The ball had barely touched the net before the AC Milan players, their faces etched with a mix of despair and fury, were sprinting back to the center circle.

The referee, caught up in the whirlwind of emotions, blew his whistle for the restart.

There were only a few minutes of regular time left, plus whatever injury time the referee deemed necessary. AC Milan, now trailing 4-3, threw caution to the wind.

They attacked with a desperate ferocity, pushing almost every player forward. Their formation, if it could even be called that, became an all-out assault. Eight, sometimes nine, players swarmed Inter's half, a red and black tide crashing against a black and blue dam.

Leon Fischer (Current: 84), still buzzing from his incredible goal, immediately snapped back into defensive mode.

His 'Vision' (95) was working overtime, showing him a flurry of leg and a desperate pass, foot and a hopeful cross, and head and a last-ditch header icons.

Every AC Milan player seemed to be attempting something, anything, to find that equalizer.

"AC Milan are throwing everything forward!" the commentator roared, his voice still hoarse but full of excitement.

"They're playing with an intensity born of desperation! Can Inter hold on?!"

The Inter defense, despite the fatigue, stood firm. Stefan de Vrij barked orders, organizing the backline. Alessandro Bastoni threw himself into every tackle.

Even the usually attacking wingers, Leon and Cole Palmer (Current: 85), tracked back diligently, helping to close down space.

Xavi Simons (Current: 86) and Mohammed Kudus (Current: 84) were relentless.

Kudus, fueled by his earlier goal, tried another audacious chip, but Handanović (Current: 85) was ready this time, tipping it over the bar.

Simons weaved through challenges, looking for that one killer pass, but Nicolò Barella (Current: 88) and Hakan Çalhanoğlu (Current: 86) were like shadows, refusing to give him an inch.

The final minutes were a blur of frantic clearances, desperate blocks, and heart-stopping moments. Every time AC Milan got near the box, the San Siro held its breath.

Every time Inter cleared the ball, a collective sigh of relief, followed by renewed cheers, swept through the crowd.

"Leão with the cross!" the commentator yelled.

"It's a dangerous one! Bastoni gets a head to it! Cleared!"

The ball seemed to spend most of its time in Inter's half, but the defense, with every ounce of their effort, refused to break. They were tired, but their determination was unyielding.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the referee looked at his watch, then raised it to his lips.

"PEEP! PEEP! PEEEP!"

The final whistle!

The San Siro erupted in an explosion of pure, unadulterated joy!

The black and blue faithful roared their approval, a sound that vibrated through every fiber of Leon's being.

Inter Milan had won the Derby della Madonnina, 4-3!

The Inter players collapsed onto the pitch, some falling to their knees in exhaustion, others embracing in triumphant hugs.

Leon felt a wave of relief wash over him, followed by immense pride. He looked up at the stands, a sea of black and blue scarves waving wildly, the chants of "Inter! Inter!" echoing through the night.

Coach Chivu rushed onto the pitch, his face beaming. He went straight to Leon, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Leon!" he exclaimed, his voice thick with emotion.

"You are a big player! A very big player! What a goal! What a performance!"

Leon's mom, somewhere in the stands, was undoubtedly watching, tears of pride in her eyes. He could almost feel her radiating happiness.

The cheers were all for Inter, but a significant portion, he knew, was for him.

The new number 10.

He looked around, seeing the exhausted but ecstatic faces of his teammates. Cole Palmer walked towards him, a wide, tired grin on his face.

"Leo! What a finish!" he gasped, clapping him on the back.

"That was… insane! You saw that, right? The fake pass? Incredible!"

Leon grinned back.

"You set it up perfectly, Cole. Your dribble, drawing them in… that's why I trusted you."

He knew Palmer's brilliant dribbling and awareness had been crucial in creating the space for his winning goal. Palmer was a true partner in crime, and a huge part of why Leon had gotten that skill point earlier.

Their connection on the field was undeniable.

As they walked off the pitch, the cheers continued, a seemingly endless wave of adoration. The players high-fived fans in the lower tiers, soaking in the atmosphere.

Inside the locker room, the celebrations were more contained, but the joy was palpable. Players were laughing, slapping each other on the back. Coach Chivu gathered them.

"Listen up!" he said, his voice cutting through the happy chatter.

"That was a fantastic match! You showed heart, you showed courage, and you showed quality! You fought for every ball, and you never gave up! This is the Inter spirit!"

A round of applause broke out.

"But," Chivu continued, his expression turning serious, "this is only the first match of the season. It's a great start, a huge win, especially against our rivals. But we must calm down. There are many more matches to play. The league is long, and we have the Champions League to think about."

He paused, letting his words sink in.

"This is just the beginning. We celebrate tonight, but tomorrow, we focus. We have a long journey ahead, and we need to be ready for every challenge. This team… this team has potential. Now, let's go celebrate this victory!"

The locker room erupted in cheers once more. Leon felt a surge of excitement.

The Champions League. The pinnacle of European club football. He had only just made his Serie A debut, and now the biggest stage of all awaited. He looked at his 'Current: 84' rating, then at his 'Potential: 94'. There was still so much to learn, so much to achieve.

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