CHAPTER 175: [MANAGER MODE UNLOCKED!]

The final whistle was less a sound and more a collective, primal scream of exhaustion and relief from 80,000 souls. The San Siro was a supernova of emotion.

The Juventus players collapsed to the grass, devastated by the last-second equalizer.

The Inter players, running on fumes, found their second wind, pulling each other into fierce, desperate hugs. It wasn’t a victory, but it felt like one.

The commentator, his voice completely shredded, sounded like he had just run a marathon himself. "IT’S OVER! THE DERBY D’ITALIA ENDS IN A WAR, A POEM, A BEAUTIFUL DISASTER! THREE-THREE! Inter have salvaged a point from the jaws of defeat! Juventus will feel like they have been robbed! This was not a football match; it was an epic story told over ninety minutes, and not a single person in this stadium will ever forget it!"

The Inter players, a single blue and black unit, walked over to the Curva Nord.

They didn’t pump their fists or celebrate wildly. They just applauded, a slow, rhythmic clap of shared experience with their fans. The crowd roared back, a sound of pure, unadulterated gratitude. They had seen their team go to the brink and refuse to die.

As they turned to leave, the stadium announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers. "And the Man of the Match, for his composure, his crucial late run, and the goal that saved the Derby... from London, England... Cole PALMER!"

The stadium erupted again. The Inter players swarmed the Englishman, who looked genuinely shocked. Julián Álvarez and Nicolò Barella lifted him onto their shoulders, parading him in front of the fans.

Palmer, the picture of cool, couldn’t help but break into a massive, joyous grin, pumping his fist in the air. It was a perfect moment—the hero of the day was not the established superstar, but the quiet new guy who had earned his place in the heart of the team.

The dressing room was a beautiful, chaotic mess of noise, steam, and the smell of victory-tinged sweat. It wasn’t the wild, screaming party of the Derby win, but the giddy, breathless laughter of survivors who couldn’t quite believe what they had just been through.

"My legs have turned to jelly," Federico Dimarco announced to no one in particular, slumping onto the bench and failing to untie his own boots. "I think I’m going to sleep here tonight."

"My heart," Alessandro Bastoni said, clutching his chest dramatically. "When Chiesa scored that goal, I saw my whole life flash before my eyes. I saw my first steps, my first bowl of pasta, everything!"

Julián Álvarez, unwrapping an energy bar with surgical precision, looked up. "Question," he said, and the room quieted expectantly. "If a draw feels like a win, do we get one and a half points in our hearts?"

The room exploded in laughter.

"Julián, you are a treasure," Lautaro said, shaking his head as he pulled off his captain’s armband. "A strange, confusing treasure that we must protect at all costs."

The door opened, and Coach Chivu walked in. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look happy. He just looked... drained, like he had played every single minute himself.

"I have nothing to say about tactics," he began, his voice raspy. "Today, tactics went out the window. Today was about something else." He looked around the room, his eyes lingering on each player. "Today was about character. When you went down 2-1, you could have crumbled. When you went down 3-2 in the final minutes, you should have crumbled."

He pointed a finger at Bastoni. "But you refused. You attacked that corner like a lion." He pointed at Palmer. "You stayed calm when the entire world was panicking." He pointed at Leon. "You chose the team over the glory. And you," he said, looking at Lautaro, "you led them."

A proud, satisfied silence filled the room.

"That point we earned today," Chivu said, his voice dropping to a low, intense growl, "might be the point that wins us the Scudetto. Never forget that. Never forget how you earned it."

He turned to a large screen on the wall and pressed a button on a remote.

The updated league table flashed up, and a cheer went through the room.

[Serie A - Fixture 34]

1. Inter Milan - 87 pts

2. AC Milan - 81 pts

3. Juventus - 81 pts

4. Napoli - 78 pts

5. Atalanta - 75 pts

"We survived," Chivu said simply. "Our lead is still five points, because Milan drew their match. We have four games left. The title is still in our hands. Next up is fixture 35. Our job is not done."

He gave them a final, sharp nod and left. The moment he was gone, the switch was flipped, and the joyous banter returned.

Leon sat in his spot, a towel around his neck, a deep sense of satisfaction washing over him.

He felt his phone buzz.

It was a message from Byon.

Byon: "Just saw the highlights. Are you guys completely insane?! Tell Palmer that assist was world-class. And tell Julián to never change."

Leon smiled, typing a quick reply. He felt a quiet click in his mind, a new sense of order.

The frantic, overwhelming data of the match had been processed, filed away.

The system felt... bigger. More powerful. ’Manager Mode’ Unlocked.

He closed his eyes, curiosity getting the better of him. He thought, Activate Manager Mode.

It was different from his normal Vision. It wasn’t an overlay on the world. It was like a new, clean tab opening in the browser of his mind.

The screen was stark, simple, with a series of folders: ’Squad Analysis’, ’Tactical Planner’, ’Opponent Breakdown’.

He mentally clicked on ’Squad Analysis’.

A list of his teammates appeared.

He could see their stats, their potential, their contract statuses, their morale levels. It was an incredible database of information.

Then he saw a sub-folder he hadn’t expected: ’Staff’.

He clicked on it.

A single profile appeared.

[Profile: Cristian Chivu]

[Role: Head Coach]

[Tactical Preference: Aggressive High-Press (Primary), Counter-Attacking (Secondary)]

[Key Attribute: Motivation 98]

[Morale: Determined]

It was fascinating.

He could see the coach’s core stats, the very blueprint of his managerial style.

But then, at the very bottom, he saw one final line, a line that made his heart skip a beat.

It was written in the same jagged, aggressive font as Scamacca’s ’Derby Slayer’ trait.

[Hidden Trait Detected: ’The Gambler’. In high-stakes matches, has a chance to make radical, high-risk/high-reward tactical decisions that defy conventional logic.]