"Hey, man, I read in the papers that you guys partied at the hotel until dawn?"
"I'll introduce you to a few models sometime, so you can experience the passion of Italian women." Filippo Inzaghi said with a grin, draping an arm over Huang Kaiwen's shoulder.
He'd found someone like himself.
"Don't corrupt our rookie, you bastard!"
Maldini came over and kicked Inzaghi in the backside.
Only after Inzaghi ran off with a cheeky grin did Maldini come over and say, "Don't go fooling around with that guy. The coach is right—you should show a little restraint. You know Ronaldo, right? He's a world-class striker, but injuries don't go easy on you just because you're a superstar. Even though he's doing all right at Real Madrid, I'm not optimistic about his future. He's wasting too much energy off the pitch."
"Got it, Captain. I'll be careful."
Huang Kaiwen nodded.
"Lads, your performance is truly... astonishing. I doubt I'd run the hundred meters any slower than Filippo." Ancelotti was still smiling as he spoke.
"Boss, you're lying. Prove it—run one!"
Inzaghi protested indignantly.
Ancelotti ignored him completely, took the information the Team Doctor handed over, glanced through it, then continued criticizing the first team. "It looks like you really let yourselves go over the holidays. I'll get you back into shape as quickly as possible. We'll start with light training today and increase the intensity in a few days. Oh, right, Gennaro, Kaiwen, and Dario are injured, so you can work on the sidelines or go to the gym."
The Milan players burst into teasing again. They'd already decided Huang Kaiwen had been drained dry.
Gattuso led Huang Kaiwen and Simic to one side and reassured Huang Kaiwen, "Don't pay attention to those bastards. They don't mean any harm."
"Mm, I'm not mad. Everyone's been very friendly."
"Good. That's just how Italians are."
Gattuso grumbled, as if he weren't Italian himself.
"I don't like going to the gym. How about a jog?" Gattuso asked.
"Sure. I think jogging sounds good too."
Huang Kaiwen happily accepted Gattuso's suggestion.
Dario Simic glanced at Huang Kaiwen and thought, What a suck-up.
Simic had played for Inter Milan before. Even after transferring to Milan and playing there for two seasons, he was still a fringe figure in the locker room. Huang Kaiwen had joined the team and immediately hit it off with the local players. It stung.
On the training pitch, the Milan players were playing keep-away.
Training at the start of a new season was always low intensity, so everyone could enjoy themselves.
They eased back into the demands of being professional players.
In football around the year 2000, holidays were holidays. Players didn't spend their time off doing extra training and posting about it on Instagram. So after more than a month off, their physical condition was nothing like it had been during the season. Quite a few even came back with a paunch.
"Damn it, I'm a striker! I shouldn't have to take part in tackling drills!"
After being toyed with again and again, Inzaghi shouted at the top of his lungs.
His teammates ignored him and kept passing the ball around, grinning as they ran him ragged.
Inzaghi chased the ball. Shevchenko tapped it with his right foot, then nudged it with his left to Andrea Pirlo across from him.
Pirlo waited for Inzaghi to catch up before passing. The ball rolled straight to Maldini's feet.
Before Maldini could kick it away, an exasperated Inzaghi grabbed him with both arms and legs, successfully winning the ball from Milan's captain.
"You're up, Paolo!"
Inzaghi hurriedly pushed Maldini into the middle, afraid he'd refuse.
Maldini smiled and walked to the center.
"You cheating bastard."
"Filippo's as dumb as a pig."
"If he didn't use his hands, we'd all still be playing when training ended."
"Switching players is fine too. Filippo puts no pressure on anyone in the middle. This drill's completely pointless with him there."
The others took turns making fun of Inzaghi.
"Bastards, what are you talking about?" Filippo Inzaghi pointed at his teammates in indignation. "I'm just not in great shape lately, understand? Otherwise, I'd have caught you already."
"If you're out of shape, you can run laps with Gennaro and the others," Andrea Pirlo said without giving him an inch. He still remembered their hundred-meter test.
Inzaghi looked toward the sideline and immediately exclaimed, "Look, they're still running. Haven't they stopped?"
The others looked over curiously too. They'd already been training on the pitch for more than twenty minutes, and even jogging that long was no joke.
Simic, who'd gone to the sideline with Huang Kaiwen and Gattuso, was already sitting down to rest. Only Huang Kaiwen and Gattuso were still running laps around the track, sweating it out.
Inzaghi waved at Simic and called, "They still haven't stopped? How many laps?"
"Six and a half."
Everyone was stunned.
The track at Milanello was 1,200 meters per lap. Six and a half laps was nearly 8,000 meters.
They'd only been training for half an hour, and those two had already run that far?
Even though athletes could run 10,000 meters in a little over thirty minutes, with the world's top distance runners managing around twenty-seven, they weren't professional track athletes.
Simic came over and explained to the first-team players, "The two of them seem to be enjoying it. They're competing to see who can win."
"Seriously? He's actually trying to outlast Gennaro?"
Inzaghi's eyes lit up.
"Seriously. I couldn't keep up, so I took a break. I'm still injured, after all," Simic said, sounding a little annoyed.
"Heh heh heh." Inzaghi beckoned to Pirlo. "You're still sore about it, aren't you? Let's bet on who'll win. A hundred euros."
"I'm betting on Gennaro," Pirlo said before he could.
"Hey, bastard! I wanted to bet on Gennaro!"
Inzaghi protested, annoyed.
The other teammates joined in, adding to the commotion.
What had started as a personal feud between Inzaghi and Pirlo ended up turning Inzaghi into the bookmaker.
And they all thought Gattuso would win.
Inzaghi felt his heart bleed.
The money didn't matter. If he lost to so many people at once, what would happen to his pride?
The coaching staff was drawn over by all the noise. Once they heard what was going on, Ancelotti and the others joined in on the bet too.
Inzaghi's expression gradually went blank. He shouted toward the track, "Kaiwen, you have to give it everything you've got! I'm the only one who thinks you can win. Don't let me down!!!"
At the ninth lap, Inzaghi shouted, "Kaiwen, come on! Kick Gennaro's ass!!!"
At the tenth lap, Inzaghi yelled excitedly, "Kaiwen, Gennaro's fallen behind! Keep it up!!!"
At the eleventh lap, Inzaghi started trying to talk Gattuso out of it, his rhythm already falling apart. "Gennaro, give it up. You're no match for Kaiwen."
By the thirteenth lap, Gattuso's legs were clearly giving out. His steps had grown uneven, one light, the next heavy. Inzaghi got excited and kept trying to persuade him to quit. "Gennaro, give it up. Look at Kaiwen—he's still full of energy. You'll hurt yourself if you keep running."
Gattuso had been about to give up, but after hearing that, he gritted his teeth and kept going.
But by the time he made it back to the starting point, Huang Kaiwen had already lapped him. Seeing there was no hope of winning, Gattuso simply gave up, crouched down with both hands on his knees, and panted. "All right, all right. You win. You're amazing."
Inzaghi cheered and charged toward Huang Kaiwen, leaping onto his back and nearly making him fall over.
"You lost, you bastards!"
"Hahaha, you idiots! You had no idea what you were talking about!"
"I'm the only one with good judgment. I knew Kaiwen could win!"
"Kaiwen, you're impressive."
On the training ground at Milanello, Inzaghi was the only one pointing at his teammates and laughing triumphantly.
Ancelotti was happy too.
He hadn't realized Huang Kaiwen had such great stamina.
A talented player with excellent fitness was incredibly valuable to the team.
Perhaps Huang Kaiwen could play forty-five matches this season.
With Huang Kaiwen and Kaka, Milan might win the title unbeaten. They might even have a chance to challenge the club's record of fifty-eight unbeaten matches.
Ancelotti had been a Milan player when the club set that unbeaten record.
Breaking the record he'd set as a player, this time as a coach—just thinking about it made him feel wonderful.
Was there anyone else in football besides Ancelotti who could do that?
Before you continue