Both sides opened with fierce attacks, but Brescia took the initiative at home.
In the fifth minute, Brescia threatened down the flank. Koba slipped past two defenders and drove a cross from the byline. The ball sailed into the goalmouth, where Caracciolo leaped high, overpowering Salviato to unleash a powerful header.
The header had plenty of power, but it was dead center. Kosicky managed to tip it over the crossbar.
In the eleventh minute, Grossi launched an attack from midfield. Benali threaded a through ball to the edge of the penalty area, but under heavy pressure from a defender, Budel skied his shot.
Three minutes later, Novara returned the favor. Faragò turned on the jets, tearing down the right flank like a Ferrari. He blew past three Brescia players and crossed into the box, where Gonzalez aimed a low shot at the left corner.
Just as the ball seemed destined for the back of the net, goalkeeper Arcari dived out of nowhere, pulling off a miraculous save to push it wide.
The two sides traded blows in a fierce, end-to-end battle.
As the match approached the thirtieth minute, Novara penetrated the edge of Brescia's penalty area with a string of crisp passes down the middle. This time, however, Coletti intercepted the ball before they could get a shot off, sparking a rapid counterattack.
Benali and Saba played a quick one-two, carrying the ball to within ten meters of Novara's penalty area. Budel suddenly surged in from the channel toward the goalmouth, drawing the defenders' attention. Taking advantage, Caracciolo immediately peeled away, tearing open a pocket of space.
Benali instantly clipped a long pass, dropping the ball right into Caracciolo's path.
At a towering 1.94 meters, the striker was an absolute aerial tyrant. He barely had to jump to meet the cross. With a sharp flick of his head toward the right corner, he sent the ball slamming into the net.
"GOAL!!!!"
"Brescia score first!!!"
"They have a massive aerial advantage, and they've translated it into a lead on the scoreboard!!!"
Sandro and his teammates leaped up from the bench, cheering for Caracciolo in unison.
The home fans roared with unbridled joy, pushing the stadium's atmosphere to a fever pitch.
Unfortunately, their joy lasted a mere ten minutes.
In the forty-first minute, Grossi brought Lazzari down while defending, handing the opposition a free kick.
The foul occurred a full forty meters out, an unlikely distance for a direct shot. Players from both sides crowded the penalty area, bracing for a cross. But to everyone's shock, Buzzegoli chose to shoot directly from the free kick.
It was a high-quality strike, but it couldn't get past Arcari, who parried it away with one hand. Yet, before the home crowd could even begin to cheer, the rebound was sent hurtling back toward the net. Sprawled on the turf, Arcari was powerless to stop it.
"GOALLLLL!!!!"
"Novara have equalized!!!!"
"Buzzegoli's direct free kick was spectacular, and Arcari's save was even better! But his parry landed right at the feet of Comi, who only had to tap it in to find the back of the net!!!"
"In the dying moments of the first half, Novara make it 1-1!!!!"
Shortly after the goal, the referee blew the whistle for halftime. The two sides headed to the dressing rooms tied at 1-1.
Giampaolo was visibly furious about the equalizer and harshly criticized several of his defenders.
But it didn't do a damn thing.
Right at the start of the second half, Brescia's goal was breached again.
Once again, Faragò tore open a gap with his blistering pace, sending the ball straight into Brescia's six-yard box.
Gonzalez beat the offside trap and coolly finished the one-on-one.
1-2. Novara had snatched the lead.
A painful silence descended upon Rigamonti Stadium. Only after a moment did the fans gradually recover their senses and resume cheering for the home team, though their voices were noticeably weaker.
Giampaolo jumped around on the touchline in a thunderous rage, frantically waving his arms to signal his players forward.
Attack! Attack! Keep attacking!
Brescia unleashed several fierce attacks, but Novara had clearly packed their defense, turning them away empty-handed time and time again.
As the minutes ticked away, Giampaolo began making substitutions.
In the sixty-fifth minute, he brought on number 21, Mandorlini, for number 4, Saba.
In the seventieth minute, he brought on number 18, Lasik, for number 17, Benali.
Neither substitution managed to turn the tide. Failing to break through despite their sustained pressure, Brescia's momentum gradually faded.
Giampaolo shook his head in disappointment and looked toward the bench once more.
He first glanced at number 20, Oduamadi, making the forward so excited he nearly jumped out of his seat. Unfortunately for him, Giampaolo's gaze quickly shifted to Sandro beside him.
Both were forwards. In the pecking order, Caracciolo was the starting center-forward, Oduamadi was his backup, and Sandro was Oduamadi's backup.
Yet, after the manager exchanged a few words with Amonda, the assistant coach walked right up to Sandro. "Go warm up."
Sandro nodded, stood up in silence, and headed to the warm-up area.
Amonda watched his retreating back, furrowing his brow slightly.
In truth, the greatest advantage of a reincarnator—aside from foresight—was a steady, mature mindset.
A man pushing thirty who had returned to his teenage years would naturally seem a bit seasoned and mature in his behavior, but this actually dissatisfied Amonda.
The kid was at his most vibrant, youthful age, and this was about to be his first professional appearance. Even if he didn't stammer with excitement, he should have at least shown a glimmer of surprise.
But Sandro was as calm as if he were just booting up a video game.
The coach sighed inwardly, only able to hope that Sandro was simply born with a cool head, rather than lacking all passion at such a young age.
Oduamadi's eyes widened.
He suspected Amonda had somehow misunderstood the manager's intent.
"Are you sure he's the one?"
"Of course," Amonda said, giving him a condescending look. "I'm entirely sure."
"Based on what?" Oduamadi couldn't help but stand up. "Just because he beat a bunch of kids?"
"Why not?" Amonda shrugged. "If you could pull off four goals and four assists against that bunch of kids, you'd be playing too."
"..." Oduamadi wanted to argue back, but he was at a loss for words.
His skills were undeniably a cut above the brats on the reserve squad, but if he were asked to steamroll them with four goals and four assists? Honestly, he couldn't do it.
The fans also spotted Sandro warming up and immediately began buzzing with discussion.
"Who is that? Do we even have a guy like him on our squad?"
"Have you not been following the transfers this season?"
"He was just loaned in. The team's final signing... An absolutely awful signing... We need a forward who can score goals and lead us back to Serie A, but instead, they brought us a kid!"
"Here's another surprise: I think this is his very first professional match..."
The commentator was equally startled.
"Giampaolo is about to use his third substitution, but he's bringing on a young player with absolutely zero professional football experience!
"At a time when the team desperately needs a goal, he hasn't chosen the more experienced Oduamadi. Instead, he has pinned his hopes—or rather, placed his bets—on an underage kid!
"Sandro Xiao, from Milan..."