When a team is repced by a single pyer, it's no longer easy to ge the flow of the game.

  Napoli's ability to trol the ball in the midfield and attag third has growronger, while Inter Min has been locked into a defensive posture. Most of the a is taking p Inter's half. Even when Inter occasionally unches a terattack, it rarely poses a real threat.

  Iands, Inter Min fa cheering for their team, urging them to fight back.

  The score remained 0–2. At this point, Inter Min o take more risks, attack aggressively, and fight foal.

  But Mourinho's team was in a bind.

  If they pressed higher up the pitapoli might tear them apart with ease.

  In this situation, could he really afford to push his team forward? Did he even dare?

  "Giuseppe, were they like this st season?" Mourinho asked, his brows furrowed deeply.

  He had watched several Napoli games and thought he had evaluated them objectively enough. But now, it was clear he had uimated them.

  Watg game footage simply wasn't enough. Video clips couldn't capture the full picture.

  Only by experieng the game firsthand, the atmosphere, the pressure, the shifts in offense and defense could you truly appreciate an oppo's strength.

  This was why, even in an era of advaeology, many coaches still chose to scout oppos in person.

  And now Mourinho uood why. The real Napoli, in a, was far more formidable thaeam he had seen in videos.

  Their dominance was overwhelming, like a suffog force.

  On the surfaapoli wasn't even aggressively pressing Inter's goalkeeper. They weren't truly hounding Cesar tonight.

  But the overall pressure was far more oppressive than it seemed.

  In the first half, Inter Min had barely mao hold on. But now, in the sed half especially in the final stretch they were starting to crumble.

  The physical toll was being unbearable.

  "They've improved a lot si season," Giuseppe Baresi admitted, clearly resigned.

  Mourinho g his assistant, shook his head, and sighed.

  What a terrifying oppo.

  He had to admit, he had uimated Gao Shen.

  Now he finally uood why clubs like Bara and Inter Min were willing to go to such lengths to recruit him.

  Before, he couldn't quite fathom the fuss. But now, he had to admit: Gao Shen was the real deal.

  Just look at this Napoli side. To discover and ie a ter-back like Benatia into the squad? Incredible.

  Of course, Mourinho wasn't going to openly admit any of this, at least not publicly. That wasn't his style.

  "We o focus on figuring out how to turn things around," said Boas, another assistant, from the bench.

  Mourinho could only ugh bitterly.

  Turn things around? How?

  Who could he even bring on at this point?

  It was almost ical. He had e into this match prepared to go toe-to-toe with Gao Shen, so he had loaded his bench with offensive pyers. Aside from the backup goalkeeper, he had Jimenez, Figo, Crespo, and Cruz ready to go.

  Now, who could possibly make a difference?

  Mourinho felt absurdly helpless, like he was at a bad blind date.

  You see a photo of a tall, slim beauty, only to find out it's someoirely different in person. But the reservations have been made, and you have no choice but to see it through.

  That was Mourinho's mood now—helpless and frustrated.

  Damn it.

  Down 0–2.

  The Puese tacti could only fort himself with that grim thought.

  ...

  In the pass-and-trol system Napoli employed, Thiago Motta had bee the lin in midfield.

  His off-ball movement was clever and instinctive, stantly positioning himself where his teammates could easily pass to him.

  This ability was ingrained in him during his years at Bara's youth academy, where movement, passing, and positional awareness were drilled into pyers from a young age.

  Thanks to their dominan possession, Napoli trolled the ball near Inter Min's 30-yard line, tinually probing and looking for opportuo break through.

  Inter Min's defense was resolute, but as the game wore on, their physical stamina dwindled, and the mounting pressure began to take its toll.

  Inter occasionally mao une attacks, with Ibrahimovic retreating deeper to receive the ball and ect with the midfield. But the efforts rarely amouo anything, and they couldn't relieve the relentless pressure Napoli was exerting.

  By the 80th mihe disparity became even more apparent.

  Mourinho made another substitution, bringing Cruz on to repce Balotelli.

  The young talent had struggled tonight, but it was hard to be too critical of a 17-year-old. Balotelli had already shown fshes of his immeential.

  After the ge, Ibrahimovic began to drop even deeper to retrieve the ball, trying te the gap between midfield and attack.

  Napoli, however, remained unshaken.

  In the 83rd minute, Sanchez and Vargas bined on the left fnk but failed to create a meaningful ce.

  Zai and Mai worked together to snuff out the attack, eventually clearing the ball.

  However, Napained possession.

  avaro collected the ball and passed it left tas. The Peruvian defender trolled it but couldn't find an immediate opening, so he sent it io Parejo.

  The Spanish youngster surveyed the field before unleashing a cross-field pass to the right.

  Valencia trolled the ball with his chest, pushing forward to the edge of the penalty area before being forced to pass sideways to Vidal.

  The Chilean midfielder took ooud looked to tihe attack, but Inter's Montari interveo block the py.

  Montari had been one of Inter's few bright spots, perf admirably i matches. Mourinho had even likened him to Essien, a high pliment.

  The ball ricocheted awkwardly toward midfield, where Benatia won the aerial duel and headed it back to the right.

  Lichtsteiner collected the ball, advanced, a a sharp diagonal pass into the box.

  In the penalty area, i had already anticipated the py.

  Feigning a move to the right, he drew Burdisso and Cambiasso out of position before abruptly stopping and sprinting forward.

  This sudden ge caught Inter's defenders off-guard. Lichtsteiner's cross dropped perfectly into the space i had created.

  Without hesitation, i leaped high ahe ball with a powerful header.

  The ball arced beautifully toward the left er of the .

  Cesar dove desperately but couldn't reach it.

  "GOAL!!!"

  "THREE-NIL!"

  "My word, it's 3–0!"

  "i! Edinson i!"

  "He's just scored Napoli's third goal of the night!"

  ...

  The moment Lichtsteiner delivered the cross, Gao Shen already se might be a goal.

  His entire body tensed with anticipation.

  When i's header hit the back of the , Gao Sheed, uo tain his joy.

  He charged out of the teical area, running and shouting with pure exhiration, his fists ched tightly.

  "Look at Gao Shen! He's more excited than his pyers!"

  "Three to zero!"

  "Napoli has avehe humiliation of their 0–3 loss at the San Siro two years ago!"

  "This matot only represents reve also demonstrates just how muapoli has grown iwo years."

  "If, two years ago, Napoli were helpless against Inter Min, tonight the roles have been pletely reversed!"

  "Mourinho's team has been utterly stifled. They've barely mao create a single meaningful attack!"

  Gao Shen almost rushed into the Inter fans' se but was quickly restrained by a staff member.

  He couldn't stop grinning.

  Three to zero!

  Unbelievable!

  Two years ago, he had promised himself he would one day get revenge for that humiliati. And now, he had delivered.

  The Meazza Stadium erupted in boos, but to Gao Shen, the sound was sweeter than music.

  He stood by the sidelines, arms spread wide, ughing untrolbly.

  His pyers charged over to celebrate, oer the other, embrag him with cheers and shouts.

  This was more than just a win. This was vindication.

  This was revenge.

  ...

  After the celebrations subsided, the pyers returo the field. i, still grinning, gnced back at Gao Shen.

  "Boss, stay strong!" he shouted teasingly.

  The pyers burst into ughter.

  "Get lost!" Gao Sheed with a grin, but his joy was unmistakable.

  He turo the referee, Sakani, who roag with a yellow card in hand.

  "Take it easy," Sakani said with a resigned smile.

  "Sorry, I got carried away!" Gao Shen replied, still beaming.

  It was just a yellow card. He could live with that.

  As he returo the sidelines, he hugged each of his assistants.

  Two years ago, they had stood together on this very field, powerless as Inter dismahem.

  But tonight, they had turhe tables. They had erased that shame.

  The once-mighty Inter Min had fallen.

  This was their moment.