"Sandro's match experience is still a bit lacking. He couldn't quite capitalize on that shooting opportunity. Let's see if Brescia can create a threat from this corner..."
A few defenders pushed forward. Both sides packed the penalty area, jostling in the box as they waited to challenge for the header.
Lazzari stuck to Sandro like a shadow, blocking his path to the goal while constantly reaching out to tug at his shirt.
Sandro sighed in exasperation. "If you want my shirt that badly, we can swap after the match. There's no need for this."
Lazzari's eyes widened as he tried to look intimidating. "I want your shirt, all right, but I'm not swapping. I'm going to tear it to shreds and make you walk off this pitch naked!"
Before Sandro could reply, Grossi exploded beside them.
He shoved his way between them and grabbed Lazzari by the throat. "Intimidating a kid? You think that's fun?! Come on, try it with me!"
Tweet!
The referee had been watching them. He sprinted over and shoved a yellow card right in Grossi's face.
Sandro pulled Grossi away and pointed at Lazzari. "He provoked me first," he told the referee.
Lazzari quickly backpedaled. "I didn't—"
"He said he was going to rip my shirt off and make me walk off the pitch naked," Sandro said, staring back with wide, entirely innocent eyes. "I think he's a pervert."
Looking at that picture of pure innocence, the referee believed him instantly. Narrowing his eyes, he thrust the yellow card at Lazzari. "I saw the whole thing. Why do you keep pulling his shirt?"
Lazzari gaped at him. "That was a normal defensive movement!"
"Who defends like that?" Sandro turned to look at him. "Is Italian football really this dirty?"
"Football is a man's game. If you can't handle it, go home and play ping-pong!"
"Enough!" The referee glared at him, then turned to a wide-eyed Grossi. "Watch yourselves, both of you. There won't be a next time. If you want to cool off on the bench, I'll happily arrange it!"
Grossi immediately threw his hands up. "I swear, I'm just protecting my teammate. You know it's his debut today. I didn't want him getting traumatized."
The referee's expression softened. Clearly, he didn't want a young prodigy developing a terrible impression of the league either. "Relax. With me here, this match stays fair and clean."
The disturbance settled, and Lazzari reined himself in. Novara, however, didn't dare let him mark Sandro anymore. Instead, they swapped in the towering Mori to act as Sandro's personal bodyguard.
The corner was whipped in. Brescia's center-back Zambelli won the header but couldn't get it on target, and the ball was cleared out of the box.
Novara seized the chance to launch a counterattack, but they were dispossessed before they even reached Brescia's penalty area.
The fierce back-and-forth clashes continued, but as the match reached the ninetieth minute, neither side had managed to produce another threatening attack.
"The fourth official has indicated three minutes of stoppage time. There isn't much time left for either side..."
"There isn't much separating the two sides in possession or shots on target. Without a doubt, the most impressive part of this entire match has been the youngster making his professional debut, Sandro Xiao. His performance in the final third has been a revelation. His lightning speed, sharp breakthroughs, and precise passing all prove that he is a genuine generational talent. Even if the final whistle blew right now, he would still be the biggest winner on the pitch today.
"If Giampaolo had started him, the scoreline might look very different right now... But wait, let's look at this attack from Brescia."
Grossi anticipated the passing lane and intercepted the ball, poking it straight to Coletti.
Coletti laid it off diagonally to Mandorlini, who played a one-touch pass up to Sandro.
The home fans instantly sprang to life.
Sandro dropped deep to receive it. Shaking off Buzzegoli, he controlled the ball and turned to face his marker head-on.
Buzzegoli lowered his center of gravity, holding his ground defensively.
"Here!"
Lasik ran over to offer support.
Sandro immediately glanced up, shaping his body for the pass.
Buzzegoli shifted his weight on reflex. His right foot left the turf, stepping out to intercept. But when Sandro's right boot met the football, he didn't pass. Instead, he disguised a clever poke, slipping the ball straight through the midfielder's legs.
"Sandro nutmegs Buzzegoli and drives down the middle!"
"He's just too fast! Are we sure he isn't Kaká's successor from the Milan academy? What is a player like this doing in Serie B?"
Like a gust of wind, Sandro surged forward, driving the ball straight down the center.
The Chinese fans following the Leisu stream instinctively clenched their fists. Even the gamblers who had bet on Novara couldn't help but secretly cheer for Xiao Yang.
A white horse under a silver saddle, dashing like a shooting star!
Faragò and Pesce charged in to close him down. Sandro kept his head up, eyes locked forward as he took a heavy touch into space, bursting through the gap before they could complete the pincer.
The two fullbacks, Ludi and Bastrini, immediately tucked inside to intercept. Three men and the ball were about to converge at the top of the penalty arc.
By now, Caracciolo had already made his run into the box. Sandro glanced up, tapped the brakes, and scooped the ball with his toe.
The ball looped into the air, clearing the defenders' heads and dropping into the penalty area.
Caracciolo leaped high and powered a header at the net.
There was plenty of power behind it, but the angle was too central. Kosicky only had to take a step to his left and throw up a hand, parrying the ball away in a spectacular reaction save.
In the stands, the Brescia fans slapped their thighs in dismay.
"Is this keeper on drugs today?"
"Caracciolo, would it kill you to pick a corner?"
"Wasting a pass like that, Sandro should have just... wait, he's shooting?!"
"GOOOOOOAL!!! Sandro Xiao!!!"
The ball parried by Kosicky had dropped into the center of the penalty area, where Mori forcefully headed it out of the box.
Just as Ludi waited outside the box, preparing to chest the ball down and launch a counterattack, a figure suddenly blurred past like a speeding Ferrari. Leaping high and thrusting his chest out, he snatched the ball away right in front of him.
Ludi caught a hasty glimpse, and a glaring number filled his vision.
11!
You again?!
Sandro's feet hit the turf, and the football followed suit, bouncing upward.
Ludi immediately rushed in to win it back, but Sandro smoothly slipped his boot under the ball for a gentle flick.
The ball obediently popped up, sailing over the rushing Faragò's head and dropping behind him.
Sandro muscled his way past him and unleashed a thunderous volley at the falling ball.
With a loud crack, the ball shot out like a cannonball, tracing a beautiful arc as it tore across the penalty area and hurtled toward the top right corner of the net.
Kosicky cursed under his breath and launched himself into a desperate dive, stretching as far as he could to block the shot. But this time, he didn't even touch a hair on the ball...