

Serie A, Round 20. Milan traveled to face the feisty underdogs of Lecce.

On paper, Lecce looked like a relegation team. Bottom-tier in the standings. Not worth worrying about.

But Allegri took them seriously.

Because Lecce was a classic "giant killer."

Sure, they'd lost plenty—but they'd also drawn Inter at home and nearly beat Napoli away.

Last round?

They stunned Lazio on the road.

Three of Serie A's top four had already tasted their bite. Only Milan had beaten them clean.

But Lecce were riding high after that shock win, and Allegri didn't want to be the next victim.

So what did he do?

He parked the bus.

A 4-3-2-1 Christmas tree, built to endure.

Pirlo, Li Ang, and Gattuso all started as holding mids. Seedorf and Boateng sat ahead. Only Zlatan started up top.

Safe. Solid. Ultra-conservative.

Lecce, meanwhile, came in aggressive—probably not expecting Milan to play so cautiously.

Last time, they'd sat back and countered. Now they were being forced to play proactive football.

Milan fans were used to it.

By now, they knew the pattern: every match starts as a coin flip. If it's ugly, it's ugly.

As long as they get three points, they'll take it.

And so, Milan slowly suffocated the first half. They clamped down on Lecce's attack, refused to press, refused to engage—and took the game into the break with a grueling 0–0.

The play was ugly enough to hurt the eyes.

Even the players thought so.

But Allegri?

He was smiling.

And yet, at halftime, he surprised them again.

"Second half—hit them early!

If they press, we press harder.

Chaos favors us.

We've got five midfielders—use it. Seedorf, build up with Zlatan.

Boateng, crash forward.

Catch them off guard!"

Li Ang wasn't sure.

All-out chaos?

No structure?

Was this… really better for Milan?

But then the second half kicked off.

Boateng won two loose balls in quick succession, ripping off shots both times.

Zlatan bullied Lecce's midfield, cracked one off the post, and snarled like a wolf.

"This actually works?!

Allegri… are you secretly a tactical monk?!"

Li Ang hadn't even finished his thought before Zlatan scored.

Seedorf's through-ball found the Swede in stride, and this time he didn't miss.

1–0 Milan.

"Drop back! Everyone back!"

Allegri didn't even wait for celebrations to end before screaming orders.

All eleven dropped deep. Bunkered down.

And Milan?

Held the line.

Not pretty.

Not elegant.

But when the final whistle blew, they'd won their third straight league match.

Li Ang had once again led the team in defensive stats and earned another wave of praise from fans and media.

But not far away in Spain, the mood was different.

Real Madrid had just played two straight draws.

3–3. 2–2.

The midfield and defense looked shaky again.

And this time…

There would be no familiar long-haired teen to rise off the bench and steady the ship.

No Little Lion to save the day.

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