Martinelli stood in the stands, sipping his coffee as he watched his team line up to shake hands with their opponents.
A cigarette might have been more fitting for this occasion, given that the match was bound to be boring.
Even though his players were no older than 18, their skill level almost matched that of senior players.
Martinelli couldn't ignore the curious glances coming from the audience. Hidden among the few fans were scouts from big clubs. The buzz around the resurgence of Italian football had drawn talent seekers hoping to find new gems at a bargain.
Most of these scouts hailed from English clubs, and when it came to the English league, even their smallest offer could mean a fortune for an Italian team. Martinelli hoped to lure a few in with an impressive display.
Too focused, he barely noticed the start of the game. When he looked again, the kickoff whistle had already blown.
Aeterna's pressing game immediately put Milan's players on the back foot, forcing them to pass the ball back to their goalkeeper. 'But that's the last surprise they'll offer,' he thought.
Or so he believed.
Martinelli's confident smile faded as his expression turned into one of disbelief. 'What... what are they doing?'
At first glance, it seemed like an ordinary 3-5-2 formation. However, when on defense, their two forwards moved wide while the three midfielders advanced. To secure the midfield, two defenders moved forward alongside the wingbacks on each side, leaving only two players in the backline: a center-back and a goalkeeper standing almost level with each other.
On closer inspection, it looked more like a 2-4-5 formation, where even the goalkeeper was trusted to contribute more.'Are they insane?'
Modern football is all about elegant, beautiful play. To achieve that, you have to take risks and play openly.
'But this is too much. What are they thinking?'
The answer came when Milan tried to build up from the back. Aeterna's five players up front immediately pressed hard, overwhelming Milan's defenders. The Milan players could only pass the ball around between their four defenders and the goalkeeper.
When Milan's midfielders finally dropped back to help with the build-up, two of Aeterna's forwards retreated slightly to the center, maintaining the compactness of their midfield.
It became 10 minutes of sheer frustration.
This could have been countered with a direct style of play. The Milan players had been trained in long passes and had shown impressive results.However, Milan's new head coach rejected that idea, calling direct play an outdated, uninspired, and distasteful tactic.
Milan had to be known as a big club with an attractive style of play, which meant short passes, creative through balls, and possession.
Martinelli glanced over at Rashid on the opposing bench.
He knew Rashid was aware of this fact and was exploiting it. 'That sly fox.'
But Martinelli soon regained his composure. 'Even if they defend well, so what?'
One of the A.C. Milan players looked toward Martinelli, who gestured for them to stick to the plan: keep passing patiently and wait for an opening.
The opportunity came in the 21st minute.
A mistake from Milan's midfield led to a loose pass, intercepted by an Aeterna player, triggering a high-tempo transition. They attempted to move the ball quickly through much shorter passes. But in the end, they were still Aeterna. Trying to play attractive football without understanding their limits.
Even after reaching Milan's final defensive line, Aeterna lacked a clear vision of how to create a goal-scoring chance.
Eventually, their swift ball movement was read perfectly. A Milan defender, Andrea Bozzolan, intercepted with intelligence and composure, showcasing why he was dubbed the next Maldini and a future captain.
With the ball at his feet, Milan's chaotic defense settled, ready to launch a counterattack.
Aeterna scrambled to transition back into defense.
Andrea passed the ball to a midfielder, executed a one-two, and found the player he had been looking for: Kevin Zeroli, their main playmaker.
Upon receiving the ball, Zeroli delivered a long pass forward with a single touch.
Aeterna's players saw this as a meaningless attempt to clear the ball. After all, who could be fast and tall enough to reach this loose ball?
Their goalkeeper rushed forward to sweep it up, leaving the penalty area. "I got it."
A grave mistake.
At that moment, he saw a towering figure unexpectedly there to chest down Zeroli's pass, controlling it mid-air, and bypassing the off-guard goalkeeper.
As the ball was about to hit the ground, the figure struck it with a cold, precise touch, tearing the undefended net.
"GOAL!"
While his teammates celebrated, the figure approached the Aeterna goalkeeper, who crouched, despondent.
His name was Marco Nasti, a 17-year-old standing 193 cm tall. Despite his large frame, he had above-average speed. In short, a nightmare for any defense.
Bending to match the goalkeeper's eye level, he patted his shoulder. "Good effort for a bunch of trash," he said in a tone so sincere it was unsettling. "But let's end the cat-and-mouse game here."
Marco's words were no empty threat. After that goal, Milan played more boldly and directly.
Martinelli no longer cared about the ideals their new head coach preached. He encouraged his team to play with freedom and creativity.
As a result, Kevin Zeroli and Marco Nasti formed a fearsome combination that terrorized Aeterna's back line.
By the halftime whistle, the scoreboard read 3-0.
Three goals by Marco Nasti. Three assists from Kevin Zeroli. Three goals that asserted A.C. Milan's dominance.
Martinelli approached Rashid with a spring in his step. To his surprise, Rashid's face remained as impassive as ever. That stone-cold expression annoyed Martinelli.
"So, your reputation isn't as grand as they claim. The most talented assistant coach of the 21st century? More like a washed-up nobody riding on others' success." Martinelli sneered. "Now I see why United dumped you."
Rashid nodded calmly. "And why would that be, Mr. Martinelli?"
"It's simple. Van Nistelrooy wants to build a new dynasty, and a mediocre talent like you doesn't belong there. That's why you ended up here, in football's scrapyard." Martinelli leaned in closer to whisper the last part. "If I were you, I'd delete those Champions League trophy photos, quit football, and try my luck at golf. It's more dignified than mooching off others' success."
"Istanbul."
"What?"
"You mentioned the Champions League, and I'm reminded of Istanbul. Wasn't that a remarkable match? Milan was in that game too, leading at halftime with the same scoreline."
Martinelli scoffed. He understood now. He shoved Rashid's hand away. "Still a delusional fool, I see. Talking sense to you is a waste. Kids these days…"
On his way to the locker room, Martinelli chuckled at Rashid's naivety. 'Istanbul? Does he expect that bunch of trash to pull off the same miracle? They're not Liverpool.'
He couldn't wait for the second half to begin and to see Rashid's expression after a total thrashing. 'I've decided—I won't let them leave here with anything less than a 10 goal difference.'