Underlying Currents! The South American Faction, Argentina, and the Italian Faction Clash!

There was no answer from the other end of the phone.

After a long while, a slightly weary voice came through.

"Chivu, you should contact the sporting director, Ausilio, about resigning. I'm only the first-team manager. Also, Laino is off-limits. He has a very good relationship with Mr. Moratti, if you know what I mean."

"I know. But, Mr. Mancini, you were the one who brought me from Roma to Inter Milan in 2007. I respect you greatly, so I wanted to let you know before I resigned."

"Have you thought this through?"

"Yes, Mr. Mancini. I've thought it through. I'm sorry."

"Mm, it's fine. Where are you planning to go?"

"To Ajax. They contacted me last month and asked me to coach there."

"Ajax is where you came up. If you go there as head coach, you'll have a bright future."

"No, as an assistant coach for the first team."

"An assistant... By the way, Chivu, let me ask you something. What do you think of Tang as a player?"

Mancini suddenly changed the subject and brought up Tang Long.

Chivu was taken aback, then replied, "Tang's vision of the game is far beyond that of his peers. It's a gift, and that's why I recommended him to the first team."

"Mm. Good."

Mancini smiled at the other end of the phone.

"Chivu, you'd only be an assistant at Ajax. Why not join the first team and become part of my staff? I need you."

"You want me to take Herrera's place as your assistant?"

"No. Herrera won't retire until the end of this season. I need you because I'm going to put Tang through a special training program, and you're the best person to lead it!"

The next morning, Tang Long changed into his gear and walked onto the training ground.

It was drizzling, and the temperature was around five degrees. The cold felt damp and clammy.

A gust of cold wind swept over him. Tang Long hunched his shoulders and shivered.

"Achoo!"

Suddenly, a scarf was draped around his neck.

The fine black yarn felt warm and soft, still carrying its wearer's body heat.

This was...

"Tang, winters in Italy aren't very cold, but the rain makes them miserable. You need a scarf."

It was Inter Milan captain Ranocchia.

Standing 195 centimeters tall, Ranocchia looked at Tang Long with a kind, gentle expression.

"Thanks, Captain. But what will you wear?"

"I have two. You can have one. It's fine."

Ranocchia's concern for him took Tang Long by surprise.

But Tang Long knew that Ranocchia's kindness came partly from the way a first-team captain looked after a young player.

The deeper reason, though, was the praise Tang Long had given Ranocchia in a press conference after their match against Roma.

When La Gazzetta dello Sport asked Tang Long who the best player on the pitch had been,

Tang Long had deliberately avoided the obvious answer, Icardi, and singled out captain Ranocchia instead.

"Ranocchia's solid defending and the clean sheet were key to our victory!"

To counter Guarin's South American Faction, Tang Long had chosen to curry favor with the Italian Local Faction and the Argentine BBQ Gang.

Training moved on to the scrimmage.

During a challenge for a loose ball, defensive midfielder Medel launched into a brutal sliding tackle!

He swept Tang Long, ball and all, right over the touchline.

"Hey, kid! If you're a man, get up. Don't clutch your leg!"

Guarin jeered from the side.

It was clear that Medel, who had no personal grudge against Tang Long, had done this at the behest of the South American Faction's leader, Guarin.

Mancini watched without saying a word, but he saw everything clearly.

Medel was an old hand. It was a sly tackle: on the surface, he'd gotten the ball first and then brought down the man, so it didn't look like a foul.

But after winning the ball, he'd added a subtle extra movement, lifting his toe slightly.

That was what had taken Tang Long down and sent him rolling several times.

"Medel, this is training! Why go so hard? Save that aggression for our opponents!"

Icardi was the first to rush in.

He stopped right in front of Medel, their noses nearly touching. A fight was about to break out.

Medel froze. He hadn't expected Icardi to stand up for Tang Long, and for a moment, he didn't know what to do.

Guarin walked over and said in a sinister tone,

"Mauro, why are you getting so worked up? If you don't take training seriously, do you think your opponents will go easy on you in a match? Besides, that wasn't a foul. It was a beautiful tackle!"

Guarin stood 184 centimeters tall—not especially tall.

But he weighed a whopping 86 kilograms and was built like a tank. Standing beside Icardi, he immediately dwarfed him.

Guarin's nostrils flared like a bull's, huffing out hot breaths.

Icardi wiped the rain from his face and instinctively shoved Guarin away with both hands!

That shove changed everything!

Two Brazilian defenders from the South American Faction, Jonathan and Juan Jesus, moved in.

From the Argentine Faction, Palacio, Osvaldo, Campagnaro, and Carrizo also stepped up to back the 22-year-old Icardi.

Assistant coach Torreira watched the situation nervously, then tugged on manager Mancini's sleeve.

"Boss, aren't you going to break it up?"

"Let them fight. I want to see how far they'll take it," Mancini said, unmoving.

On the other side,

the Ex-Yugoslavia Faction and the Italian Faction watched the show.

Japanese defender Nagatomo Yuto ran over in a clueless hurry. "Everyone, calm down. Let's talk this out..."

No one paid him any attention. Instead, Guarin shot him a look of contempt and shoved him away with one hand!

Nagatomo Yuto was short, barely 170 centimeters tall.

Guarin stood 184 centimeters and was powerfully built. By chance, his hand landed right on Nagatomo Yuto's face.

Smack!

It was as good as a slap!

Nagatomo Yuto was stunned. He clutched his face pitifully, frozen in place.

Captain Ranocchia helped Tang Long to his feet and made sure he wasn't seriously hurt.

Then he charged straight into the crowd.

He was the tallest there, standing like a telephone pole in the middle of everyone. They all had to look up at him.

"Everyone, stop right now! This is Inter Milan, not some back alley! We're professional footballers, not street thugs. If you want to fight, get the hell out and do it somewhere else!"

As a local player and the captain, Ranocchia's authority in the team went without saying.

Behind him, D'Ambrosio and Andreolli followed close, glaring at the others.

"Medel, there's nothing wrong with defending seriously. But Tang's ankle hasn't felt right since two players slid into him head-on during the match against Genoa. What did you mean by doing that?"

"And Guarin, you're 28. You're one of the veterans on this team. Why are you picking a fight with Icardi?"

Though Ranocchia was just doing his duty as captain by breaking up the fight,

anyone with eyes could tell he was taking sides!

Palacio, the Argentine Faction's leader, gave Ranocchia a meaningful look.

"Everyone, break it up! What's all this arguing for? The coaching staff is watching. What kind of behavior is this? Get back to training!" Palacio tried to smooth things over.

Just then, Mancini walked over.

Expressionless, he said, "Guarin, Icardi, your training is over for today. Go home and cool off. Everyone else, get back to training!"

The rest of the training session passed without incident.

But when Mancini noticed several media reporters watching from the sidelines,

he leaned over and quietly gave assistant coach Herrera a few instructions.

That afternoon,

Inter Milan's official website posted a set of nine training photos.

Captured by a high-resolution camera, the players were shown shooting, going up for headers, and making tackles!

Every one of them looked full of energy.

But the last two photos had a rather different feel.

One showed Medel and Tang Long embracing.

Both of them wore bright smiles.

The other showed Icardi and Guarin warming up shoulder to shoulder.

They held each other by the shoulders, one hand pulling a leg back by the ankle to stretch the thigh.

Of course, both of them were smiling too.