Your Emperor Has Returned (End of the Book)

Rio de Janeiro.

Maracana Stadium.

After Inzaghi finished taking a dump, the team bus was already nowhere to be seen.

Gattuso had taken his phone and documents onto the bus too. At this moment, Inzaghi felt like crying but had no tears.

Could a person really survive without a credit card?

But His Majesty the Emperor came up with a solution almost instantly. He loitered outside the stadium, specifically approaching fans who looked wealthy.

Rich people had plenty of ways.

The only thing that embarrassed him somewhat was that Italian was not widely spoken.

Aside from Italian fans, only Argentinians could understand him.

Considering that Argentina had been eliminated by Italy, Inzaghi did not think they would help him.

Or should he just ask the Brazilian organizers?

Inzaghi did not think that was a good idea.

Those Brazilians were all fucking poor. They were worse off than Italians.

Besides, Kaka had said that the Brazilian Football Confederation was terribly inefficient. With no documents on him, it might take months for him to return to the Apennine Peninsula.

At that moment, Inzaghi noticed a group of locals.

A fat, big-eared fellow was surrounded by a group of sturdy bodyguards.

He had seen that kind of setup among Sicilians.

Without a second thought, he went over to strike up a conversation.

"Me, Filippo Inzaghi, Kevin's best friend. My passport gone. You, can you help me get back to Italy?"

Inzaghi began trying to communicate.

"Boss, he says he's Kevin's friend, Inzaghi, that offside striker from Italy," a bodyguard said.

Marvino da Silva glanced at Inzaghi and said to the bodyguard, "What trouble is he in? His football isn't pretty at all, but he's Kevin's friend."

"He says he lost his passport and wants to return to Italy."

The bodyguard replied.

"Then have