"GOAL!!!!!"
"Sandro!!!!!!"
"A clever lob to beat his man, followed by a thunderous volley!"
"He has scored on his professional debut!!!"
"He's so calm! He doesn't look like a player stepping onto a professional pitch for the first time, and he certainly doesn't play like a seventeen-year-old kid!"
"Coming off the bench with just ten minutes left to grab a goal, an assist, and spearhead a comeback—could there be a more magical debut?"
"Congratulations to Sandro! At seventeen years and two hundred days old, he is not only the youngest goalscorer in Brescia's history, but the youngest ever to score in Serie B!"
"And let me tell you something else: this isn't the first time he's come off the bench to rescue his team. Just a week ago, during the Milan Derby in the Campionato Primavera, Sandro was also brought on while his side was trailing.
"And guess what happened?
"That's right—one assist and two goals!
"This kid is a natural-born big-game player, a true star of the future! Brescia paid pennies for a massive return, pulling off what can only be described as a masterstroke of a transfer. Perhaps it's too early for such high praise, but I truly see that kind of potential in him!
"Naturally, like everyone else, the first person who comes to mind is Kaka. But I'm not entirely sure Kaka was even this outstanding at his age..."
For an unknown rookie, the fastest way to make a name for himself—and the highest form of praise—was being dubbed the 'new someone' or the 'next somebody.'
Everyone knew the weight of being called the 'new Kaka.'
After all, the Brazilian was Serie A's last Ballon d'Or winner, the final fading afterglow of the league's glorious 'Little World Cup' era.
Sandro sprinted toward the touchline. He tilted his head back and looked up at the sky, pressing his right hand over his pounding heart while raising his left arm, his index finger pointing straight to the heavens.
Grossi ran up from behind and leaped onto his back. Gripping Sandro's shoulders, he shook him vigorously. "Didn't I tell you? You're a freaking genius!"
"Did you?"
"I did! In the locker room!"
"I have a good memory; don't lie to me."
"Alright, my exact words were that I had high hopes for you, but it means the same thing!"
The others gathered around, high-fiving him one by one.
Caracciolo marveled, "Scoring off the bench on your debut, and such a spectacular goal at that. How did you do it?"
"The ball came over, I felt like I should do that, and it just happened."
"Damn it, I'll never understand how a genius's mind works," Caracciolo said, shaking his head. "I have to admit, you shocked me, but luckily, I'm definitely not the only one..."
Coletti slapped him hard on the shoulder. "Beautifully done! Now I know why the boss sent you on..."
The others nodded in deep agreement.
When Sandro first took the pitch, they had all questioned Giampaolo's substitution strategy.
With just over ten minutes left in the match, they had only been down by a single goal, meaning there was still hope. No one had wanted to waste time babysitting a kid sent on to get some first-team experience.
But now, naturally, they had all completely changed their tune.
Once the celebration ended, Sandro finally had time to check his System notifications.
"Congratulations on completing Side Quest Two. You have received the reward: Hubner Template Fragment x 1 (3/5)."
"Side Quest Three has been issued. Please check it."
"Side Quest Three: How Can a Genius Not Score a Hat-Trick?
Quest Description: Score the first hat-trick of your professional career.
Quest Reward: Hubner Template Fragment."
To be honest, the Kaka Template was indeed flashy and effective, but if he wanted to continue his promising career as a forward, securing a true striker's Template was absolutely necessary.
If he could really lead Brescia back to Serie A this season, then with the Kaka, Hubner, and Baggio Templates stacked together, he couldn't even imagine how ridiculously strong he would become.
He just didn't know whether these Templates had to be equipped independently or if they could be fused together.
If they could be fused, that would be a bit too overpowered...
The match resumed.
Brescia dropped deep to defend, while Novara pushed forward in full force, launching a fierce assault.
Caracciolo stayed up top alone, while Sandro was practically playing as a defensive midfielder, constantly sweeping back and forth to cover ground.
Farago once again turned on the afterburners like a Ferrari, burning Grossi with pure pace, but Sandro instantly closed him down, tightly forcing him out toward the touchline.
Farago's eyes lit up. He suddenly knocked the ball forward and accelerated with all his might.
Sandro almost burst out laughing.
'Out of everything you could try, you want to challenge me to a footrace?'
He didn't rush in to tackle. He waited until Farago knocked the ball forward again before slamming on the gas pedal himself. In an instant, Sandro overtook him by half a body length, squeezed in front to shield the ball, and laid it off to Coletti.
"Sandro and Farago just had a sprinting contest on the wing. Unfortunately for Novara, Brescia's number 11 has claimed a complete victory..."
The home fans immediately let out a chorus of piercing, mocking cheers.
Farago pulled up in frustration, kicking the turf resentfully.
A footrace wasn't scary; being the slower one was what made it embarrassing...
Time ticked away second by second. Amid the anxious anticipation of the home fans, the referee finally blew the whistle to signal full-time.
"Congratulations to Brescia for finally securing their first victory of the season!
"Giampaolo's gamble has paid off, and paid off handsomely. Seventeen-year-old Sandro Xiao has completed his professional debut in stunning fashion."
Giampaolo shook hands with the opposing manager. Only after the other man hurried away did he walk over to Sandro.
Sandro reached out and shook his hand firmly. "I didn't let you down, did I?"
"No, I'm very disappointed," Giampaolo said, shaking his head with mock seriousness. "You could have scored a hat-trick, or at least a brace, but I only saw one goal."
"Thank you for thinking so highly of me," Sandro said. "But if you had given me a little more time, maybe a brace or a hat-trick wouldn't have been out of the question."
"Alright, alright, I'll give you more time in the next match. Hmm, how does forty-five minutes sound?"
"...I'm not starting?"
"It's a process. You know that at your age, it's impossible to play a full ninety minutes. This is for your own good, but I'll try to give you as many minutes as possible. You can trust me completely on this... After all, you're my biggest secret weapon right now."
"Oh, no, Boss, it's not a secret anymore," Coletti suddenly interrupted. "Trust me, after today, every team in Serie B is going to start studying Sandro intensely. We'll soon have no secrets left."
"The entirety of La Liga is studying Messi and Cristiano, and then what?" Giampaolo shot back. "Has it helped?"
Coletti stared at him with wide eyes, wanting to retort but not daring to.
'And then what?'
'Do you hear what you're saying?'
'Out of everything you could use as an example, you chose those two monsters?'
Sandro chuckled. "Let them study me. But to tell the truth, I don't think they'll figure anything out, because right now, even I don't fully understand myself..."