Chapter Eighteen: Gattuso the Butcher

San Siro Stadium

This was a city derby between the two Milan giants.

Typically, new signings are most readily accepted when they make a significant impact in a local derby.

This was a fierce clash between the Rossoneri and the Nerazzurri.

Milan, Milan, we only wish to support you
Milan, Milan, forever for you
We walk beside heroes
On the green pitch
Under the blue sky
We have gained another star
Shining among us as we sing together
Milan, in our hearts, deep within our souls
You are our true friend
Milan, Milan, may you be free from the taint of violence

The voices rang out loudly, pouring forth their passion.

San Siro is one of the most famous stadiums in the world, having hosted countless major events. It serves as the shared home of two world-class teams.

AC Milan and Inter Milan both call San Siro their home ground.

Momer stood at the sideline, listening to the echoing chants, his eyes shining with longing.

Rivaldo approached—this forward who had scored against China in the World Cup. He looked at Momer and suddenly whispered,

“You little brat, you left us at the bar that day! You really got us into trouble.”

Momer widened his eyes, lips moving as if to respond, but Rivaldo quietly continued,

“Listen, Gattuso is actually a decent guy. Don’t be afraid. Show your best. Though victory will ultimately belong to AC Milan, if you perform well, you won’t be harshly criticized afterward.”

After speaking, Rivaldo walked off casually toward his team. Momer was momentarily stunned. What?

In this match, AC Milan deployed a 4-1-2-1-2 formation. Ukrainian striker Shevchenko and Rivaldo started in the front line. In midfield, Pirlo returned to his usual position after being shifted to defensive midfield.

The butcher Gattuso was back in his familiar defensive midfield role. In this game, Gattuso would be Momer’s biggest adversary. In fact, the moment Momer stepped onto the pitch, Gattuso’s gaze locked tightly onto him.

Gattuso’s stare was like a blade, as if in the next moment he would pounce and tear someone apart, sending a chill down the spine.

“Kid! Watch yourself, I don’t hold back on the field.”

Gattuso’s voice was low, almost a growl, filled with intimidation.

At this moment, Momer began to doubt whether Rivaldo’s words were misleading.

But Momer was mistaken. Every team had their enforcer—someone who would intimidate opponents, apply psychological pressure, influence referees, do the dirty and exhausting work, and harass the opposing forwards.

At AC Milan, all this was entrusted to Gattuso, the villain of the team.

Standing 176 cm tall, with a powerful build and a stern face, Gattuso appeared especially fearsome.

Inter Milan won the kickoff; AC Milan chose to guess the side. The match officially began.

“Hello everyone, I’m Chen Nu. Recently, both domestically and abroad, there’s been heated debate about whether Momer is a favored player or just a paper tiger. But I want to say, don’t be fooled by rumors. Momer is a player worthy of trust.”

Chen Nu’s voice was somber. Despite foreign praise for Momer, some at home continued to slander him, which was deeply disheartening.

On the field, Momer’s situation was not ideal. AC Milan and Inter Milan knew each other well; both sides defended effectively. Gattuso concentrated his attention on Momer.

Previously, Kohler was nicknamed “Iron Adhesive,” but Gattuso, the “Butcher,” was no less tenacious.

Everything Kohler had, Gattuso possessed—and he was younger and fitter, at his peak.

Sometimes, pure trust does not solve problems, but feeling trusted can give one boundless strength.

“Momer has the ball, but Gattuso is already closing in. The two collide—oh my!”

When everyone expected Momer to fall at the slightest touch as before, the scene changed.

Momer absorbed Gattuso’s impact and stood firm!

To Gattuso, this was an insult!

Gattuso always considered himself a formidable defensive midfielder, but here was Momer, who usually fell easily, standing his ground under his charge. This was a clear signal.

A signal that Gattuso’s physical prowess was inferior to that of an unknown player—unacceptable!

Gattuso continued his assaults—once, twice, thrice—but although Momer staggered, every time Gattuso knocked him off balance, Momer’s right foot still hooked the ball.

His original dribbling path was forcibly bent into a curve!

“What on earth has Momer been eating this month? How can he sustain such consecutive collisions?”

Chen Nu’s voice was full of surprise, and even Hector Cooper was astonished. This kid was truly not to be underestimated. Who said he was stubborn? He was clearly sharp-eyed.

Inter Milan’s players shouted loudly on the pitch, like buying lottery tickets casually for two yuan, with almost no chance of winning, only to wake up and find they had won two hundred.

Inter’s fans had pegged Momer’s physique as fragile, like a leaf in the wind, but now he was taking continuous hits from the “Butcher”?

Only Momer understood the secret. When a sheet of paper is stretched tight at both ends, a single punch can tear it apart.

But if only one end is fixed? The punch scatters, and after repeated blows, the paper begins to shred and break.

Momer was beginning to feel the strain. When Gattuso charged, Momer did not meet him head-on but shifted with Gattuso’s force. Still, he was nearing his limit.

Like a person falling backward, control is possible up to a point, beyond which one truly falls flat on their back.

Momer’s right arm was burning with pain, and Gattuso charged again!

Momer’s first thought: Damn it! I’m done playing!

He struck the ball with his heel, turned, and planned to change direction while dribbling. But Gattuso could not stop his momentum. Tripped by Momer’s sudden turn and raised heel, he took a tumble.

The crowd erupted.

The referee hesitated briefly but signaled play on, as the attack was advantageous.

Momer’s eyes lit up—this was a good opportunity!

He nudged the ball with his left foot back onto his original path, ready to charge at AC Milan’s defense.

Hector Cooper jumped up excitedly, pumping his fists.

“Beautiful! That’s it! That’s it! I was right! My trust was not misplaced! Damn it!”

Inter Milan’s fans cheered loudly; AC Milan’s supporters booed Momer loudly.

But would Momer fear the jeers? The louder the boos, the more he wanted to prove himself—score a goal and show everyone!

Silence all those who jeer and curse him!