"FXXK!"
Guardiola had always considered himself a cultured man, someone who rarely swore or lost his temper.
But now, he just couldn't hold it in anymore.
That old fox Ancelotti had used every trick in the book to stall for time—including that fake possession routine, which had eaten up a full ten minutes of the match.
Even though Barcelona quickly adjusted and launched an intense pressing counterattack, AC Milan had already dropped everyone back.
That's right—a full retreat.
Apart from Suker, everyone else fell back to park the bus.
Even Barcelona's famous possession play couldn't break through such an airtight defense.
Sure, Messi was a lethal weapon, no doubt.
But Milan now resorted to frequent fouls and aggressive physical challenges to restrict him.
Same with Iniesta—his influence was limited.
By the end of the first half, three AC Milan players had already picked up yellow cards:Kaká, Suker, and Pirlo.
This made things even more complicated.
If the bookings had gone to defenders, Milan could have still pressed—but now it was their midfield core carrying cards.
Meanwhile, Ambrosini and Jankulovski still had room to pick up cards—a tactical advantage.
Barcelona became increasingly anxious.
They urgently wanted a goal to level the aggregate score.
But AC Milan refused to give an inch.
The match atmosphere grew increasingly combative.
The rain was still falling, showing no sign of letting up.
The pitch was slippery, making the ball unpredictable on the wet grass.
Losing the first contact often meant losing the second ball too.
With players tiring, sliding, and clashing, tempers began to flare on both sides.
BANG!Barcelona launched a long ball from the back, targeting their forward line.
Eto'o quickly judged the flight and charged after it.
For Milan, Pirlo followed right behind him.
WHOOSH! WHOOSH!The two players leapt into the air at the same time, colliding mid-air.
BANG!Pirlo gritted his teeth and won the header.
"Suker!"
Suker immediately moved in to receive, but just as he turned, his foot slipped on the wet ground, stumbling forward as the ball was booted away by an opponent.
He still tried to chase it.
Then, he heard Barcelona defender Marquez shouting at him.
"Hey hey!"
He said something else too—but Suker couldn't understand.
Marquez frantically pointed up the field.
Suker turned—and saw Pirlo and Eto'o both lying on the ground, clutching their legs and rolling in pain.
His heart sank.
Replay:
As they landed, Eto'o stepped awkwardly, twisting his ankle badly.
And as he collapsed, he fell onto Pirlo, his knee slamming into Pirlo's thigh—possibly causing a muscle strain.
In the pouring rain, both teams gathered around the injured players.
Medical staff rushed in. After assessing them, both sides made the X sign with their arms—signaling that neither player could continue.
In the end, both were stretchered off.
Ancelotti and Guardiola had no choice but to make substitutions.
Henry came on.
Pato came on.
But by this point, the first half was nearly over.
Neither team had the will to keep fighting—they simply held out for halftime.
At halftime, the first thing the coaches did was check their players' injuries.
Sure enough, Pirlo had suffered a thigh strain.
He'd be out for some time, possibly the rest of the season—even missing the European Championship.
Meanwhile, Eto'o had a badly twisted ankle.
"Brutal match," Suker muttered, toweling off his wet hair.
First Gattuso got a red card, now Pirlo's injured!
With their two midfield warriors out, AC Milan's situation was suddenly looking very grim.
"We'll probably all drop back in the second half—defend the lead to the death."
Suker shook his head.
Without Pirlo, Milan lost its engine in the midfield, severely reducing their ability to counterattack.
Technically, both teams lost a player.
But for Barcelona—it was actually a huge win.
If not for the fact that Eto'o's ankle was clearly messed up, Suker might have thought he'd done it on purpose.
"They'll probably sub us off too," Kaká agreed."No point keeping us on if we're just defending."
At that moment, Ancelotti entered the locker room.
His expression was very grim.
No one blamed him.
This Champions League knockout tie had become absolutely brutal—now missing two key players.
And Pirlo might be out for the whole season.
If he could even make it back for the Euros, that'd be a miracle.
"Second half..." Ancelotti started.
Suker and Kaká were already preparing to be subbed off.
If it was all-out defending, they weren't needed.
But then Ancelotti's tone shifted.
He said firmly:"Ten minutes. The first ten minutes—we go all-in on counterattacks. No more fake pressing or fake possession. This time, we play real counterattacks with teeth!"
"At this stage, tactics and tricks don't matter anymore. The only thing that counts is yourselves—and the systems you know best!"
"I need you to perform better than ever before. That's the only way we win."
Ancelotti couldn't afford to go all defense.
From the first half, he knew—a one-goal lead wasn't enough to hold off Barcelona.
If they scored while Suker and Kaká were on the bench, Milan would have nothing left.
Ancelotti wasn't going down without a fight.
So he decided to gamble—give them ten minutes to attack.
If it worked, great.If not, they could fall back and defend after that.
Seedorf raised his hand:"I'll try to find a good passing lane—to get the ball to Suker!"
He would likely take over Pirlo's role.
Ancelotti nodded—then shook his head.
"Seedorf will organize. But playmaking duties go to Kaká."
"Me?" Kaká pointed at himself in surprise.
Ancelotti looked serious."Can't handle it?"
Kaká blinked, then looked over at Suker.
Suker smiled at him.
Kaká took a deep breath and nodded:"I got it."
Kaká wouldn't run from responsibility.
In fact, he'd played as the team's tempo-setter before, responsible for transition and distribution.
And he knew—it was his time to shine.
The second half began.
As the players walked out of the tunnel, Suker held out his hand.
"The rain's letting up."
Kaká nodded:"Yeah."
Pato grumbled nearby:"Couldn't it have rained longer?"
SLAP!Suker smacked him.
"What the hell do you know?"
Pato was dumbfounded, muttering under his breath—but too afraid to retaliate.
Meanwhile, both teams took their positions on the pitch.
No other lineup changes.
Barcelona had only replaced Eto'o with Henry.
Milan had only replaced Pirlo with Pato.
Nothing else had changed.
When Guardiola saw Milan's lineup, he looked surprised.
He thought Milan would go all-out defensive—but they hadn't made more changes?
Had he underestimated Ancelotti again?
Guardiola's heart started to pound.
What's that damn fat fox plotting this time?
But soon, he understood.
This time, Ancelotti didn't bring tricks or gimmicks.His second-half strategy was bold and clear:
Milan was going to fight Barcelona head-on.
"For victory, little tricks and tactics are fine," Ancelotti said, clenching his fist."But when it comes to a decisive battle—We never lack the courage to win!"
The match resumed.
No more mind games.No more gimmicks.No more tactical outmaneuvering.
Only what remains after countless hours of training.
Only the unwavering will to stand tall against the strongest of opponents.
Only belief in oneself—and in the team.
Yes—
AC Milan had fallen.
Compared to their peak, their strength had declined significantly.
But they were still AC Milan!
The team that had twice demolished Bayern Munich!
The team that had twice taken down Real Madrid!
The club that had lifted the Champions League eight times, ruling Europe as the Rossoneri dynasty!
They didn't have much time—just ten minutes.
But even if they shone for only a moment,They would make that moment blaze brilliantly.