There was still one day left until the Champions League match. In the morning, the entire AC Milan squad arrived in Spain, ready for their away match against Real Madrid.
Seeing his long-lost former teammates again, Suker was all smiles.
But the smile didn't last long.
Around 4 p.m., just as he finished training and returned to his villa, the security guard outside informed him there was a suspicious group of people.
Led by Rostov, Suker stepped out of the villa—only to see Kaka and the others awkwardly loitering by the roadside.
Although they were all bundled up tightly, having spent four years together, Suker could recognize them at a glance.
Suker was both amused and exasperated.
"You guys are nuts, huh? Can't we meet after the match?"
Kaka leaned over and whispered, "After the match, we might head back straight away."
The others all nodded.
Suker glanced around.
Well then!
The whole gang was basically here.
Kaka, Gattuso, Pirlo, Pato, and Seedorf.
Suker looked at Seedorf in surprise.
"What are you doing here?"
Seedorf paused. "That's a rude question. Why can't I be here?"
Suker smiled bitterly and shook his head. "Fine, come in."
The security let them in, and everyone followed Suker into the villa.
"Nice place!"
"I love that football pitch outside."
"Is this the kitchen?"
Suker watched as Kaka went straight into the kitchen and shouted, "Hey! Can you at least pretend to be guests?"
"Got it!"
Kaka gave an OK gesture, took off his backpack, opened the fridge, and began stuffing it.
"What are you doing?"
Suker walked over and saw Kaka stuffing the last three bottles of special sauce into his bag. Kaka turned and asked, "Only three left?"
He scratched his head. "Enough for two months, I guess!"
Suker: "Leave me one! If you take them all, what am I supposed to eat?"
"And you—let go of my dog! One more move and I'll get Luna to bite you!"
With his former teammates there, Suker had no choice but to cook up something simple to host them.
"Damn it, feeding you guys before a match. Anyone would think I've gone over to the enemy."
Watching them all devouring the food, Suker sighed helplessly.
"Your food always tastes the best," Kaka said with his head practically buried in his plate, giving a thumbs-up.
Suker rolled his eyes.
"Milan's management is this lax now? You guys sneak out before the match and the coach says nothing?"
"We snuck out. We'll be back in half an hour," Pato replied.
Suker looked at Pato. The guy had grown darker and more muscular—clearly not letting himself go.
Suker asked, "Didn't Ronaldinho invite you to a nightclub?"
"Before a match? No way. After the season ends, maybe!" Pato sighed. "Although, I doubt there'll be much to celebrate."
Smack!Nesta slapped him.
"Shut that foul mouth!"
Pato muttered indignantly.
"But it's true."
Suker looked around. Though they were acting normal, he could see the worry in their eyes.
They were probably under heavy pressure in the league, being crushed by Inter Milan.
Suker didn't bring it up. With the little time they had, it was better to keep the atmosphere light and happy.
Half an hour flew by amid laughter.
They were about to head back to their hotel.
"We won't go easy on you tomorrow," Nesta said seriously to Suker.
Suker nodded. "Don't worry, I won't go easy either!"
Nesta looked grim.
Why the tough talk?
While Suker was speaking with Nesta, Gattuso leaned over to Pato and whispered:
"Did you get it?"
Pato patted his rigid backpack and whispered, "So... why me?"
"Because… Suker might hit someone!"
Pato: "???"
Watching them leave, Suker couldn't help but smile.
The vibe hadn't changed—it was just in a different place.
But people always part. As much as he loved AC Milan, Suker had to pursue higher honors.
Back in his room, Suker began watching match footage.
Even if they were his former teammates and he knew them well, he couldn't let his guard down.
That night, something felt off.
Suddenly, Suker jumped out of bed and rushed into the guest room, rummaging through boxes.
Nothing!
Nothing!
Still nothing!
Goddamn it!
Suker stormed into the bedroom, grabbed his phone.
"You damn thieves! Give me back my laptop!"
—
The next day, Santiago Bernabéu Stadium was electric.
The 2009/2010 UEFA Champions League campaign was about to continue.
For Real Madrid, this was a revenge match.
They had been eliminated by AC Milan twice in the Round of 16. In response, they'd spent 100 million to poach Milan's best player. Now, it was time for payback.
Starting lineups:
Real Madrid (4-3-3):
GK: Casillas
DFs: Arbeloa, Pepe, Ramos, Marcelo
MFs: Gago, Diarra, Xabi Alonso
FWs: Higuaín, Suker, Benzema
AC Milan (4-3-1-2):
GK: Dida
DFs: Oddo, Nesta, Thiago Silva, Zambrotta
MFs: Gattuso, Pirlo, Seedorf
FWs: Pato, Kaká, Inzaghi
During the pre-match handshake, Suker smiled, but his mouth was moving slightly.
"You damn thieves."
Nesta passed by quickly.
"Stole my laptop!"
Gattuso coughed to hide his embarrassment.
"Got guts, huh?"
Pato trembled.
"No seafood for you next time!"
Kaka looked heartbroken.
"I'll destroy you!"
Inzaghi hurried by, head down.
After the handshake, Ramos said to Pepe, "Something's off."
Pepe nodded. "Suker doesn't get along with Milan players?"
"They're really close!" Ramos was confused.
So was Pepe.
In the center circle, Suker stood over the ball.
His fighting spirit was blazing.
Time to crush these thieves!
Damn it!He treated them well—who would've guessed they had ulterior motives?
Suker fumed.
"Good thing I backed it up!"
Benzema noticed Suker's intense vibe. "What's up with you?"
Suker shook his head. "I'm just excited."
Benzema laughed. "Because you're facing your old teammates?"
Suker turned slowly, eyes shining.
"Even more excited."
Benzema scratched his head, baffled.
But fired-up Suker? That was a good thing.
The players took their positions.
Forget the side drama—they had to treat this match seriously.
Both teams were elite.
They were the top two most decorated clubs in Champions League history.
With such a storied past, this group stage clash naturally attracted massive attention.
And Suker vs. his former club made it even more compelling.
Milan's lineup hadn't changed much.
But the Eastern European players were gone.
Simunic sat on the bench, while Simic didn't make the squad.
Starting at center-back was young Brazilian Thiago Silva.
After Kaka and Pato, Milan continued their shopping spree in Brazil.
To be precise, Silva was returning to Europe. He'd joined Porto in 2004 but struggled and was released. During that time, he even contracted tuberculosis and considered retiring.
Back in Brazil, after a strong run of form, Milan signed him to reinforce their aging defense.
Silva had performed well so far. Milan, facing a defensive transition, needed a young center-back.
But in this match, Silva was under immense pressure.
He was up against Milan's former talisman: Croatian superstar Suker!
"Don't panic! Don't be afraid!" Nesta told Silva earnestly. "The more scared you are, the more Suker will target you."
"Just stick to him," Nesta warned. "Whatever you do, do not stick your foot out!"
He said it three times—for emphasis. That only made Silva more nervous.
The referee stepped out of the center circle.
The whistle blew. Kickoff.
"This is the third group-stage match of the 2009/2010 Champions League—Real Madrid vs. AC Milan. Real's past encounters against Milan weren't great, but I believe they won't let this chance for revenge slip away!"—Spanish commentator González
Italian commentator Aldo Cerella looked at Suker and said:
"For Milan fans, this is a bittersweet moment. Their former talisman Suker is now wearing the white jersey of Real Madrid, standing on the other side."
"He was once their most trusted, beloved star at San Siro—now he's an opponent."
"But I believe Milan fans still love him deeply. And as spectators, we can still look forward to his performance."
In the Milan away section, fans watched Suker with complex emotions.
He had once been their pride. Now, he was their opponent.
A helpless feeling.
On the field, Suker was highly active.
Though he played as a central striker, he constantly moved to pull defenders and sometimes dropped deep to help in defense.
Thiago Silva didn't dare relax and tightly marked Suker.
The ball remained with Real Madrid. After several runs, Suker stopped.
Suddenly, he accelerated.
Silva flinched, only to realize it was a long ball.
Suker sprinted toward it, with Silva in pursuit.
Suker slowed down and gently controlled the ball, leaving it a meter ahead.
A mistake?
Silva hesitated and moved in.
"Don't stick your foot out!"
Nesta shouted.
Silva froze and held back.
Suker smirked. He pulled the ball with his left foot, then quickly flicked it outward, baiting Silva into lunging.
That moment, Suker unleashed a shot.
The ball zipped through Silva's legs toward the far post.
Ding!It struck the post and went out.
"Suker's first shot of the match—a tight angle, but beautifully handled. A solid attempt nonetheless."
Milan fans in the away end gasped.
As the ball skimmed the post, they breathed a sigh of relief—but also broke into a cold sweat.
Only now did they truly realize how dangerous Suker was… as an opponent.
Even so, they applauded.
Clap clap clap clap clap clap clap…
Applause from the away end.
Despite the shot being on their goal, they still cheered Suker's brilliance.
Their applause was thanks—for all the goals he once gave them.
Suker was briefly stunned, a warm feeling in his chest.
He patted his heart and blew a kiss toward the fans.
I love you too.
"We're seeing a touching scene—Milan fans applaud an opponent's shot because that opponent is Suker."
"Suker responds with a kiss."
"He played four years for Milan and helped win two Champions League titles…"
—González continued listing Suker's achievements.
The Real Madrid fans watching this moment also erupted in applause.
Applause for Suker—and for Milan fans.
CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP—
Deafening.
Real fans were even laughing like maniacs.
Touching?
Doesn't matter.
He's ours!
Ours!
Suker is ours!
Suker opened strong. No goal yet, but a serious threat.
The Milan players broke into cold sweats.
"Watch out! He's like a dog chasing a frisbee!"
Pirlo shouted, "Suker is a top-tier dog!"
Suker whipped around, glaring at Pirlo.
"You bastards—I'll kick you all so hard you'll pee yourselves!"
Of course, it was all trash talk.
Milan wasn't weak.
Kaka was still here.
Pato hadn't gone astray.
Pirlo, Gattuso, Nesta, and Seedorf—though aging—were still very capable.
Most important: Kaka!
"Kaka bursts forward! He's fast! Marseille turn past Gago—ohhh—a rainbow flick! Pato—will he shoot? No! Cut-back to Kaka! DANGEROUS!"
BANG!Ramos lunged from the side, just managing to block the shot.
Casillas missed it—but was scared out of his mind.
Milan's build-up was slick and cohesive.
Suker watched Kaka.
After Suker's departure, Kaka had truly come into his own.
Now Milan's absolute core, with the team built around him, Kaka naturally exploded in form.
But Milan's overall condition had declined.
They looked okay now—but give it half a game, or less, and problems would appear.
Two years ago, with "God-slaying" Kaka and a still-solid Milan, they were deadly.
But now? Stay steady and their cracks would show.
Suker knew Milan well.
So he wasn't rushing anything.
He dropped slightly deeper, helping Real Madrid maintain possession and rhythm.
Madrid began to control the pace with crisp passes.
Kaka's heart clenched.
Suker knew Milan too well—he was trying to wear out the aging squad.
Kaka lunged just as the ball reached Suker.
Suker pushed it sideways.
Kaka followed, anticipating a pullback. He knew Suker well—he'd pull it back.
But nothing came.
Suker spun, turning his back to Kaka.
Kaka slammed into him, hurting his chest—but Suker didn't budge.
As he fell, Kaka was baffled.
Is Suker this strong?!
He tried to barge Suker—but Suker faced goal with a single spin.
He touched the ball forward—
Charging toward Thiago Silva.
Silva tensed.
Suker closed in and began a series of stepovers.
His upper body swayed wildly—Silva was dizzy.
But he remembered Nesta's words:
No tackles!Just don't!
Swoosh!
Suker suddenly flicked the ball to the right—fluid, unreadable.
Silva reacted a beat late.
That was all Suker needed.
He wound up and struck.
Silva tried to block—but was still a step behind.
The ball rocketed toward the far corner.
Dida dove.
"I can reach it!" he thought.
But at the last moment, the ball dipped, bounced, and slipped past Dida's fingers into the net.
SWISH!
Goal!
13th minute—Suker scores with a powerful strike!
He ran slowly toward the away fans, head bowed, arms raised.
No celebration.
"Sorry. This is my responsibility."