I Coach Football With A System
Chapter 61: Vs AC Milan (2)

Chapter 61: Vs AC Milan (2)

The shot from Banda had faded into the night, just past the post, and a stunned collective gasp echoed through San Siro. The crowd leaned forward, jaws slack, breath caught. For a moment, it felt like time itself had slowed. Lecce, against all the odds, had felt closer to a shock lead than anyone would have dared to believe. Hope had flickered like a fragile flame. But that hope had no time to bloom.

Because just seconds after, like a sudden jolt to the system, AC Milan clicked into another level. It wasn’t just a switch in tactics. It was a switch in intention, in belief, in tempo. From the twenty-third minute onward, their aggression transformed. It wasn’t the same Milan that had probed earlier. No, this was different. This was a team that had decided they were done waiting.

They pressed, swarmed, hunted. It was ruthless, relentless. Every touch from a Lecce player was met with red pressure. Milan moved the ball with pace, with purpose, and with that dangerous sense of rhythm that only the best teams carry. Lecce found themselves pinned back, locked in a survival game.

Leão, slippery and uncontainable, danced his way through the cracks like water seeping through stone. One moment he was drifting past Ramadani, the next he was sliding beyond Sala. With a flick, he played the ball into Morata, whose first-time reverse pass fell perfectly back to Leão down the right flank. Without hesitation, Leão zipped a low cross toward the edge of the area where Pulisic waited.

The American took one measured breath, as if drawing calm from the chaos. He shifted his weight, found his space, and then lashed a shot that screamed toward the top corner. It wasn’t just a shot. It was a declaration, a thunderbolt. The entire stadium collectively tensed.

But Falcone had read it.

Sensing danger, Lecce’s number one leapt like a man possessed. His fingertips, just grazing the ball, made the tiniest of contacts. But it was enough. The ball cannoned against the crossbar, rattled the woodwork, and ricocheted out into the night.

["Falcone again! My goodness, are you seeing this? What reflexes, what instincts, what courage! He is single-handedly keeping Lecce in this match! Absolutely heroic!"]

["Lecce have been playing away games at the San Siro, but Falcone is making it his home! He did it against Inter Milan, he’s doing it again against AC Milan, what a match it has been for the goalkeeper so far!"]

And the saves did not stop there. The next three minutes became a siege. A nightmare for most keepers, but Falcone stood tall.

Tonali spotted space behind the defensive line and threaded a pass with surgical precision. The ball reached Morata, who was already setting himself to spin. He held off his marker, pivoted quickly, and slammed a shot low and hard toward the far post.

Falcone dove again, stretching every fiber of his frame. His glove met the ball just in time, pushing it wide.

["What are we even witnessing here?! This is unreal! Falcone is refusing to let Milan in! This man is not a goalkeeper tonight, he’s a wall, an unbreakable wall!"]

["He had to have gone full stretch there, diving like a fish and managing to get a palm to the ball. Lecce have this man to thank for still being in this match. Just like against Inter Milan, he’s the superhero that rescues his team again!"]

Still, Milan did not relent. They surged forward like a wave crashing against rock.

Near the half-hour mark, Tonali took the initiative once more. He weaved near the edge of the box, coaxed Lecce’s midfield into committing, then slipped a perfectly weighted pass into Pulisic’s path. The American adjusted quickly and fired low, the ball curling like a snake toward the bottom corner.

But Falcone met it again. This time with his knee, an awkward but effective save, crashing the ball away like it had insulted him.

["No way! No way! That’s three saves in a row, each one more unbelievable than the last! Falcone is putting on a masterclass here, people! You better be watching, because this is something special!"]

Alex Walker stood at the edge of the technical area, pacing like a caged animal. His brain was running at full speed, every sense alive. He had told them to stay compact, defensive, to delay Milan’s attack. But Milan were not just playing now. They were testing the very limits of Lecce’s resolve.

He watched as the structure he had crafted bent under pressure, cracks forming like spiderwebs. Falcone was bailing them out, but how long could that last?

In the thirty-fourth minute, Milan pushed even harder. Tonali linked up with Pulisic once more, executing a quick one-two that sliced through Lecce’s defensive line like a knife. As the return ball rolled into space, Pulisic did not hesitate. He blasted it first time. It was a bullet, searing through the air.

Falcone, again, responded like a man possessed. His reaction time was otherworldly, diving to his left to push the ball around the post.

["Are you kidding me?! Falcone again! This is the kind of performance legends are made of! He’s making it look easy, but it’s anything but! Just look at him, composure, courage, absolute class!"]

The San Siro crowd could hardly believe it. Every fan, regardless of allegiance, had been pulled into the narrative Falcone was writing with his gloves. Even Alex’s pencil trembled in his hand as he scribbled notes with force, carving adjustments into his notebook.

Structure tighter. Drop fullbacks. Midfield pivot deeper. Luca to rotate centrally if Milan pressed wider.

And yet, despite the heroic stand, it came undone.

In the fortieth minute, Milan finally cracked it open.

They controlled the rhythm like a conductor with a baton. The ball moved from foot to foot, side to side, lulling Lecce into motion. Leão peeled out wide left, pulling a defender with him. That tiny shift created space in the middle. Tonali floated forward, unnoticed, as Pulisic took the ball between the lines and laid it off to Morata.

Morata flicked it back, delicate, instinctive, to Leão, who then nudged it across to the surging Tonali.

Tonali struck without hesitation.

The ball tore across the turf and zipped into the bottom corner. Falcone did not even dive. There was no time. It was perfection.

And San Siro erupted.

["There it is! Goal! GOAL! GOAL FOR AC MILAN! MILAN HAVE TAKEN THE LEAD! Sandro Tonali, finally breaking the wall! But don’t you dare forget what came before this, folks, because Lecce’s keeper has been absolutely world-class tonight. It’s 1–0 to Milan, but only because they had to be perfect to get past Falcone!"]

The noise was deafening. Red-clad fans leapt to their feet, shouting with joy and relief. It was an eruption of pure football emotion.

On the pitch, Lecce players stood still, as if frozen in disbelief. Falcone slowly sank to the ground, his jaw clenched, chest rising and falling as if carrying the weight of the entire stadium. Alex pressed his knuckles into the side of his notebook, forcing himself to focus.

Their plan had fractured. But not shattered.

He scribbled again, more notes, rapid-fire. Structure adjustments. Fullbacks deeper. Midfield pivot needs to sit. Luca to hold center if wide pressure escalates.

A supporter behind him muttered something that reached his ears, words he didn’t need to hear to understand. "The plan is broken." Maybe so. But Alex didn’t believe in surrender. Not here. Not now. His eyes remained fixed, burning with clarity. In the chaos, he saw paths opening up.

Lecce reorganized quickly.

Luca Ferretti, calm and measured beyond his years, dropped into the midfield pivot, offering stability. Gallo and Sala tucked deeper, shielding the flanks. Berisha, reading the danger, adjusted his position to sit tighter beside Ramadani. Banda and Krstović drifted wide, poised like coiled springs for a counterattack.

Near the sideline, Alex gathered a few players, voice low but firm. No theatrics. Just calm commands. Just plans.

"Press less," he muttered to them. "Absorb. Be narrow. Show patience. Midfield base holds. Luca rotates to cover where needed. Watch their wide triggers, react to ball-turn."

The message passed like a whisper down a line. Lecce’s players nodded, some more grimly than others. But they understood. The mission hadn’t changed. The road just got tougher.

Milan tried to push again in the final minutes of the half. They were hungry for more. But Lecce had found their defensive shape again. They intercepted two key passes, shut down a third with a well-timed press from Ramadani. The space was tighter. The options fewer.

Alex watched it unfold with a rising swell of pride. Not because they were dominating. But because they were surviving. Because they were adapting. Special players made special moments, yes. Falcone had already proven that. But now, it would fall to others, Luca, Berisha, Gallo, to carry the fire forward.

Then came the whistle. A long, sharp sound that echoed relief across the pitch.

Halftime.

Alex stepped forward from the technical area, his jaw set tight, but his eyes still burning. Lecce were down 0–1. But they were still in it. Still fighting.

And more importantly, they now knew the way forward.

A/N: Alright everyone, I’m all better now (turns out I had food poisoning), today we’ll see the second of the bonus Chapter for the gifts quota, and we smashed the target for golden tickets as well! So one more bonus Chapter coming probably tomorrow. So we’ll probably have three Chapters today and three Chapters tomorrow