The next day, on the night of the match, the azza Stadium was packed to the brim. The Serie A season had started a little later than usual, and Inter Milan had just co off a narrow 1–0 win over Cagliari.
It was a difficult victory—one that didn’t match Inter Milan’s status. Even if Moratti was happy with the three points, he certainly wasn’t pleased with the manner in which they were earned. And if Luigi Simoni wanted to keep his position as Inter’s head coach, he would need to go all out tonight.
Before kickoff, Moratti had invited Richard to watch from his VIP room, but Richard politely declined, suggesting they sit separately. After all, the worry etched on Moratti’s face was unmistakable—a solemn, heavy expression that made him look as if he were attending a funeral rather than a Champions League match.
Richard even joked internally, "That face looks like soone who just walked away from a cetery."
After exchanging a few brief words, the two n parted ways and entered their respective VIP suites.
When Richard stepped into the azza’s VIP box, he couldn’t help but sigh. Compared to the director’s box at Maine Road, this was truly heaven and earth.
The azza’s VIP room radiated the unmistakable aura of classic Italian football prestige.
It wasn’t modern or flashy—no giant LED screens, no sleek minimalist décor. Instead, it carried an old-world elegance, the kind born from tradition rather than design trends.
Soft, warm lighting cast a golden glow across polished mahogany panels lining the walls. Rows of frad photographs—black-and-white legends, championship nights, iconic goals—gave the room the feel of a private museum.
A faint aroma of espresso lingered in the air, blending with the subtle scent of leather from the deep, plush armchairs arranged around round tables. Large glass windows overlooked the pitch, offering a perfect elevated view. Even from inside, you could feel the vibrations of the crowd—chants rolling like waves, drums echoing through the concrete of San Siro.
Silver trays of finger foods—bruschetta, cured ats, pastries—were neatly arranged on a long table draped with Inter’s blue-and-black colors. Staff in crisp black-and-white uniforms moved silently through the room.
A discreet bar stood at the back, stocked with Italian wines, aged whiskey, and sparkling water—image mattered, after all. Conversations drifted around the room in low, controlled tones, the kind spoken by people who understood just how much influence flowed through this space.
Dressed sharply in his suit, Richard took his seat, quietly awaiting the start of the match.
Down on the pitch, the players of both teams began to erge from the tunnel.
"The first matchday of the 1998* UEFA Champions League is about to begin. Today’s earlier matches can be considered the official opening of the new season. The defending champions, Manchester City, are visiting the Serie A runners-up, Inter Milan. Such a high-stakes clash has raised expectations for this football spectacle. Unfortunately, tonight’s Manchester City is a very different team from the one that lifted the trophy four months ago in Amsterdam—fewer than five players from that final are in the starting lineup."
Manchester City lined up in a familiar 4-2-3-1 formation.
Goalkeeper: Buffon
Defenders: Zanetti, Cannavaro, Thuram, Zambrotta
Double Pivot: Lampard, Makélélé
Attacking Midfielders: Pires, Zidane, Ronaldinho
Forward: Trezeguet
Looking at nas like Lampard, Ronaldinho, and Trezeguet made Richard feel genuinely satisfied. He had spent four years building a team of champions, only for it to be dismantled by Europe’s football giants over the sumr. Now, he was preparing to lead a new generation of young talent on a fresh journey in Europe.
On the other hand, Inter Milan’s lineup today was a 4-4-2.
Goalkeeper: Pagliuca.
Defenders: Šimić, Bergomi, West, Galante.
Midfielders: Sione, Cauet, Djorkaeff, Baggio.
Forwards: Ventola, Zamorano.
During his first tenure with Inter Milan, Hodgson managed to drag the club away from the brink of relegation, finishing seventh in his first season. In his second year, he guided them to third place in Serie A and a UEFA Cup final.
So now, as Luigi Simoni went all out to prove himself, he began the season under trendous pressure. And tonight, even with the advantage of playing at ho, facing this new generation of Manchester City, the Italian manager felt an unsettling weight on his chest.
Inter manager Luigi Simoni watched Manchester City’s squad warming up, studying them with a serious expression. Despite City losing several key players over the sumr, he couldn’t let his guard down. This young team had already beaten the mighty Manchester United in the league. What sort of match would these two sides deliver to the fans tonight?
Well, the answer was coming soon—Inter Milan would kick off first.
PHWEEEE—
With the referee’s whistle, the match began.
Inter Milan started aggressively, with Djorkaeff and Baggio linking up through a sharp give-and-go in midfield. Baggio then showcased his trademark individual brilliance, slipping past Lampard before threading a short pass to Nicola Ventola.
The new Inter forward glided along the edge of the box, carving out space for a shot.THUD!The ball smashed against the outside of the post and bounced wide.
"Inter Milan almost took the lead! Ventola’s effort was just inches away! If that had gone in, it would’ve broken the record for the fastest goal in Champions League history—only 12 seconds!"
Richard’s heart leapt into his throat before he forced himself to calm down.
Nicola Ventola—agile, sharp, blessed with excellent technique—was once considered one of Bari’s and Italy’s brightest young prospects. Thankfully, his strike missed, or the match could’ve taken a disastrous turn from the very start.
People today may barely rember Ventola, but back then his strengths were undeniable: speed, power, aerial ability, positional instinct, a natural eye for goal, and the runs that gave his team depth. Although primarily a center forward, he could also play deeper like a second striker thanks to his creativity and link-up play. If not for the many injuries throughout his career, he might well have earned a place in Italy’s footballing hall of fa.
For example—look at the way he had just evaded Lampard.
Of course, Lampard was still very young, and he rarely faced opponents with Ventola’s flair in the Premier League. It was also his first ti eting Baggio. Combined with the pressure of playing away from ho, he was easily beaten. The scene was brutal—like watching a world boxing champion knock down a rookie with a single clean punch.
So, what was the greatest strength of this Inter Milan side?
Without question—their attack.
Up front, they had the explosive young Ventola and the fearso Iván Zamorano.
How strong was Baggio’s individual skill?
Strong enough that the world once regarded him as a divine figure on football’s greatest stage—the World Cup. His touch, vision, and ability to glide past defenders were the stuff of legend. Even now, late in his career, a single mont of brilliance from him could change the entire flow of a match.
Djorkaeff, too, was no ordinary player. Another gem polished under Wenger during the early Monaco years, he combined elegance with unpredictability—dangerous in tight spaces and even deadlier when drifting between the lines.
Then there was Benoît Cauet: strong, dynamic, relentless. A hard-working two-way midfielder with surprising technical quality, known for his combative style and tireless off-ball movent. He had been a key figure for Paris Saint-Germain during their UEFA Cup semifinal run just two years prior.
And anchoring it all was Sione—the Argentine enforcer. A fierce, intelligent defensive midfielder who played like a man prepared to wage war for every inch of grass.
Looking at Inter Milan’s midfield and attack alone, the structure of their team beca clear: extraordinary talent up front, but cracks in the back.
Behind the explosive front line, both Baggio and Djorkaeff were essentially forwards masquerading as midfielders. Flexible, technical, and lethal—yes. But defensively? A liability.
In truth, Inter’s midfield could overwhelm opponents with creativity, but when forced to track back, the imbalance beca obvious.Sione was the strongest shield, followed by Cauet. Beyond them, the remaining four attack-minded players offered little protection.
And the defense behind them?
Bergomi—an Inter legend—was nearing retirent. His experience was unmatched, but his pace had long since left him. Galante and West were solid but inconsistent. It created a chain of weak points, exactly the kind Manchester City had prepared to exploit.
Ronaldinho, positioned on the left flank, was the perfect weapon for that. With his unpredictable dribbling and ability to drag defenders out of shape, he could tear Inter’s vulnerable back line apart piece by piece.
City’s tactical plan was simple: break their fragile defense before their brilliant attack breaks you.
Pires’s role on the right flank in this match was mainly to act as a decoy. Using his individual skill, he drew defenders toward him, creating space and forcing Inter’s back line to shift. The mont he attracted pressure, City would quickly move the ball to the left—where their real attacking threat waited.
Today, Zidane was matched directly against Sione. One represented creative brilliance; the other, relentless defensive intensity. In their respective roles—attack versus defense—they were evenly matched, and every confrontation between them felt like a battle of will and style.
Fifteen minutes had gone by. City used the opening phase to stabilize their rhythm and adapt to the tempo. Once they settled, they began trying to build their attacks—but Inter Milan countered them imdiately.
Sione intercepted Lampard’s risky attempt to pass to Pires. The ball was under-hit, and although Pires boldly stretched to reach it, he couldn’t get a touch. Sione reacted instantly, cutting off the pass cleanly.
He imdiately released the ball forward to Djorkaeff. Djorkaeff turned quickly and passed to Baggio. Then ca a sudden burst of fluid, one-touch football.
Baggio dribbled forward, forcing Lampard to retreat step by step. Instead of challenging Makélélé—his fellow countryman and a tougher matchup—Baggio feinted and slipped the ball back to Djorkaeff.
Djorkaeff sent a diagonal pass to Zamorano, who received it with his back to Thuram. The Chilean cushioned it back to the onrushing Baggio, who instantly threaded a pass through to Ventola.
"WOOOAAAHH!"
The crowd erupted. The sequence was fast, precise, and beautiful—pure Inter Milan.
Ventola received the ball, executed two sharp feints that sent Materazzi the wrong way, and suddenly he was one-on-one with Buffon.
The striker unleashed a shot in a flash—so subtle that it barely looked like a shot at all. He simply poked the ball with the tip of his boot, with nearly no leg swing.
Buffon froze.
He didn’t even attempt to save it. By the ti he realized it was a real strike, the ball was already rolling into the net.
Goal.
Inter Milan had taken the lead at ho.
"GOOOAAAL! Inter Milan scores! Nicola Ventola finds the net! What an incredible goal! A brilliant series of tight passes carved open City’s defense, and Ventola finished with stunning finesse—beating both Thuram and even Buffon!"
"Absolutely beautiful! Look—Cannavaro was busy marking Zamorano, and he can’t believe they’ve already conceded!"
Ventola spread his arms wide as he sprinted toward the sideline, the azza exploding around him. His teammates crowded around him, celebrating a goal that showcased everything Inter had hoped to unleash: precision, creativity, and attacking brilliance.
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