CHAPTER 159: [NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]

The final whistle was less a sound and more a signal for the universe to collapse into a single point of blue and black pandemonium.

Leon was buried under a mountain of his ecstatic teammates.

He could hear Julián Álvarez yelling something that sounded suspiciously like "You are not a human! You are a cheat code!" right in his ear.

He felt Lautaro’s hands clapping his head, a gesture of pure, unadulterated respect from his captain. The roar from the Curva Nord was a physical vibration that coursed through his exhausted body, and through it all, he could hear the impossible chant: "LEONDONA! LEONDONA! LEONDONA!"

They were eventually pulled to their feet, hoisted onto the shoulders of their strongest teammates, and paraded in front of their fans. Leon, held aloft, caught Cole Palmer’s eye.

The usually cool and composed Englishman was just shaking his head, a look of utter, joyful disbelief on his face.

As they finally made their way towards the tunnel, staggering with exhaustion and euphoria, the silver notification replayed in Leon’s mind, a quiet hum beneath the roaring chaos.

[New Skill Acquired: ’Zidane’s Roulette’.]

What does that even mean? he wondered.

His system had always been about seeing—seeing potential, seeing intent, seeing the future a split second before it happened. It had never given him anything before.

A skill. It felt different, like a fundamental shift in how his power worked.

He had performed the move that beat Thiaw on pure instinct, a desperate, creative flick.

Had the system rewarded that instinct by crystallizing it into a defined skill?

The thought was both thrilling and slightly unnerving.

The dressing room was pure, glorious chaos. Water bottles were emptied over heads, jerseys were swung in the air like helicopter blades, and the music was so loud the speakers were rattling.

"I swear, my heart stopped three times in that second half!" Federico Dimarco yelled over the beat, clutching his chest dramatically. "Three times! I am too young to die in a football match!"

Julián Álvarez, never one to miss an opportunity, popped up beside him. "If a football match has a heart attack, does it get a red card for stopping play?"

Dimarco just stared at him, speechless, before bursting into laughter and pulling him into a headlock.

Lautaro Martínez, his face beaming with a captain’s pride, made his way over to Leon, who was leaning against his locker, trying to catch his breath.

"That goal..." Lautaro started, shaking his head as if he still couldn’t process it. "Leo, I have played with Messi. I have seen him do impossible things. But that... to do that, in a Derby, when we were dead and buried... that was something else. That was the stuff of legends."

"You scored the winner, Captain," Leon said, a tired but genuine smile on his face.

"I kicked the ball," Lautaro corrected him, his voice filled with emotion. "You gave me the chance. You gave all of us the belief that the chance was even possible. There is a difference."

The two shared a look of deep, mutual respect.

The bond between them had been forged in the fires of the most insane Derby in living memory.

Coach Cristian Chivu entered the room, and the music was immediately cut off. The wild celebration simmered down to an expectant silence. Chivu’s face was flushed, his eyes shining with an intensity that went beyond tactics or strategy. This was pure emotion.

He didn’t speak for a long moment, simply looking at the exhausted, triumphant faces of his players.

"In football," he began, his voice raspy, "coaches talk about tactics, about formations, about pressing triggers." He shook his head. "Today, none of that mattered. Today was not about football. It was about heart. It was about refusing to lose. It was about looking into the abyss and deciding to spit in its eye."

He walked towards Leon, the entire room watching.

"What you did today, Leon... that run... it didn’t come from a tactic. It came from here," he said, tapping his own chest. "It was the will of one man changing the will of twenty-one others. Never forget that power. All of you," he said, his gaze sweeping across the room, "never forget what you were capable of when you refused to be beaten."

He didn’t need to say anything else. The message was clear.

They weren’t just a team that had won a match; they were a team that had discovered its own soul. He gave a single, sharp nod and walked out, leaving a room filled with a profound sense of shared accomplishment.

Slowly, the energy began to wind down.

Players showered, the sounds of victory replaced by the quiet hum of conversation and the zipping of bags.

Leon sat on the bench, dressed in his civilian clothes, a towel around his neck. He closed his eyes, accessing his system. He focused on the new skill.

[Zidane’s Roulette (Active Skill): A 360-degree spinning drag-back move. When activated against an opponent in a 1v1 situation, has a high probability of evading a tackle. Cooldown: 5 minutes of in-game time.]

An active skill. With a cooldown. It was like something out of a video game.

This changed everything. His Vision was no longer just a passive information tool. It was evolving. It was becoming a weapon.

"Still replaying that goal in your head?"

Leon opened his eyes. Cole Palmer was standing in front of him, a small, knowing smile on his face.

"Something like that," Leon admitted.

"I’ve played with and against some of the best in the world in the Premier League," Palmer said, his tone serious. "I’ve seen moments of magic. But I’ve never seen anything like that. That wasn’t just a goal, man. That was a message."

"A message?"

"Yeah," Palmer said, nodding. "A message to every team in Italy, and every team in Europe. A message that says no matter what you throw at us, we have him."

He tapped Leon lightly on the chest and then walked away, leaving Leon to ponder his words.

He was no longer just a talented young player. After today, he was a symbol of Inter’s hope, their miracle worker. It was a heavy weight to carry.