Chapter 291: The Troubled Fàbregas

Words : 1395 Updated : Oct 11th, 2025

"Recently, all the news in England is about you and Fàbregas." Shevchenko sat on the bench with Suker and said with a grin, "That guy's getting roasted!" "Serves him right!" Suker rolled his eyes. That guy started it, and now he's the one getting flamed. Suker never even said anything bad about Fàbregas—this was entirely self-inflicted. That's how public opinion works. The victor always garners more favor and attention—especially when that victor demonstrates great sportsmanship and humility. And with Fàbregas acting as the contrast, Suker's character was cast in an even better light. At the time, Suker had just wanted to bait him—to test the waters. He never thought Fàbregas would take the bait so readily! Fàbregas' post-match comments were widely criticized by the media. Even Arsenal fans admitted there was something wrong with his attitude. If Suker hadn't said anything, it might not have been so bad—but since he did, it made Fàbregas look even worse. In short, the guy's had a miserable time lately. "The match is over!" Suker stretched lazily. This was Round 35 of the league, and neither he nor Shevchenko played. Ancelotti wanted them to conserve their form and explode in the Champions League instead. Even without Suker and Shevchenko, AC Milan still secured a win. Of course, Juventus also won. The points gap remained unchanged. So, this season's league title? Out of reach! "Title hopes are gone!" Over in the Premier League, Arsenal had just drawn away at Southampton. "They were gone a long time ago!" Pires quipped. "Chelsea are more than 20 points ahead of us, and United are also more than 10 behind Chelsea—how are we catching up?" No doubt about it—Mourinho's iron-blooded Chelsea had begun to assert terrifying dominance in the Premier League. After claiming victory last season, Chelsea continued to steamroll this one. Right now, Chelsea were basically sweeping all competition. "When we face Chelsea, we lack explosiveness on the wings." Ljungberg chimed in. Pires laughed, "If Suker had joined us back then, things might've turned out differently!" Then he abruptly shut his mouth. He turned to glance back at Fàbregas. On the team bus, Fàbregas was wearing headphones and looking out the window, seemingly oblivious. "Better hope he didn't hear that—these days, just hearing Suker's name sets him off like a powder keg." "But I'm just speaking the truth!" "At the start, Suker was even considered Bergkamp's successor." Fàbregas appeared calm, but his tightly clenched fists were pale from the strain. Inside, he was burning with rage. Suker! It was always Suker! Why couldn't he escape his shadow?! The media talked about Suker!The fans talked about Suker!Even his teammates talked about Suker! Lately, Fàbregas felt that Wenger's gaze had changed. It no longer held the same hopeful warmth—his attitude had also cooled. Fàbregas had become sensitive. As a rival, he already cared deeply about Suker. And in the previous leg, Suker had completely outshone him. The damned English media used the word "shit" to describe his performance. They compiled all the stats—passes, pass accuracy, goals, assists, duels—and nailed him to the wall of shame. But what made Fàbregas feel even more humiliated was Suker's pretended sympathy after the match. If Suker had mocked him, it wouldn't have hurt this much. But Suker actually consoled him? Screw you! Keep your phony compassion! Fàbregas was furious. There was still the second leg to play—and it was crucial to him. He had to prove himself on the pitch. He had to show that he was better than Suker! He had to perform! April 25 All the major leagues were reaching their final stages. The Bundesliga, Ligue 1, and even the Premier League had already crowned their champions. Mourinho's Chelsea secured the title three rounds early, successfully defending their Premier League crown. Their "iron-blooded" reputation spread quickly. Mourinho, the "Special One," had now proven himself once again in the Premier League after his dream run with Porto in the Champions League. At this moment, Mourinho was the hottest young coach in all of Europe. In the Champions League, the semi-finals were underway. In the first leg: Arsenal lost 1–3 at home to AC Milan.Villarreal lost 0–2 at home to Barcelona. Both AC Milan and Barcelona secured big away wins, making them strong favorites for the final. Many fans were already dreaming of a final showdown between these two titans from La Liga and Serie A. Especially in the lead-up to the World Cup. This World Cup would be held in Germany, and fans from all over the world were already flocking there. For them, the Champions League was the appetizer. After all, it was the most important match before the World Cup—a true clash of titans. No one could yet say for sure who would lift the trophy. Both AC Milan and Barcelona looked excellent. Their strengths were well matched—no one dared make a solid prediction. They were clearly the favorites for the final. As for Arsenal—before the first leg, they had their supporters. But after Milan's dominant win, public opinion quickly shifted, and faith in the Gunners waned. Still, Arsenal weren't out of chances. There was one more game to go—anything could happen. April 25, Milan Arsenal arrived in Milan a day early to acclimate to the pitch. As they landed at the airport, Fàbregas was bombarded by sarcastic and mocking questions from Italian journalists. English reporters were already ruthless when criticizing their own. Italian reporters? Even more vicious. Question after snide question, and Fàbregas nearly lost it. Thankfully, Wenger stepped in to stop the media frenzy and gave Fàbregas a chance to breathe. At the hotel in Milan, Wenger rubbed his temples and sighed to his assistant Pat Rice, "Cesc's state is unstable. I'm considering whether he should start." Rice—a longtime partner of Wenger's—was a Northern Irishman with gray hair and a slightly round face. He looked like a kindly old man, but he had a fiery temper. "He needs the stage to prove himself," Rice insisted. "We should give him that chance." "What if it just deals another blow?" Wenger hesitated. Rice replied, "Real strength comes from overcoming adversity. If he can't do that, then maybe he won't go far in professional football." "You're always so direct!" Wenger said, then asked, "Do you think Cesc has a shot at winning?" "Nope," Rice said bluntly. "All the data from the last match shows a huge gap between Cesc and Suker—not just technically, but in mentality, awareness, and emotional control." "But even so, I still think he should start. It's good for his growth. And remember—our core isn't Cesc, it's Henry!" "I believe in Henry!" Wenger let out a long sigh and nodded. "I understand." "You know..." he said, face twisted in frustration, "If only we'd signed Suker..." "Forget it," Rice waved it off. "He's too expensive. We can't afford him—unless we stop building the new stadium." Wenger sighed again. A stingy owner was giving the Professor a headache. The next day, Milan was engulfed by Champions League fever. With the World Cup approaching, many tourists flooded the city. They came early to soak in the football atmosphere. These tourists, following Milan fans, chanted loudly as they made their way toward San Siro. Many were Milan fans from all over the world, using the World Cup as an excuse to finally make a pilgrimage to Milan. Wearing their red and black jerseys, they marched en masse toward San Siro. That night, the city burned with excitement. San Siro lit up like a beacon in the dark. Under the floodlights, night retreated, and brightness engulfed the stadium. The stands were already packed with Milan fans, chanting slogans in waves. And as We Are the Champions played, they sang along loudly. As the chorus hit its peak— CHAMPIONS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The roar shook every corner of the stadium. It surged across the green pitch, into the tunnel, into the players' ears. Like electricity running through their veins, the Milan players couldn't help but shudder. Suker rubbed the goosebumps on his arms. Then a ballboy next to him said: "Nervous?" Suke turned his head. "Justin, I'm not helping you with girls this time!"

Chapter 291: The Troubled Fàbregas

Comments (0)