Tang Long walked over to Icardi, who had already spotted him.
Perhaps it was because they had seen each other naked in the bathroom earlier.
Before Tang Long could even ask what was going on, the Argentine forward slung an arm around his neck and pulled him into a corner of the locker room.
"Tang, did you see it from the bench? You saw it, right? You definitely saw it!"
"See what?"
"That assist from Hernanes!"
"He played pretty well. He scored twice, and Berni even told me his nickname was The Prophet."
Icardi made the face of an old man on the subway and let out an "Huh?"
His Italian was very standard, unlike Palacio's, which was tinged with an accent. He also deliberately slowed down when speaking to Tang Long, so the two had no trouble understanding each other.
"That ball—he could've passed it to me. I was in a better position, but instead he passed it to Palacio, who was in a worse one!"
"You mean that play?"
Tang Long thought back. Icardi was right.
Inter had broken the deadlock just over ten minutes into the first half. The first goal had come from 32-year-old veteran Palacio.
It was also Palacio's first goal in his last four games. He was delighted to have ended his dry spell and embraced his provider, Hernanes, warmly.
"On that counterattack, you were positioned closer to the middle. If you'd gotten the ball, you could've driven into the area around the penalty spot and taken a shot. Palacio was slower and still out on the wing. His position really was worse than yours. Still, at least the ball went in."
"Was it? I didn't think so. With his technique, he could've passed it to me."
"But he didn't."
"Exactly, he didn't! He gave it to Palacio."
Even though Icardi had lowered his voice, Tang Long could still hear how he felt about the two men.
Icardi was a little annoyed with Hernanes, the man who'd made the assist.
I was in a better position. I had a better chance of scoring if I got the ball. Why didn't he pass it to me?
It was an instinctive thought for any forward who wanted to score—and one that would linger until the end of the game, with little connection to whether the chance ultimately ended in a goal.
It came down to trust, and it struck at Icardi's sensitive pride.
As for his compatriot Palacio, Icardi felt more reverence than anything else. He even mouthed Palacio's name rather than saying it aloud.
In the summer of 2012, Palacio had transferred from Genoa to Inter Milan for €10.5 million.
He quickly became an undisputed starter.
Over the next two seasons, he scored 20 goals and 19 goals for Inter, respectively, finishing as the team's top scorer both times.
The famous Serie A commentator Zhang Lu once said of Palacio:
"I can't understand why Inter would buy Palacio. He's over 30, old and skinny, and they still paid €10 million for him!"
As it turned out, Zhang Lu had been wrong.
During Inter's slump, Palacio, who wore a little braid and was nicknamed the Braid Commander, had shouldered the entire burden of Inter's attack by himself.
Although his age had taken a toll on his physical condition this season, the decline wasn't too obvious yet. It would only become visible in the second half of the season.
At least this season, he ranked above Icardi at Inter and was the undisputed big shot among the team's Argentina Faction!
Hernanes had been at Inter for less than a year. No matter how good he'd been at Lazio, he was still a newcomer at Inter.
He had to pay his respects to the established order!
According to Berni, Hernanes was Brazilian, but he didn't like hanging out with the South American Faction led by Guarin.
Pragmatically, he'd chosen to join the strongest faction in the team: the Argentine BBQ Gang.
To be on the safe side, he would naturally prioritize Palacio. Icardi had to come second.
Tang Long now understood Icardi's thinking perfectly.
He wanted to score more goals, win the Serie A Golden Boot, and even the European Golden Shoe;
but when Hernanes had to choose between two options, he preferred to send a through ball to another forward, Palacio, rather than Icardi.
Yet, because of Palacio's standing at Inter and within the Argentina Faction, Icardi couldn't say anything to either of them.
"It doesn't matter who he passes to," Tang Long said, deliberately teasing Icardi. "The ball went in either way. It makes no difference to the team winning!"
"Well, it's the same... but it's not the same," Icardi said awkwardly. "I really want to win the Serie A Golden Boot. You know that!"
"If I'm on the pitch, I'll keep sending you the ball whenever a chance comes up," Tang Long said.
A glimmer of light appeared in Icardi's eyes, then faded.
Just then, Mancini came in, and Icardi stopped talking to Tang Long.
Tang Long thought, Icardi knows I'll pass to him, but he also knows that whether I'll play today—or how many games I'll get this season—is still up in the air.
Tang Long knew how things would unfold between Icardi and Palacio.
At the end of the season, Icardi would win the Serie A Golden Boot with 22 goals, becoming the youngest top scorer in Serie A's hundred-year history and the central figure in a new generation of the Argentine BBQ Gang.
Palacio would also have a decent season, but he'd score only eight league goals, a far cry from the previous season. He'd gradually become a fringe player and leave Inter in 2017.
So Tang Long had to be good to Icardi. This wasn't a matter of placing a bet; it was an obvious decision.
Mancini's locker-room speech boiled down to telling them not to let up and to stick with the cautious approach they'd used in the first half.
"...All right!
Get up, lads. Let's get back out there!"
When the speech was over, the players filed out.
In the players' tunnel, while Mancini didn't have many people around him, Tang Long quickly walked over.
"Boss, could I have ten seconds?"
"Mm."
"I'd like to come on in the second half."
"Give me a reason."
"I feel like I'm in great form. I can contribute to the team."
"How much time do you want?"
"Ten minutes. Ten minutes is all I need."
Mancini stopped and studied Tang Long thoughtfully.
Confidence shone through his handsome East Asian features.
Tang Long's move had surprised Mancini a little.
In all his years as a manager, no young player had ever come up and directly asked him for playing time like Tang Long had.
Even when his expectant gaze swept over certain young players, they would instinctively avoid his eyes, lower their heads uneasily, then clear their throats in a strained manner.
All signs of insecurity.
Even Balotelli, the fearless player Mancini had promoted from the youth team during his first spell at Inter, had never asked him for playing time in the middle of a match.
Mancini suddenly smiled.
In 1982, 18-year-old Mancini had come from Bologna to Lazio.
He'd been exactly the same age as Tang Long.
Back then, Mancini had also spent time languishing on the bench because his coach didn't trust him.
At the start of his first season, he'd barely played in the first dozen or so games.
All he could do was sit on the bench and watch his teammates race around the pitch, cheered on by thousands of fans.
For any ambitious professional footballer, that feeling was torture!
As he looked at the young man before him, someone around the same age as his own son, he saw those eager eyes—and remembered how much they resembled his own during his first year at Sampdoria...
Mancini had originally planned to give Tang Long no playing time in this match, but he changed his mind.
"If we're up 3–0, I'll give you some time on the pitch. I can't say exactly how much. Just follow my instructions."
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