"Suker's doing step-overs, continuous feints—Ashley Cole's getting dizzy—ohhh, he's past him! Terry steps in, Suker pokes the ball—can Inzaghi follow up?"
Inzaghi lunged forward desperately. He managed to get a toe on the ball, but it rolled too slowly and was scooped up by Chelsea's goalkeeper, Cech.
"What a pity! Inzaghi was being held back—if he'd hit the center of the ball, Chelsea would've been in big trouble!"
"Ever since Suker started positioning deeper, Milan's counterattacks have clearly become more aggressive."
Five minutes later, Suker came back with a vengeance.
This time, he began dribbling from near the halfway line.
"Stop him!"
Makelele shouted.
Suker looked up toward the opposite side. Makelele instinctively shifted his footing. In that moment, Suker made a sudden cut and accelerated straight ahead, brushing past Makelele.
"Another one beaten! Suker is charging the back line again!"
Suker lowered his head and charged at Chelsea's defense.
However, Suker pushed too hard—his teammates didn't catch up.
Pato was a step late too.
Gritting his teeth, Suker had no choice but to take the shot himself.
Bang!The ball smacked into Terry's leg and flew out of bounds.
"Corner! Corner! Keep up the pressure!"
Suker shouted loudly.
His fiery form and performance uplifted the spirits of AC Milan's players.
Milan's tactics had now become simple: get the ball to Suker.
Let their superstar's individual brilliance drive the attack and progression.
Suker's ferocious display began to shake Chelsea's ironclad defense.
Mourinho frowned slightly.
In the first half, Suker had played up front, clearly inviting physical duels.
But in the second half, this guy had switched styles.
And become even more aggressive.
"Makelele! Stay on him!"
Mourinho barked. He needed someone to man-mark Suker.
On Chelsea's bench, Shevchenko was shaken.
When he played for AC Milan, Suker had been good—but never this insane.
This was Chelsea's iron defense!
Yet Suker was barging in again and again like he owned the place. Outrageously bold.
And to think—this guy used to play as his support. Shevchenko felt utterly defeated.
Up in the VIP box, Abramovich was beaming with excitement.
Even though Suker was attacking Chelsea's defense, Abramovich knew just how formidable their back line was. But Suker was still managing to pose constant threats.
He hadn't scored yet—but the impact was obvious.
Abramovich's eyes sparkled.
He could feel himself screaming inside:
"Bring him to Stamford Bridge!""Bring him to Stamford Bridge!""We're one Suker away from the Champions League!"
Meanwhile, Berlusconi was equally thrilled.
His fist clenched tightly as he quietly cheered for Suker's performance.
There was no doubt—Suker was Milan's most valuable player.
But soon, Berlusconi's expression dimmed.
Value meant nothing if they couldn't keep him.
With Milan's current situation, would Suker really stay?
When they'd offered him a contract extension, he had kept delaying.
That was a sign.
A sign that he was leaving.
"Danger!"
Abramovich suddenly shouted.
Berlusconi looked up at the pitch.
He saw Suker, surrounded by three players, heading the ball.
Though he didn't manage a shot on goal, he directed the ball to Pato.
Pato fumbled the shot.
The ball scraped just past the goalpost and out of bounds.
After landing, Suker shook his head slightly.
He still didn't say anything.
But that silence made Pato feel even worse.
"Just yell at me already!"
Pato suddenly leaned in and said.
Suker turned in surprise. "Are you nuts?"
"That was my fault—I missed the shot!"
Suker waved his hand. "It's fine. I wasn't expecting much."
Pato's face stiffened.
That hurt more than being scolded.
Just how little faith do you have in me!?
Fuming, Pato stormed down the wing.
Suker glanced sideways and muttered under his breath:
"So easily triggered."
Pato's performance often depended on his emotions.
The stronger the emotion, the better he played.
Whether it was excitement or anger—As long as his fighting spirit was stirred.
Suker wasn't sure if it would work—
But at the very least, it couldn't get worse than it already was.
Chelsea's counterattacks continued.
Drogba, like a beast, kept battering Milan's goal.
It looked like he'd break their defense down any moment. Suker needed more aggressive firepower on the other end.
And right now, the only ones he could count on were Pato—
And Inzaghi.
"I've been drawing all the aggro. Can you two deliver or what, you twigs?"
By the 80th minute, Milan's midfield was collapsing.
The whole team was being pushed into the penalty area. Forget passing—they could barely defend.
Ancelotti began preparing a substitution.
But he only had one sub left—
And a bunch of players who could barely run.
Bang!At that moment, Kaladze finally won a header and cleared the ball high upfield.
Suker looked to both sides, gritted his teeth, and dropped back.
He reached the landing spot just as Lampard charged in.
Suker braced his core, held off Lampard's challenge, and gently cushioned the ball with his toes.
"Pato!"
Suker suddenly switched the ball to the wing.
Pato received it side-on and exploded forward, flying past Makelele.
"Damn it! I hate speedsters!"
Makelele cursed internally—but there was no catching up now. Pato just kept accelerating.
But someone was even faster behind him.
Suker had begun sprinting at full speed.
When unimpeded, Suker's raw pace was terrifying.
Makelele looked like he was moving in slow motion by comparison.
Suker raced up the middle like a bullet.
"Watch Suker! He's through!"
Makelele shouted.
Terry and Carvalho looked up immediately.
They both took a few steps back, ready to collapse on Suker.
Sure enough, Pato sent a cutback pass.
"Close the gap!"
Terry and Carvalho closed in quickly.
They sealed off the middle, blocking Suker's direct path.
Suker stepped forward with his left foot, twisted his body, and used the inside of his right foot to drag the ball across in a 180-degree spin.
At the same time, he directed the ball to the far side.
There, a red-and-black figure surged forward.
The momentum carried Suker into a forward fall, crashing right into Terry.
Carvalho couldn't recover in time either.
As he went down, Suker shouted:
"Filippo!"
Inzaghi had already entered the box.
Facing Cech's challenge, he calmly used his left foot to slot the ball past the keeper's ankle—
Into the net.
87th minute—AC Milan scores!
They've equalized!
"Hell yeah!"
Suker threw his arms up and roared.
Inzaghi, just as excited, tackled Suker to the ground.
The two celebrated wildly together.
That precious goal filled them with joy.
But soon, they noticed something odd.
No one came to celebrate with them!
Just then, a muffled voice came from below Suker.
"I understand you're excited, but can you get off me?"
Terry's expression was one of pure resentment.
He'd just taken a full-body celebration to the face after conceding a goal.
These two were lying on top of him like it was nothing—how could anyone take that?
Suker and Inzaghi quickly got up. Neither felt embarrassed—they just ran off to celebrate with the team.
On the sideline, Mourinho was stunned.
He stared at Suker on the pitch, then glanced at his stats.
Finally, he shredded the data sheet to pieces.
"This guy is an uncontrollable variable!"
In Mourinho's mind, every player had a role and function, each part of a greater system—fitting into tactical frameworks.
But there are rare exceptions—players with freakish talent, long careers, extended peaks, and explosive ceilings.
Mourinho called these types the "King Factor" players.
They are uncontrollable!
Their ceiling—their explosions—are unpredictable!
In weaker teams, they might only show "great" form.
But give them a big enough stage, the right motivation and stimulus—
Their true potential bursts forth.
Just like Suker in this match!
Against Mourinho's famed iron defense, this guy kept hammering away—and finally broke through.
Players like this are once-in-a-generation!
They are born to be the centerpieces.
Absolute cores.