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Harbinger Of Glory

Chapter 396: GO! · Oct 18, 2026

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Chapter List (629)

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351 Chapter 351: Reality Hits! 2026-10-18
352 Chapter 352: Something Uncomfortable! 2026-10-18
353 Chapter 353: Wrong Man To Press! 2026-10-18
354 Chapter 354 - 20 Minute War! 2026-10-18
355 Chapter 355: London’s Bridge Falls Down! 2026-10-18
356 Chapter 356: Half Time Across the country! 2026-10-18
357 Chapter 357: Second 45! 2026-10-18
358 Chapter 358: Down And Down! 2026-10-18
359 Chapter 359: A Goal For The Fallen 2026-10-18
360 Chapter 360: Unsettling! 2026-10-18
361 Chapter 361: Not A Fluke! 2026-10-18
362 Chapter 362: Aftermath Of The London Success! [GT - !] 2026-10-18
363 Chapter 363: Bad Decisions! 2026-10-18
364 Chapter 364: The Story Grows Legs! 2026-10-18
365 Chapter 365: Nothing Is Ever Enough! 2026-10-18
366 Chapter 366: A Boyhood Dream! 2026-10-18
367 Chapter 367: Girl And A Golf! 2026-10-18
368 Chapter 368: Playing House! 2026-10-18
369 Chapter 369: You’ll Be Alright Kid! 2026-10-18
370 Chapter 370: A Homecoming Eleven Years in the Making 2026-10-18
371 Chapter 371: Who Else! 2026-10-18
372 Chapter 372: Hammers’ Equalizer? 2026-10-18
373 Chapter 373: Rising Expectations! 2026-10-18
374 Chapter 374: A Tremor! 2026-10-18
375 Chapter 375: On Course! 2026-10-18
376 Chapter 376: Three From Three! 2026-10-18
377 Chapter 377: Do You Know Calderon? 2026-10-18
378 Chapter 378: The Calderon Paradox! 2026-10-18
379 Chapter 379: Back In Rome! 2026-10-18
380 Chapter 380: Back In Rome! [2] 2026-10-18
381 Chapter 381: A Welcome Protocol! 2026-10-18
382 Chapter 382: Eyes! 2026-10-18
383 Chapter 383: An Oldhead! 2026-10-18
384 Chapter 384: No Time To Waste! 2026-10-18
385 Chapter 385: A White Bib! 2026-10-18
386 Chapter 386: Under The Tricolore! 2026-10-18
387 Chapter 387: The New Italian Football! 2026-10-18
388 Chapter 388: Spalletti’s Lesson! 2026-10-18
389 Chapter 389: Nothing New! 2026-10-18
390 Chapter 390: European Qualifier! 2026-10-18
391 Chapter 391: Honeymoon Ends! 2026-10-18
392 Chapter 392: No Excuses! 2026-10-18
393 Chapter 393: A Necessary Shock! 2026-10-18
394 Chapter 394: Disrupting The Order! 2026-10-18
395 Chapter 395: Underway! 2026-10-18
396 Chapter 396: GO! 2026-10-18
397 Chapter 397: As Intended 2026-10-18
398 Chapter 398: A Reward For Their Football. 2026-10-18
399 Chapter 399: Finding The Target Man! 2026-10-18
400 Chapter 400: A Deadball Situation! 2026-10-18

Ukraine rolled the kickoff backwards, and almost immediately, Moise Kean sprang forward.

That was the trigger.

The moment he accelerated, Italy moved with him.

Behind him, Barella and Raspadori stepped onto Ukraine’s double pivot, while Chiesa and Zaccagni squeezed inward from the wings, cutting off the easiest passing lanes.

Further back, Leo edged a few yards higher, careful not to leave the space in front of his centre-backs exposed, while Bastoni and Scalvini held their line right past their box.

The San Siro recognised what it was seeing.

Every forward sprint from Kean was met by another swell of encouragement.

”Go on!”

”Press!”

Blue scarves bounced behind the goal as eighty thousand voices urged Italy forward.

”It’s an aggressive start,” the commentator observed. ”Spalletti’s men are hunting in packs.”

Ukraine, though, looked ready for it.

In reaction to Italy’s press, the ball rarely stayed still.

One touch and two at most.

Every receiver seemed to know where the next pass was going before he’d even controlled the previous one.

Whenever Kean closed one centre-back, the ball disappeared across to the other.

When Barella arrived, it had already been moved again.

Through that, Italy kept chasing while Ukraine kept escaping.

”They’ve clearly worked on this,” the co-commentator said.

”Every pass is leaving just before the pressure arrives. Ukraine seem well prepared.”

His partner nodded in agreement and for a while the pattern continued.

One minute.

Then two.

Then three.

Through it all, Italy didn’t even win the ball once.

Kean finally eased off his latest sprint, drawing a deeper breath as he slowed into a jog.

He had no choice.

As the lone central forward, he couldn’t spend ninety minutes chasing shadows.

The instant he dropped a yard, the rest of Italy followed suit, retreating into a more measured shape.

And Ukraine recognised it immediately.

”They’ve earned themselves a little breathing room now,” the commentator noted.

”They survived the first wave and need to find something to do with this time before the Italians get on their backs again. A very intriguing start to this match.”

Leo watched the shape reform from his position in front of the defence.

His eyes never stayed in one place for long.

He always made sure where the ball was, who was looking to run into it and the space his mates created by stepping up or dropping deep.

”Barella!” he shouted a moment later, loud enough to cut through the crowd.

Barella reacted instantly, turning to see where and what Leo was pointing towards.

He’d allowed Oleksandr Zinchenko to drift off his shoulder for a split second.

Seeing that, the Inter midfielder spun and recovered just as Zinchenko received, forcing the Arsenal man backwards instead of forwards.

Ukraine recycled possession, patiently like they were in no rush.

Then Georgiy Sudakov finally received the ball between the lines, and when he lifted his head, the entire pitch seemed to open in front of him.

”Here’s Sudakov,” the commentator said.

”This is where he becomes the most dangerous. He thrives between the lines...”

Before the commentary could finish their notes on the former, Sudakov’s right foot wrapped around the ball, sending a long diagonal sailing toward the right flank.

There Yarmolenko took it into his stride, and Dimarco met him almost immediately.

The winger sized up the duel for barely a heartbeat before deciding against it.

He knew his strengths and knew he was probably going to lose it should he force it, so he turned and slipped the ball back inside instead.

The pass had barely left his foot when Kean exploded forward again, this time into the deep and once again, like a chain reaction, Italy surged.

The midfield squeezed up, and the back line followed simultaneously.

Every blue shirt stepped five yards higher together, and the moment they did, the crowd got right back behind them.

Zinchenko, noticing the oncoming pressure, took one touch and sent it back to Stepanenko.

Stepanenko looked up once before trying to recycle possession toward his goalkeeper.

Only...

The pass lacked weight.

”Oh...” the commentary winced as Kean saw it instantly and burst after the loose ball.

Both Ukrainian centre-backs immediately abandoned their wider positions and cut back toward the middle.

For one brief moment, it looked as though Kean might arrive first as he locked in for the foot race between him and the keeper.

”He might get there!” the commentators bellowed, but the Ukrainian shot stopper got off his line in time.

Just as Kean was almost upon him, he launched the ball high into the Milan sky, leaving Kean’s challenge a fraction too late.

”Very nearly,” the commentator breathed.

”That’s the closest Italy have come to forcing a mistake.”

The ball climbed...hung..., then began its descent toward the Italian half, and Sudakov was already keeping tabs from underneath.

He chased after the ball, picking his head up for a split second while tracking the ball.

When he did so for the second time, he found Leo right in his vision, also approaching what was going to possibly be the drop spot.

The Ukrainian saw this, readied himself and planted at the last, ready to leap.

Leo did the same, almost mirroring Sudakov’s movement, and just as the latter committed, rising fully into the air, he felt no structure around his body.

He looked down for a split second, ...only to realise Leo hadn’t followed him.

”Chort...”

He grunted under his breath as the ball sailed inches over his head and found Leo, who had remained grounded.

When it got close enough, his left foot slid calmly beneath the dropping ball, and in the next moment, the first touch seemed almost impossible.

Instead of bouncing away, the ball simply...

...stopped.

Dead.

A murmur rolled through the San Siro as they watched something so magnificent.

”Oh, that is brilliant,” the commentator said immediately.

”...he’s stolen all of its momentum.”

As the commentary ranted, Leo’s head came up, not wasting any time, taking a glance in and then another.

Before anyone could guess his next move, his right arm extended toward the right flank.

”Go.”

The word barely left his lips when his weaker left foot swung through the ball.

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