Chapter 43: The storm at the San Siro
The San Siro hummed with restless electricity. Halftime chants rumbled through the stands like a war drum.
The scoreboard read...
[HALF-TIME: AC Milan 1–1 Barcelona]
Milanistas believed their team had Barca wobbling.
Afterall, based on pure statistics, AC Milan had the upper hand in the first half. Their goal was a result of the individual brilliance of Yamal and the chemistry between the wonderkid on the right and Raphinha on the left.
AC Milan scored more corners, even dominated possession, got more shots and shots on goals, and dribbled even more than the Catalan giants.
FC Barcelona was being overwhelmed by the Milan press and the electric atmosphere at the San Siro. They were rattled.
Even in the dressing room, the roar of the Milan fans rattled the walls.
Inside the dressing room, Hansi Flick’s voice cut through the noise like a blade. "They think they have you cornered. They don’t," the German coach’s eyes blazed like a furnace. "Raise the tempo! Win the duels!" He growled.
"Sam, you drop deeper, drag their line out. Yamal, Raphinha, attack their full-backs relentlessly. We break them with pressure. With speed. With conviction."
Every player’s chest heaved with fire. Just like their coach, they also wanted to keep their winning run this season intact. Pedri, calm as ever, leaned across to Sam.
"This is where legends carve nights."
Sam only nodded, fastening his boots tighter. His brain was already locked in for the second half of the game.
And then, both sides came out of the tunnel for the second half.
FWEEEE!
The second half began.
Milan immediately came out snarling, urged on by the roar of forty thousand voices. Within two minutes, Leão darted down the left, pulling Kounde wide before cutting into the box. His shot whistled just wide of the post.
The stadium roared in agony, sensing blood.
Then, in the 50th minute, the breakthrough came...
Yes, the breakthrough was for Milan.
Ruben Loftus-Cheek bulldozed through midfield, muscling his way past Gavi, before sliding the ball wide to Christian Pulisic.
The American received the ball with a deft touch and whipped in a curling delivery into the box, where Fofana ghosted between Christensen and Araújo, powering a header into the net to ignite the stadium.
KABOOM!
2–1 Milan.
The AC Milan fans in the stands lost their minds, roaring like Dragons.
The San Siro erupted. The Curva Sud leapt like a single organism, banners waving like mad, flares igniting red smoke. The commentators’ voices cracked with disbelief.
"FOFANAAAAA!"
"He’s done it!"
"Milan lead Barca! Could this be the first defeat of the season?"
On the touchline, Hansi Flick didn’t panic though. What that goal did was spike his adrenaline levels as on the touchline, he pointed forward, urging his men on. Barca had faced storms before.
And Hansi Flick’s Barca knew had to survive storms.
And then Sam woke up.
In the 56th minute, he dropped deep, shrugging off Musah. Receiving the ball, he spun and pinged a diagonal ball into Yamal’s path.
Lamine Yamal burst down the right flank with speed, cut back onto his left and into the box, and fired low.
BAM!
Maignan saved with his feet, but the warning was clear... Barca weren’t done.
The tension was rising.
In the 61st minute, Barca created another chance as Pedri slipped Raphinha through. The Brazilian darted past Gabbia, and squared across the six-yard box. Sam slid in, studs stretched, but Maignan smothered it.
Gasps erupted everywhere as Milanistas roared on their goalkeeper.
But the tide was turning.
And then... the Equalizer dropped, like a bomb!
67th minute.
Sam, holding play at the edge of the box, flicked the ball behind him with a backheel. Pedri anticipated it perfectly, surging past Fofana. With one touch, he fed Yamal, who curled a sumptuous shot into the top corner.
2–2.
San Siro was silenced.
In contrast, the away section detonated as Yamal sprinted to the corner flag, arms outstretched, while Sam grabbed him, yelling into his face.
San Siro groaned. They could feel the shift. This was no longer following the script that they wanted, and it was gnawing at their nerves.
Back level 2-2, Milan tried to rally, but now the Blaugrana pressed like wolves. They snatched control over the game late as Gavi snapped into tackles, while Marc Casado, the substitute shielded the back line, and Balde pushed high, forcing Pulisic to defend.
Then came the hammer blow in the 74th minute.
Barca countered off a Milan corner. Sam collected deep, sprinting into open space. He shrugged off Tomori, carried the ball forty yards, then slipped Raphinha through on the left. The Brazilian cut inside and blasted past Maignan.
2–3 Barcelona!
The silence in San Siro was deafening, broken only by the roars of the traveling fans.
It was Sam’s defining moment of the game that gave Barca the lead, and then a familiar chant erupted at the San Siro.
"Sam!" "Sam!" "Sam!" Barcelona fans chanted his name.
Still, Sam wasn’t finished.
In the 81st minute, Pedri lofted a pass into the box. Sam wrestled past Pavlovic, controlling on his chest. And then in one fluid motion, he swiveled and volleyed across Maignan.
POW!
The ball flew like a missile into the bottom corner.
2–4. Game over.
Sam stood before the Curva Sud, finger to his lips. Cold. Unforgettable.
The Milan fans hurled insults and boos at him, but he only grinned. Cameras flashed, creating another iconic image in the Sam saga.
But a ruthless Barca still not satisfied dealt a final blow.
With Milan broken and demotivated, Barca ran riot. In stoppage time, Balde burst down the left, whipped a low ball across, and Pedri smashed home to add his name to the scoreboard.
2–5 Barcelona. Ruthless.
When the referee blew for full time, Barca players raised their fists to the sky. Another storm weathered. Another giant silenced.
The aftermath of the game left Europe reeling.
*ESPN headline: ["Barcelona destroy Milan at San Siro! Flick’s men remain unbeaten and unstoppable."]
Pedri claimed his first Man of the Match award of his season for how he controlled the game in midfield. He was part of the players who led Barca’s resurgence in the second half, though Sam’s goal and orchestration had once again reminded the world why he was the best.
In the tunnel, Italian journalists peppered questions at Milan’s stars, their faces pale. Theo Hernández sighed, shaking his head.
"We played well. But against Sam and this Barca? Sometimes, that isn’t enough."
Meanwhile, Spanish cameras caught Sam leaving the stadium with Kayla at his side, whispering something in her ear as he smiled, relaxed again after the storm.
Yes, Kayla traveled alongside her husband to Italy to watch his game.
The message to Europe was loud... Barça like usual weren’t just winning. They were conquering.