Rome. Stadio Olimpico.Coppa Italia Final.Wednesday. 21:00 PM.
One week had passed since the victory over Roma. The Stadio Olimpico had changed its face. Last week, it was painted Yellow and Red. Tonight, the stadium was split down the middle like a war zone. The North Curve (Curva Nord) was a sea of Black and Blue (Inter Milan). The South Curve (Curva Sud) was a sea of Red and Blue (Bologna).
The noise was deafening. Flares lit up the Roman night sky, creating a haze of colored smoke. But inside the Bologna locker room, the silence was heavy. Not the silence of fear, but of extreme focus.
Tyler Stone walked in. He didn't smile. He wasn't wearing his usual expensive suit; he wore a club raincoat, looking grim and pragmatic. "I won't give a motivational speech," Stone said coldly. "You know the math. Win, and we are all rich. You play in the Champions League with a trophy in your hands. Lose..." Stone looked directly at Rio. "Lose, and this entire project gets 'reevaluated'."
Rio tightened his laces. [Current Lifespan: 305 Days] (Reduced due to high-intensity training during the league run-in).
He stared at the golden notification hovering in his peripheral vision. [Objective: Win the Coppa Italia][Reward: +365 Days]
One year of life. It was a fair price for 90 minutes of suffering.
The Tunnel.
Rio stood in the line-up. Next to him stood the giants. The Inter Milan players looked different from any other team Rio had faced. They had the aura of "Champions." They had just won the Scudetto (Serie A Title) with absolute dominance. They were a well-oiled machine.
And at the front of their line stood Lautaro Martinez. Inter Captain. World Cup Winner. He wasn't tall (174cm), almost the same height as Rio. But his chest width, his neck muscles, and the look in his eyes radiated pure power. His nickname was Il Toro (The Bull).
Lautaro turned his head toward Rio. "You're the kid who rejected City?" Lautaro asked. His Italian was thick with an Argentine accent.
"News travels fast," Rio replied, staring straight ahead.
Lautaro nodded, unsmiling. "Good. The Premier League is for runners. Serie A is for fighters." Lautaro adjusted his captain's armband. "But tonight, you are fighting against the King. Do not expect mercy."
[Opponent Scan: Lautaro Martinez][Role: Complete Forward / Captain][Finishing: 95 (S)][Mentality: 99 (S+)][Trait: "El Toro" (Attributes increase by 10% in Finals. He is Clutch.)]
The Kick-Off.Minute 15.The Blue Wave.
The whistle blew. The match began. And Rio immediately realized something: Inter Milan was on a different level. Juventus defended (Low Block). Milan attacked with chaos. But Inter... Inter was a Machine.
Simone Inzaghi's 3-5-2 System worked perfectly. Every time Rio tried to press their defender (Bastoni), the ball was already moved to Calhanoglu. When Rio chased Calhanoglu, the ball was already at Barella's feet. When Rio looked back, Dimarco and Dumfries were already sprinting down the wings like jet planes.
Bologna couldn't touch the ball. Possession: Inter 75% - Bologna 25%.
"We are caged!" Kenjiro screamed, gasping for air as he chased Barella's shadow.
Minute 28.The Lesson.
Inter attacked from the left. Alessandro Bastoni (Center Back) pushed forward all the way to the wing—a signature Inter tactic. He curled a cross into the box. The ball arced beautifully.
In the box, Marcus Thuram dragged two Bologna defenders away with a dummy run. A tiny gap opened. Lautaro Martinez was there. He had no shooting angle. He was marked tight by Beukema.
But Lautaro did something insane. He received the ball with his chest, back to goal. Then, without looking, he spun his body and unleashed a falling volley. It was an impossible shot.
BANG.
The ball rocketed into the bottom corner. Skorupski flew, but it was useless.
GOAL.Inter 1 - 0 Bologna.
The stadium erupted. Lautaro ran to the Curva Nord, climbed the fence, and roared. Rio watched from the center circle. That wasn't a "System" goal. That wasn't "Physics." That was Killer Instinct. Lautaro didn't need a gap. He created one.
Minute 40.The Suffocation.
Bologna tried to respond. Rio dropped deep to collect the ball. He used his [Elastic Hips] to pivot smoothly, evading Mkhitaryan. The movement was fluid. He escaped the press. "Finally, space!" Rio thought.
But the moment he turned, a massive shadow covered him. Francesco Acerbi. The veteran defender wasn't fast. But he was incredibly smart. He was already standing exactly in Rio's running path before Rio had even finished his turn. Acerbi took the ball cleanly, then nudged Rio with his shoulder. Rio fell.
Acerbi looked down at him. "Get up, kid," Acerbi said flatly. "Our data team watched your last 5 games. When you drop your left shoulder, you rotate your hips to the right 85% of the time." Acerbi tapped his temple. "We downloaded your update."
Rio's blood ran cold. They had studied him. His new skill, Elastic Hips, had been analyzed by Inter's elite analysts. They knew his patterns. They had closed the door.
Halftime.Inter 1 - 0 Bologna.
In the locker room, Bologna looked broken. They were outclassed. Tactically, physically, and mentally. "They know everything," Zirkzee complained, throwing a water bottle against the wall. "I can't move. Bastoni is suffocating me."
Adrian rolled in with his wheelchair. His face was grim. He connected his tablet to the big screen. "They are neutralizing Rio because Rio is playing as a Playmaker," Adrian said. "Acerbi waits for Rio to drop into the midfield."
Adrian pointed to the tactical board. "The only way to break Inzaghi's 3-5-2 is with Chaos." "Meaning?" Coach Rossi asked.
"Rio," Adrian looked at him. "Stop dropping deep. Stop trying to be Messi." "Then what do I do?"
"Be a Ghost," Adrian said. "Stop touching the ball. Disappear between Bastoni and Acerbi. Force them to look for you." "But we can't get the ball forward," Rio protested. "Kenjiro is being destroyed by Barella."
Kenjiro raised his hand. His knee was wrapped in a thick ice pack. "I can hold off Barella for 15 more minutes," Kenjiro said quietly. "After that... my knee might explode." Kenjiro looked at Rio with intense eyes. "Give me a target, Rio. Don't come to the ball. Run behind them. Trust me with one pass."
Rio swallowed hard. The plan was high risk. Rio had to isolate himself upfront, waiting for one magical pass from a cripple against the best midfield in Italy.
Tyler Stone stood in the corner, checking his expensive watch. "45 minutes," Stone muttered. "45 minutes to save an 85 Million Euro investment."