Everyone Has Their Lows, Think of Your Original Intentions and Climb the Path You Once Took Again!

The plane landed at the airport in Puerto Boyacá, Colombia.

Tang Long and Berni, disregarding their fatigue from the journey, hurriedly hailed a taxi and headed towards the slums of Guarin's hometown.

Despite being called a taxi, this Corolla, produced in the late 1990s, offered a riding experience no different from that of a three-wheeled vehicle.

As I left the airport, the city gradually became more dilapidated.

The streets were lined with low, simple houses, their walls covered in colorful graffiti, yet exuding a strange sense of oppression.

"I have serious doubts. We don't even have his contact information. Will we ever be able to find him?" Berni said worriedly.

For the past two years, Guarin has cut off all communication with the outside world.

No one knows his exact phone number.

Berni hadn't seen his former Inter Milan teammate for a long time, and only learned bits and pieces about Guarin's decadent life from his friends in South America.

"We definitely can," Tang Long said firmly. "Guarin is a Colombia football star. As long as he's still in his hometown, we'll definitely be able to find him."

When the taxi finally stopped at the entrance to the slum, Tang Long and Berni were shocked by what they saw.

This place seems to be a forgotten corner of the world, with sewage flowing through the narrow streets and emitting a pungent odor.

Garbage piled up like mountains, and flies buzzed around it.

Mixed-race children with diverse skin tones ran and played barefoot on the dirty ground.

"This house is habitable? My God, Guarin won't die here, will he...?" Berni warily observed the passersby around him.

The passersby also glanced at Tang Long and Guarin from time to time.

The two men were striking in appearance; one was of Asia descent, and the other had the typical features of a pure white person, with a distinct difference in skin color from the locals.

The houses in the slums are mostly built with dilapidated wooden planks, sheet metal and plastic sheeting, and are so crumbling that they look like they could be blown down by a strong wind.

The old roof tiles creaked in the wind, and the spaces between the houses were narrow and cramped, making it difficult for sunlight to penetrate the layers of buildings and shine into these dark and damp corners.

Street vendors set up simple stalls, selling cheap goods such as Baba fruit, blackened bread, and some unidentified daily necessities.

In the slums, violence seems to be the norm.

Several young people were arguing on the street corner, and soon they started fighting. The people around them just watched indifferently, and no one stepped forward to stop them. Berni and Tang Long walked by quickly.

Hey, where did you guys come from?!

Not far away, several children were holding wooden sticks and imitating adults by engaging in what they called a "battle," shouting and waving their sticks at Berni and Tang Long as they passed by.

They inquired everywhere about Guarin's whereabouts, but no one could tell them his exact location, and Tang Long and Berni returned empty-handed.

Three days later, through his connections within the Italy Mafia in South America, Berni finally located Guarin's residence in a dilapidated house covered in graffiti in the favela of Port of Boyacá.

Upon entering, there was a pile of beer bottles, the floor was filthy, and countless cockroaches were crawling around.

"Guarin! Come out!" Berni covered his nose.

"Guarin, are you here?" Tang Long called out.

After a moment of silence, a rustling sound came from above the attic, followed by the sound of footsteps moving.

A familiar voice came from the second floor. "Don, Berni, is that you?"

Tang Long and Berni looked in the direction of the sound and saw Guarin slowly walking out from behind a pile of discarded tires, carrying a half-finished bottle of beer. A strong smell of alcohol wafted over. Guarin had a scraggly beard and looked like a wild man. His eyes were droopy, and his face was full of fatigue and vicissitudes.

Upon seeing Guarin, Tang Long and Berni were filled with excitement. They quickly stepped forward and embraced Guarin tightly.

At this moment, they seemed to have returned to the days when they fought side by side on the court, and those beautiful memories flooded their minds.

However, the reality before them made them realize that they had to find a way to help Guarin get out of his predicament and leave this dangerous and dark slum as soon as possible.

Tang Long looked at Guarin and found him to be extremely thin. The Colombia, who was 184 cm tall, weighed less than 130 pounds. His face was so thin that it looked unrecognizable. Although he was not yet forty years old, he looked like he was over fifty.

Guarin's father passed away five years ago.

Like Adriano, the former king of the Meazza, Guarin lost his father and his pillar of support. He could only numb himself with alcohol to temporarily forget his pain, and from then on, he developed a drinking problem.

Under prolonged alcohol intoxication, Guarin's mental state became extremely erratic, and he began to squander the substantial salary he had accumulated at Inter Milan and Tottenham Hotspur.

When he had squandered all his savings and was no longer able to support them, his cronies decisively left him.

Guarin fell into loneliness, his mental state became increasingly dazed, and he lived alone in the slum where he had grown up, rarely going out except to buy alcohol.

When Tang Long and Berni found him, Guarin had almost used up all his savings.

"Come on, I'll take you back to Milan!" Tang Long said.

"What's the point of going back to Milan? I can't play football anymore. I can't afford the rent in Milan. I used to have a luxury apartment in Milan, and I could see the Stadio Giuseppe Meazza from the balcony. Ah, the Meazza, I haven't been back to see it in so long. That's my home." A hint of loss flickered in Guarin's listless eyes.

Tang Long and Berni exchanged a glance, and both sighed.

Of all the brothers who fought side by side with him at Inter Milan, Tang Long is undoubtedly the one who has fared the best.

However, the others are not far behind. Icardi, Dimarco, Bonazzoli, and others are still playing, while Santon, Handanovic, Nagatomo Yuto, and others, although retired, have accumulated considerable salaries and are able to live a decent retirement life.

But in Guarin, even getting food has become a problem.

Tang Long said, "Go back to Milan, Guarin, get a coaching license, then find a coaching job with Inter Milan's youth team. Get back on your feet and act like a man again."

Berni nodded and said, "That's right. At your age and in your body, it's impossible for you to return to the field, but you can still be a coach. You know, Santon is already the head coach of Inter Milan's youth team. If you work for him, he can look after you."

A glint flashed in Guarin's eyes, then he said miserably, "You all see, I'm a cripple now. Would Inter Milan want me? Even if they invited me, I'd be too embarrassed to go back."

Tang Long said loudly, "No, you must go back. Inter Milan wants me to return. You have to come with me. This is one of the conditions for my return to Inter Milan. I am a free agent now and have the leverage to negotiate with them."

Guarin smiled and shook his head. "Tang, why are you so good to me?"

"Because we're brothers, I want to lend you a hand when you're at your lowest point. I want to give you this advice: everyone goes through low points. Remember your original aspirations and climb that path again," Tang Long said.

Guarin looked at Tang Long, whose eyes were glazed over by alcohol, and suddenly the image of his father appeared in them. He remembered the scene of holding his father's hand as he lay dying, crying bitterly, while his father only spoke in a weak voice, telling him to cheer up, and then slowly closed his eyes.

With a loud crash, Guarin smashed the beer bottle in his hand on the ground.

"Let's go back to Milan together!"