Chapter 70

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Translator: Silver Dragon

Chapter: 70

Chapter Title: Farewell, Imugi that Couldn't Become a Dragon

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The newspapers were going wild every day over Roberto Baggio's miraculous resurgence.

Especially the Italian ones, which crammed in more illustrations than text to capture the mood.

"This is gruesome. Why is every sports paper filled with Baggio wielding a sword and a beheaded snake?"

There were creepy illustrations everywhere: a massive black-and-blue two-tone serpent with its head chopped off, while Baggio stood triumphantly like a legendary hero, bloodied sword in hand.

"Historically, the Milan families use the great serpent as their symbol. They call it the 'Biscione.'"

Heinkes explained that it had been the emblem of the ruling families there since medieval Europe.

"Not a dragon, but a snake."

"Hahaha, Mr. Lee. In the East, dragons have a sacred image, but hardly any clubs here use a dragon in their crest."

Well, cultural differences, just cultural differences.

"Anyway, how's the preparation for the second leg?"

"Vieri really is a monster. Ryu and Ince collapsed from exhaustion the moment they got back and are on IV drips from the medical team."

"Southgate..."

"Shoulder blade injury. Looks like he's out for the season. Even if we push it, maybe just the last league match..."

"We need him for the final, though."

We held a one-goal lead from the away leg, and I was absolutely convinced we'd reach the UEFA Cup final.

Heinkes shared the same goal of winning it all and was gearing up for the second leg of the semis, just days away.

"Southgate out, Yoo Sung-chul and Ince exhausted."

"Vieri's a beast for sure. The second leg will be decided by how we handle him."

I took Heinkes' words to heart and checked in on the medical team.

From players on IVs, to hot packs on their backs, ice baths to cool overheated bodies, and hiring orthopedists and sports masseuses—they were thrilled with the care.

"Hey, boss!"

"Feeling better?"

"This kneading feels amazing... Ughhh!"

"Don't move."

I couldn't help but laugh seeing Ince's arms and neck twisted every which way.

Arsenal's Wenger introduced chiropractors and orthopedic massages to the rough-and-tumble Premier League, where injuries were rampant. Bolton's Sam Allardyce brought in moxibustion and acupuncture. Now I was using both aggressively for our team.

"Everyone, let's grind for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the second leg. We can do this."

"We can do it!"

"Let's win it!"

Morale was sky-high, and player management was going smoothly enough.

Thousands of Nerazzurri-clad fans flooded Manchester International Airport, chartering dozens of large buses all the way to Blackburn.

The hero from the first leg, Baggio, sat this one out.

Martin Taylor slotted into Southgate's spot, bringing physicality to match Vieri's. Heinkes went with the Barry-Parker duo in midfield.

Gattuso was sidelined due to poor condition; bench had Ince, Baggio, Blomqvist, Holland, and others.

"Let's go! For a second leg even better than the first!"

Blackburn's home fans jeered the Inter supporters unfurling their card section from Milan in one stand, countering with "Wild Rover."

The match kicked off, and as expected, Vieri charged like a bull seeing red.

Just as I thought they'd stake it all on Vieri again, he battled through midfield, pierced the line, and passed immediately.

The ball went to Recoba, who fed Seedorf.

Clarence Seedorf, dreadlocks flying, the attacking midfielder.

He hadn't even made the bench in the first leg, but here he started and sprayed passes everywhere.

I'd only seen his Milan days in memory, but this era's Inter Seedorf was rough around the edges—yet those killer passes remained sharp.

Vieri stormed forward with monstrous physicality, but Martin Taylor stepped up fearlessly.

Still a prospect, rough and raw as a defender, but that's why he feared no one—not even Vieri.

Thud—

Like "Taylor the General," he barreled into Vieri with even bigger physicality. Unfortunately, the ref whistled.

Foul warning and a free kick.

Dangerous position—nerve-wracking free-kick chance.

Seedorf took it himself, arcing beautifully, but Schmeichel snatched it.

As always, he roared after the catch, barking at the defense, then launched it long.

Through the first half, Inter pushed relentlessly with Vieri, Recoba, and Seedorf.

But no matter the quality passes, the midfield duo of rookies Barry and Parker cut them off, never intimidated by Inter's world-class stars, covering with relentless work rate.

A match where young players stuck aggressively to the opponent's elite squad.

Inter manager Marco Tardelli bellowed from the sidelines, urging them to press on.

A top player as a footballer, but as Inter's boss, he bore the "player-reliant" stigma.

With predecessor Marcello Lippi, no wonder he was antsy.

Heinkes seemed to know this, deploying youth to slowly drain their energy.

Despite twice as many shots in 45 minutes, Inter couldn't score.

Halftime came, and I lit up leisurely in the corridor smoking booth.

"We got this to the final."

Below the VIP corridor, countless Blackburn fans mingled, grabbing beers from concessions, smoking, belting victory anthems.

Locker room before the second half.

Manager Heinkes clapped to gather the players.

"Alright, 45 minutes left. Hold on, and we're in the UEFA Cup final!"

Coaches and players ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nodded intently, bonding tighter.

"Parker, Barry."

"Yes, boss."

"How was facing Seedorf, Recoba, Vieri?"

"We blocked desperately. They were really strong."

Parker ran tirelessly, Barry scrapped in duels—they held, but both were spent after 45 minutes.

Heinkes smiled and nodded.

"Holland, get ready. Shaun's out, you're central."

Barry shifted left-central, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Holland and Scott Parker taking midfield.

"Roberto, how's the body?"

"No issues."

Roberto Baggio, first-leg hat-trick hero who'd poured everything out, brimmed with confidence.

"You'll be a second-half sub. Get set."

The players filed out with steely resolve for the final 45.

Tweet—

Kickoff: Parker to Figo.

Figo hugged the sideline, crossing for James Beattie.

Right-back Zanetti menaced, but left-back Gresko flubbed several times again.

Impressive holding Figo at all, but with the left exposed, even Inter's manager didn't sub.

'That's my chance.'

Figo smirked, prepping the next attack.

Heinkes knew too—instructing to switch to right-wing Figo on interceptions.

Inter hammered centrally again; as Vieri charged, Holland slid in a tackle.

"Argh!"

Tweet!!!

Holland's tackle edged dangerous.

Vieri clutched his right ankle; ref yellowed Holland immediately.

Vieri staggered up, glaring murderously, but Holland shrugged innocently and jogged back.

Vieri was a physical powerhouse striker, but racked up nagging injuries from it.

Trading a yellow for Vieri's limp—he kept receiving, driving, clashing, but clearly less threatening.

Pushed too hard again, cut off by Melberg, who punted long to the flank.

Inter's defense marked Figo double- and triple-, but Figo leaped first to claim it.

Parker, Holland, Jeff Kenna surged; path opened—none stopped Figo.

Figo's solo dribble.

Ferrari and Blanc blocked; Figo feinted past them lightly.

1v1 with Frey—Figo lofted top-left, nestling perfectly in the net.

50th minute.

Luis Figo's goal solidified Blackburn's lead at 4-2 aggregate.

At 70th minute, Heinkes played his final two cards.

Paul Ince and Roberto Baggio—Inter ties deep—deployed with 20 minutes left to choke the Imugi.

Inter subbed injured Vieri for Turkish striker Hakan Şükür, their third option after Ronaldo and Vieri, scrapping desperately.

But the match had tilted.

Thud.

Holland cleared Şükür's ball—to Baggio.

Unlike Giuseppe Meazza's jeers, Blackburn fans rose in applause for Baggio.

Glancing at time left, Baggio dribbled forward.

Zanetti chased to midfield to block; Baggio slipped sideways.

Ince arrived to collect.

Inter Milan.

'The Serie A stage I chose after Ferguson booted me.'

Team since '95—but past is past.

Even then, UEFA Cup semis slip en route to final.

'No favors, no grudges—just die already!'

Paul Ince unleashed a fierce right-footed screamer; Frey had no chance ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as it rocketed into the net.

Baggio's assist, Ince's goal—the ex-Meazza duo drowned Inter completely.

Tardelli finally bowed his head; time up, ref blasted the whistle.

Tweet—tweet—TWEEET—

Full time.

Milan's Imugi Biscione couldn't ascend to heaven, writhing headless.

5-2 aggregate: Blackburn Rovers headed to the UEFA Cup final at Germany's Westfalenstadion.

Adrenaline pumping, I celebrated with staff then called HQ.

"13 years! Since Cha Beom-gon reached the UEFA Cup final with Leverkusen in '88, another Korean player's hitting the final—and the team I bought is playing it!"

This was huge.

Not Champions League final level, but UEFA Cup broadcasts across Europe and worldwide.

Dortmund's Westfalenstadion, 70,000 fans—a few Daeyang Group billboards there? Massive exposure.

Live, no less.

"This'll be a monster win for global branding. Form a special team, prep it right! Don't miss this shot."

[Got it. Reporting to Dad first, then assembling the team.]

Brother took my late-night call, promising to handle it.

Final. The final.

The [DY GLOBAL] parent sponsor on Blackburn Rovers' kit made my heart race today.