Inside the empty VIP room, Maldini slumped into a chair.
His gaze was vacant, his mind as heavy as if it were filled with cement—unable to process anything.
Tired.
Utterly exhausted.
Not the kind of fatigue that comes from the body—this was mental, emotional exhaustion.
After hearing Galliani's explanation, Maldini finally understood just how bad the club's current situation really was.
This entire season, the club had been tightening its belt just to get by. Even player wages had to be squeezed out little by little.If they hadn't won the championship, they might not have been able to pay salaries at all.
He never imagined that a single "Calciopoli scandal" would deal such a devastating blow to the club—It was like an economic earthquake that even shook Silvio Berlusconi himself.
And yet, Berlusconi didn't sell AC Milan. He shouldered the debts himself—already more than enough.
Maldini knew he couldn't ask for more.
But... this was Suker they were talking about!
The future of AC Milan!
Maldini now found himself in a state of deep inner conflict.
Galliani's final words still echoed in his ears:
"Paolo, you need to change your mindset. You can't keep thinking like a player. If you still think this way after retirement, you won't be a qualified manager."
"Ugh, my head..."Maldini muttered.
He never thought being in the management of a top club would be this tough—so many factors to consider.
Suker would never accept a lower salary, and Milan couldn't afford to pay more.
It was a deadlock.
He couldn't expect Suker to stay out of loyalty alone—Suker's performance absolutely deserved a better contract.
Especially after saying, "I'll play in Serie B with you,"—how could he now face Suker with such an offer?
But from the club's perspective, they had to minimize expenses.
How to cut costs, structure wages reasonably, and gain greater returns—that was what mattered.
Perhaps Galliani was right.
On the pitch, Maldini had been a great leader.But in management? He might just be a total rookie.
"Whatever... I don't want to think about this anymore."He stood up, his head pounding, unable to find any solution.
Staying here made it even worse—suffocating, almost.
He wanted to go back to his teammates. That was where he could relax.
At the players' celebration room—
Maldini stood at the door, took a deep breath, and shook off all his messy thoughts.
Today was a night of celebration—no more bad vibes.
He pushed the door open—and was immediately stunned.
All he could hear was:
"Come on, strike a pose!"
"Hug! Hug each other!"
"Heh! Thought you could steal my laptop? What kind of drinking game did you think this was?!"
Around the round table lay Inzaghi, Gattuso, Nesta, Pirlo, and Cafu, all passed out drunk.
Suker was standing among them, posing their unconscious bodies and taking photos.
Kaká, his face slightly flushed, tried to intervene:
"Come on, stop it! Let them go!"
"Let them go?"Suker turned to glare. "You're part of this too. You better watch yourself."
If Kaká weren't a devout Christian (who could drink but not get drunk), Suker would've definitely taken him down too.
Suker lifted his phone—click! click!—snapping photos.
He then posed Inzaghi and Gattuso cheek-to-cheek, locking them into a very intimate "hug."
"You're insane! They'll kill you for this!"Kaká panicked.
"Mind your own business. Or I'll expose you."Suker threatened.
Kaká instantly shut up.
He had too much to lose—Suker had dirt on him.
Maldini entered and sat next to Costacurta, curious:
"What's going on? How are they all drunk already?"
He noticed Costacurta was drinking juice instead of alcohol, which was odd—he usually loved to drink.
"Why aren't you drinking?"
"Am I crazy? After seeing what happened to them, who would dare?"Costacurta pointed at Suker. "That guy isn't human. His throat is like a sewer pipe—no matter how much he drinks, nothing happens!"
Maldini chuckled:
"Is it really that exaggerated? I can hold my liquor pretty well too."
He stood up, confident.
"Don't go!"Costacurta warned. "You'll go down too!"
"Come on, I'm the best drinker in Milan!"
Thirty minutes later—
BANG!
Maldini collapsed face-first onto the table—totally smashed.
Hic!
Suker let out a drunken burp and looked around at his fallen teammates.
"Not a single worthy opponent!"
He sat Maldini upright in a chair and started taking photos of his latest victim.
Not content with solo shots, Suker began taking group selfies with all the passed-out players.
It was his trophy moment.
The entire lounge was silent.No one dared to speak.
Costacurta quietly ate, muttering:
"Told him he'd go down. Didn't listen."
Clap clap!
Suker clapped his hands.
"Alright, time to clean up."
Soon, a small army of hotel staff entered under Suker's command to start carrying the drunk players out and loading them into transport vans.
Suker ran the whole operation like a pro.
"He's done this before. No doubt about it."Kaká thought, trembling.
—Not only did he drink everyone under the table, he even arranged post-drink transport.
Suker watched his defeated "victims" being carted off, then returned to the lounge and dug into the food.He'd been too busy drinking to eat earlier.
After eating his fill, he patted Kaká on the shoulder.
"Let's go home."
Kaká silently followed.
Suker sighed:
"Another celebration banquet ruined by drinking…"
Kaká tilted his head and muttered:
"Animal."
They had tried to steal his laptop… and now, not only did they fail, but they added more blackmail material to Suker's stash.
The next day, Milan held their championship parade.
They celebrated at three locations: the Milan Cathedral, City Hall, and San Siro Stadium.
The entire city of Milan was covered in red and black, a festival for AC Milan fans.
This had been the most difficult season—and yet, they emerged with both the Champions League and Serie A titles.
The fans were ecstatic.
—
On the open-top championship bus, at the very back sat:
Maldini, Gattuso, Nesta, Cafu, Pirlo, and Inzaghi—All with pale faces and pained expressions.
If it weren't for the parade, none of them would've gotten out of bed.
They'd never been this drunk before.
"Look here! Look here! Smile for the camera!"
"Milan forever!"Suker danced and shouted with joy at the front of the bus.
Maldini wiped his mouth, smiling bitterly:
"Never drinking with him again."
"He said drinking is a skill you can train!"Gattuso tried to defend.
"You still believe him?"Inzaghi snapped. "You want more blackmail material?"
The group fell silent.
Damn it.
Their brilliant plan to ambush Suker had completely failed.Not only were they all defeated, but even more shameful photos were taken.
They didn't even know exactly what photos Suker had…But Kaká had once said:
"Filippo, if that photo gets out, you'll never find a girlfriend."
That was enough to make Inzaghi break out in cold sweat.
They'd been thoroughly outplayed.
The group sighed again—completely defeated.