Chapter 50: Vs Inter Milan (6)
The second half trudged on like a brewing storm, the kind that hangs overhead with a low growl, not quite letting go but promising chaos. For the first ten minutes after Luca’s introduction, Inter Milan seized the reins again. They weren’t panicked, just methodical. Like a python curling tighter, evaluating, prodding, slowly testing Lecce’s resistance, eager to finish the job. The fans at San Siro had their hopes rekindled. The blue-and-black giants pressed higher, passed quicker, and surged forward with fresh venom in their veins.
They fashioned two sharp chances that pulled gasps from the Lecce bench and sighs of barely-contained panic from Alex himself. The first came in the 63rd minute, and it felt like the crack before the thunder.
Inter broke quickly from midfield after a sloppy turnover by Berisha. Bastoni, of all people, surged forward with elegance, brushing off his marker as if he weren’t even there. The grass beneath him seemed to glide. With his head up, Bastoni spotted a window and clipped an inviting, spinning pass into the box. Martinez, ever the fox, ghosted past two defenders like a shadow in a flash of light and met the ball inches from goal.
He took it on the volley, a swift, instinctive strike aimed low. But Falcone, Lecce’s wall between the sticks, reacted with a twitch-reflex save. The ball clattered off his outstretched heel and skidded wide of the post. It wasn’t the cleanest save in the world, and it wasn’t the cleanest shot either, but it didn’t matter. It had been enough. Enough to keep Lecce alive. Enough to rip their nerves into ribbons.
Falcone sprang back to his feet, chest heaving, arms wide, as if demanding his defenders wake up. His body shook from the heartbeat of the moment, eyes wild, scanning.
["That could’ve been curtains right there,"] cried one of the commentators, almost breathless. ["Lautaro Martinez, always lurking, always ready to punish you, and he very nearly did. But Falcone was alive, I mean properly alive, and made himself huge. That save was massive."]
["That’s why you want an experienced keeper in the net,"] another voice added with awe. ["He just might’ve saved Lecce’s season with that one moment."]
Barely had the dust settled when the second chance came crashing in like a wave.
This time it was from a set-piece corner. Dimarco stepped up, his eyes narrowing as he delivered one of his trademark floating crosses. It spun with venom, arching deep into the six-yard area with whip and curl. De Vrij rose without much contest, the defenders seemingly caught watching instead of acting. He met the ball full-force with a crunching header, sending it rocketing toward the top of the goal.
Falcone again.
The Lecce keeper hurled himself upward, pushing the ball with both hands. It slammed off the underside of the crossbar and bounced back out into play. Before anyone else could react, Falcone scrambled and palmed it away with a final desperate dive.