The San Siro was a hurricane of sound.
Emil Audero's brilliant save in the 43rd minute felt like a goal. The roar from the fans was deafening, a wave of noise that crashed over the pitch and lifted our spirits. I felt a surge of elation.
The Vision hadn't just shown me a weakness; it had shown me a solution, a path to a better outcome.
I looked over at Audero, who was still dusting himself off, a wide, relieved smile on his face. He glanced at me and gave a quick, grateful nod, a silent acknowledgment of my desperate shout.
The half-time whistle blew moments later, and we all sprinted back to the dressing room, the air buzzing with energy.
Inside, Coach Chivu was already pacing, but his expression was one of quiet satisfaction. "That save, Emil! Fantastic!" he said, clapping Audero on the back. "And Leon… what was that?" He turned to me, a curious glint in his eye.
"How did you know?"
I hesitated, fumbling for a simple answer.
