When the final whistle pierced the electric night air of San Siro, Yang Yang collapsed to his knees on the freshly cut grass.
His chest rose and fell with exhaustion, both hands scrubbing the sweat from his face as he tilted his head toward the heavens. For a brief moment, he closed his eyes and simply listened.
The roar from the 80,000-strong crowd crashed down like a tidal wave. It wasn't for him—he knew that—but he embraced it all the same. The adrenaline, the weight of a European night, the very theatre of it. This was why he played football.
Ajax had lost.
A 4–3 defeat to AC Milan in the first leg of the UEFA Champions League quarterfinal. But Yang Yang felt no regret—no bitterness, no sadness. Instead, a profound calm settled over him.
Because he had given everything.
Every ounce of energy, every sprint, every challenge—he had poured himself into this match until the final seconds. And even though Milan stood taller tonight, there was no shame in the loss. It was a clash of titans, and Ajax had matched their might, blow for blow.
That was enough—for now.
Even the harshest critics of European football, those who watched with cold precision and dissected every touch, would have found it difficult to question Ajax's performance. Or his.
This was the Champions League. This was the elite. And there was still one more chapter to write in Amsterdam.
As the tension of the match faded into the shadows of the evening, Yang Yang's mind drifted into reflection. For all the fight Ajax showed, this match revealed the team's ceiling. A glimpse of what was—and what wasn't—possible.
Ajax were giants in the Eredivisie. Dominant, storied, admired. But in Europe? They remained a tier below the true aristocracy of the game. Clubs like Milan weren't just rich in talent—they were constructed with a depth, cohesion, and steel that Ajax could only hope to emulate with their limited resources.
The fairytale run to the Champions League title in 2003–2004 now felt like an anomaly. A perfect storm of talent, timing, and tactical courage. But that team—anchored by names like Ibrahimović, Van der Vaart, Trabelsi, Sneijder—was now scattered across Europe. That constellation had disbanded.
And now, Yang Yang stood at the center of Ajax's ambitions—but even he knew this story was nearing its final act.
It was here, at San Siro, under the floodlights and the pressure, that he understood it fully: the time had come to move on. Not because of disloyalty. Not because of greed. But because he had outgrown this stage.
He needed to stretch himself, challenge himself, sharpen his edges against the toughest opposition week after week. If he stayed in the Netherlands, he feared he'd stagnate. Plateaus were dangerous for players like him—still young, still growing, still hungry.
The Champions League was a battle of giants. And while Ajax had held their own tonight, Yang Yang understood the brutal truth: to compete consistently, you had to be at a club that matched your ambition with action.
In his heart, he knew the club wouldn't hold him back. Even if he wanted to stay, Ajax would be forced to consider the financial windfall his transfer could bring. That money could help them re-sign Wesley Sneijder and Yaya Touré. It could fund a rebuild.
If he stayed? Then Sneijder might go. Yaya might follow. Clubs were pragmatic. Budgets mattered. Selling Yang Yang was, from a financial standpoint, the sensible move.
But if he was to leave, he wouldn't do so quietly.
There were still goals to score. Trophies to chase. A legacy to finish writing.
The Eredivisie title was within reach—and Yang Yang intended to bring it home. He would score as many goals as needed. No one could stop him in the Dutch league anymore.
The KNVB Cup final loomed ahead, with PSV Eindhoven waiting. That would be a war. And Yang Yang had every reason to fight with everything he had.
As for the Champions League? One leg remained. One more 90-minute battle at the Amsterdam Arena. He would not abandon hope. He would leave everything on that pitch, because if he could lead Ajax to the semifinals—beyond what Ibrahimović and Van der Vaart had achieved—it would be a final, thunderous statement.
A gift to the club that had given him everything.
Winning the Champions League was a fantasy. Even tonight against Milan had been a battle of attrition. If they did miraculously reach the semifinals, would they really beat Barcelona?
Barcelona. A side that played like silk and struck like lightning. Ronaldinho, Deco, Xavi, Iniesta—the best possession-based team in world football. A team Ajax, with its fragile backline, was ill-equipped to contain.
Still, Yang Yang didn't let that stop him.
He opened his eyes, jaw tightening, eyes burning with clarity.
He knew exactly what had to be done.
...
...
As the captain of Ajax, Yang Yang didn't linger on the turf for long. As soon as he steadied himself and rose to his feet, he walked briskly across the pitch, seeking out his teammates one by one, extending hands, nodding, offering quiet words of encouragement.
No one had to speak—eye contact was enough. They had battled together through ninety relentless minutes at the San Siro and emerged not victorious, but far from defeated.
Gathering near the corner of the pitch, the entire Ajax squad—starters and substitutes alike—approached the stand where a few thousand traveling supporters, decked in red and white scarves, had stood singing and cheering through the Milanese night.
Side by side, the players formed a line and faced the supporters. The ritual was familiar—but tonight, it meant more.
This was tradition. A show of gratitude. In European away games, particularly in a stadium as imposing as San Siro, fans who crossed borders to support their club were the soul of football. Especially after a loss like this—narrow, but spirited.
The result stung: 4–3 to AC Milan. But no one in the away section looked disappointed. In fact, they responded with even more applause, a sea of clapping hands and proud chants that echoed through the steep concrete walls of the ground.
They weren't cheering a result. They were saluting a performance. One that had heart, fight, and above all, belief.
To take three away goals from Milan? It was no small feat. Especially knowing that the return leg still awaited them in Amsterdam.
The Ajax players clapped back, some with bowed heads, others with eyes glinting defiantly beneath sweat-matted hair.
Yang Yang turned to face the group. His voice cut through the tension, bold and unwavering.
"Listen up—don't let anyone walk past us and think we're finished," he barked, eyes sweeping over his teammates. "Heads up. Shoulders back. We've got another ninety minutes—on our pitch. And we're going to tear them apart!"
The fire in his voice drew nods.
"Yang Yang's right!" Wesley Sneijder shouted from the circle. "One goal. That's all it takes. We score one more than them—we go through!"
"We haven't lost anything yet!" Maduro added. "This is only halftime."
"Back at the Arena, we'll have 50,000 behind us!" Heitinga yelled.
With energy rising, Yang Yang thrust his right hand out.
"Come on!" he roared.
One by one, the players stepped in, hands piling on top of his. A ritual. A symbol.
"Ajax..." Yang Yang led the chant.
"...come on!" the squad thundered in unison.
The moment crackled with raw intensity. In that tight circle, among sweat, mud, and adrenaline, was a team that believed.
Up in the stands, even the AC Milan fans had turned their eyes toward them. The spectacle was undeniable. Passion doesn't need translation.
On the sideline, AC Milan's technical area stood quietly watching. Carlo Ancelotti, arms folded, face still, observed the scene with a gaze that slowly narrowed.
Behind him, his assistant Mauro Tassotti noticed his expression shift.
"Something wrong?" he asked, brow raised.
Ancelotti didn't answer immediately. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slowly as if awakening from a delusion.
"We were wrong," he muttered.
Tassotti frowned. "About what?"
"We've underestimated them," Ancelotti replied. "We thought Ajax had no stars. That they were still just a developmental team. We looked at Yang Yang and saw a 19-year-old. A kid."
He turned back toward the pitch, where Yang Yang, surrounded by teammates, stood like a beacon of leadership.
"But he's not a kid. Not anymore."
Tassotti tilted his head, listening intently.
"That goal at the end? That wasn't luck. That was world-class execution, composed under pressure, in stoppage time, at the San Siro. It gave Ajax hope—and it's changed the entire tie," Ancelotti said.
"And Yang Yang didn't just score. He lifted his entire team. His influence, his technical quality, his intelligence... he's already a European star. Maybe even one of the very best."
Tassotti remained quiet for a moment, absorbing his words. Then he slowly nodded.
"Then next week in Amsterdam…"
Ancelotti didn't let him finish.
"…It's going to be hell."
...
...
"This was a split match."
Carlo Ancelotti offered his final assessment at the post-match press conference, speaking with a mix of calm authority and lingering frustration.
"We played an excellent first half," he began. "Yes, we conceded, but we controlled the tempo entirely. Our structure was solid, our movement intelligent. But in the second half… we became anxious. Passive. We wanted to manage the game with possession, but things didn't unfold as we had planned."
The AC Milan coach leaned forward, clasping his hands.
"For ninety minutes, we delivered a high-level performance, but it was inconsistent across the two halves. That inconsistency is something we must address internally. Football isn't just about the scoreboard. It's about the identity of your play, your soul as a team. That soul should remain the same, regardless of the minute or the pressure."
Ancelotti expressed particular concern over his side's mentality. He stopped short of blaming fatigue or conditioning—deliberately, perhaps—but the undertone of his words suggested he saw cracks in his team's mental discipline more than their physical capacity.
"We had the advantage. We had the experience, the rhythm, the quality, the tactical awareness. Objectively, we were stronger than Ajax in most departments," he continued, "and yet we failed to close out the game—at San Siro, no less, in front of our fans, in excellent form. That says something we must reflect on."
Sitting nearby, Ronald Koeman listened carefully. The Ajax coach noted the long list of factors Ancelotti cited—technical superiority, control, dominance—but there was one glaring omission: not a single mention of physical conditioning. Koeman smiled faintly. Perhaps the Milan coach understood all too well what had gone wrong—but chose not to say it aloud.
Then came the part everyone in the room was waiting for.
Ancelotti paused, before shifting the focus to the man who had changed the complexion of the tie.
"I have to highlight Yang Yang," he said plainly. "His level tonight was extraordinary. From the opening whistle to the dying seconds, he played with conviction and intelligence. His first goal was instinctive, clinical—but that second one…"
The Italian trailed off, as if the image of the final goal was still playing in his mind.
"That was something rare. The composure, the audacity to attempt that kind of movement in that moment—it takes courage, and it takes talent. It was a goal that altered the tone of the tie. And we mustn't forget—he's only nineteen."
Koeman nodded as Ancelotti spoke. When it was his turn at the microphone, the Dutch manager did not hesitate to echo the praise.
"Yang Yang is already among the best forwards in the world," he said firmly. "He's a player any manager would welcome—not because he's flashy, but because he puts the team before himself. Every action, every decision, is driven by what helps Ajax win. He's the most professional footballer I've worked with, and I'm proud to coach him."
As for the match itself, Koeman kept his remarks measured.
"Yes, it's true—AC Milan had a slight edge overall. But we didn't come here to play second fiddle. Our players showed grit and bravery. The final scoreline, 4–3, reflects that."
He leaned back in his chair for a moment, then added with conviction, "This isn't over. Tonight was the first leg. In a week's time, we go back to the Amsterdam Arena, and there we will launch our counterattack."
When asked about the vulnerabilities exposed during the match, particularly in defense, Koeman didn't deflect.
"We do have weaknesses at the back. And yes, some of our players weren't as consistent as they needed to be. But let's not forget—Ajax currently fields the youngest squad in the Champions League. Our average age is just over 22. Many of these players, if you placed them in any of the top four leagues, would still be considered rookies."
His tone shifted from analysis to advocacy.
"So we need to support them. Guide them. Let them make mistakes and learn from them. Growth doesn't come from blame—it comes from experience. And after what I saw tonight, I am proud of each one of them."
His words struck a chord. The assembled press, both Dutch and international, broke into applause.
Indeed, among the 32 teams in the Champions League, Ajax were the youngest. Milan, by contrast, were one of the oldest. And yet, the youthful Dutch side had gone to San Siro, stared down legends, and walked away with three away goals.
For a club still rebuilding, still transitioning, it was no small feat.
"Back in Amsterdam," Koeman concluded, voice steady and strong, "my players will be ready. They'll show their best. Not to silence critics, but to prove—to themselves and to the world—what Ajax football truly means."
A second round of applause followed. And in the press room of San Siro, the message was clear: the battle was far from over.
...
...
After the match, the squad returned briefly to the hotel to collect their bags, then headed directly to the airport for the final flight out of Milan. The destination: Amsterdam.
This had long been standard procedure for Ajax during away matches. The rationale was simple—after such a physically and emotionally charged match, most players wouldn't be able to sleep properly in a hotel anyway. Better to return home, get a proper rest, and report to De Toekmost early the next morning for light recovery and analysis.
Despite the 4–3 loss, the mood within the squad wasn't bleak. Tired but not deflated, the players sat scattered throughout the cabin of the team flight. Some chatted in quiet pairs. Others leaned back in their seats, lost in thought.
There was tension, but also hope. A week remained until the return leg in Amsterdam.
Some players believed in a comeback. Others feared a repeat of past disappointments.
Yang Yang understood both reactions. Every player processed setbacks differently. Personality, experience, footballing maturity—all of it shaped how one reacted to a loss like this.
But Yang Yang, ever analytical, was already thinking ahead. The path to victory was narrow—but not closed. If Ajax were to turn the tie around, they would need to score first.
That early goal would be the key. It would force Milan to abandon their preferred compact block and come out. Then Ajax could control the tempo.
But if Milan scored first? The tie was all but over.
To get that first goal, Yang Yang believed Ajax needed to focus their attacks down the right—the same flank that represented Milan's defensive left. That side, in his view, held the most vulnerability.
He stood up from his seat and walked down the narrow aisle to the coaching staff. Ronald Koeman and Ruud Krol were seated across from René Kruitenberg, the club's fitness coach. Yang nodded politely to Kruitenberg and gestured for the seat.
"Mind if I join you?"
Kruitenberg smiled and shifted aside without protest. Yang Yang sat down beside Koeman and leaned in slightly.
"Boss, I've got an idea," he said.
As captain, and as the team's attacking leader, Yang Yang had every right to speak his mind. Koeman had encouraged such dialogue from the beginning—he admired Yang's capacity not just to play the game, but to read it.
"Let's hear it," Koeman replied with interest.
Yang Yang got straight to the point.
"I think we need to focus on refining our right-sided attacking routines this week."
Koeman exchanged a glance with Krol, who gave a faint nod. "Go on."
"Our wide play in San Siro wasn't decisive," Yang Yang said. "It wasn't just that Milan were prepared—we weren't committed. Especially with our full-backs. It felt hesitant."
He paused to gauge their reaction.
"I understand the caution—we were away, and Milan's counters are deadly. But the return leg is different. We have to attack. A draw is a loss. We can't wait for them to slip—we need to take the initiative."
"You're proposing we go for a direct offensive approach from the opening whistle?" Koeman asked, eyes narrowing slightly.
Yang Yang nodded. "Yes. If we score first, we'll tilt the pressure onto them. Milan will have to step out. That opens up space."
Ruud Krol chuckled lightly. "You're thinking along the same lines as we are."
Yang allowed a brief smile, but Koeman held up a hand.
"We've been weighing that idea too," he admitted. "But Yang, you do understand the risk."
Krol leaned forward, his voice low and measured. "Milan are a counter-attacking machine. If we open up too much and don't score quickly, they'll hit us on the break—and they don't miss often."
Yang Yang nodded seriously.
"I know. But I also believe if we hold back too much, we'll never get the goal we need. We'll end up playing into their hands, just slower."
Koeman listened intently.
"It's a matter of timing," he said. "If we press too early and they hit us, the tie could be over in twenty minutes. But if we wait too long, we may never even threaten."
Krol added, "We're not in a position to gamble wildly, Yang. This club doesn't have the luxury of absorbing damage."
"I'm not suggesting chaos," Yang Yang replied. "But I believe Serginho will start again on the left. Jankulovski hasn't shown enough to warrant selection. And Costacurta probably stays on the bench. If we overload that flank and keep Gattuso pinned back, I can find space to run in behind."
He paused. "If I get that angle, if I'm facing goal—I will finish. I'm sure of it."
Koeman and Krol exchanged a look again.
This wasn't arrogance. It was belief. The kind of belief that top players carry into every match.
They didn't doubt Yang's conviction—or his ability. But they had to weigh the team's balance. Going for an early goal was tactically aggressive, and Milan was built to punish ambition.
Still, the logic was sound. Milan's left was vulnerable. And in the Arena, Ajax would have the width and the crowd.
No tactic would be safe. No plan perfect.
But Koeman had never been a coach who feared taking calculated risks. Not when the reward was this high.
"All right," he finally said, clapping his hands softly. "Let's study it. We'll work on our right-sided transitions, test the timing, and make sure the full-backs know their roles."
...
...
From Milan to Amsterdam, Yang Yang spent the entire one-and-a-half-hour flight immersed in tactical discussion with Ronald Koeman and Ruud Krol.
They sat shoulder to shoulder, scribbling on notepads, exchanging low-voiced ideas about how Ajax could structure its attack to create clear shooting chances for Yang Yang. The focus was narrow, specific: how to generate those crucial moments where he could face goal directly, especially from the right flank.
Yang had gone toe-to-toe with Serginho in San Siro. And while the veteran full-back had held up decently, Yang came away from the match convinced that Serginho, now 34, could not handle a full-throttle duel at pace—especially on his own turf.
As long as Ajax committed to that side with conviction and gave Yang enough room to operate, he felt confident Serginho wouldn't cope.
By the time the wheels touched down in Amsterdam, all three men—captain and coaches—shared a sense that there was something to build on. But ideas weren't enough. The team would have to work, train, and drill the routines to precision.
Once the squad returned to De Toekmost, they were dismissed without a meeting. The travel and intensity of the match had drained everyone. A few parting instructions were given, and players left in silence to get some much-needed rest.
Yang Yang, along with Vermaelen and a few others, drove home quietly.
But sleep could wait.
As soon as Yang entered his apartment, he slipped into the dream training system.
Inside the ethereal, simulation-based realm, the familiar presence of Zax, the system's AI, flickered to life.
Yang stood alone at the center of the digital pitch.
"The next week," he muttered to himself, eyes narrowing, "I'll focus everything on Milan's defense."
Zax responded as the environment began reshaping around him—rendering Milan's familiar red and black, their defensive block, the sweeping shadows of the San Siro.
Two years ago, at the Amsterdam Arena, AC Milan had taken a 1–0 victory in the group stage.
Now, the stakes were higher. This was no longer a lesson. It was a fight for survival.
And this time, Yang Yang wasn't just a promising teenager trying to impress.
He was Ajax's captain. Their ace.
And he wanted revenge.
...
...
Early the next morning, the global football community was once again set ablaze. Headlines stretched across Europe, South America, Asia—everywhere the Champions League mattered.
AC Milan 4, Ajax 3.
From the scoreline to the drama, the match delivered everything. It wasn't just a game; it was theatre. And for fans around the world, it was impossible to look away.
Two of the tournament's leading scorers, Andriy Shevchenko and Yang Yang, had each delivered a brace. It became apparent that a silent rivalry was unfolding—two clinical forwards, two talismans of their teams, locked in a fierce competition for supremacy on Europe's grandest stage. Neither man wanted to blink first.
But it was Yang Yang's second goal, scored in the final moments of the match, that stole the headlines. A tactical corner he initiated and executed himself, taken with composure and vision beyond his years, left the football world in awe.
When media outlets began dissecting the goal, the revelations were striking. It wasn't a fluke. Yang Yang had requested the corner routine himself. He had stepped up, read the moment, and delivered something exceptional when the stakes were at their highest.
Not every player dares to take such responsibility at the end of a Champions League quarterfinal.
In France, L'Équipe led its match report with glowing praise. "At the critical moment, Yang Yang showed not only the quality but the character of a true leader. That goal—improvised yet flawless—could very well be remembered as one of the goals of the year."
They weren't alone.
Analysts across Europe emphasized not just the beauty of the strike, but its significance. Scoring a goal of such magnitude, under pressure, against one of Europe's most experienced defenses, required more than just talent. It demanded courage.
The press unanimously agreed: Yang Yang had kept Ajax alive. His goal had preserved hope and made the second leg not just meaningful, but wide open.
Even La Gazzetta dello Sport, Italy's iconic sports daily, didn't hold back in its critique of AC Milan's performance—especially in the second half.
"That was not the Milan we know," one headline read. "After a dominant first half, they unraveled. The inability to shut the door on Ajax leaves Ancelotti with serious questions to answer."
Coverage of the post-match press conference also attracted attention. Both managers had spoken with conviction, and both knew the second leg at the Amsterdam Arena would be decisive. With Yang Yang in this kind of form, no outcome could be taken for granted.
His hat-trick against Real Madrid had already earned him global recognition. But now, this late wonder goal—composed, technical, bold—reminded everyone that he was no longer just a rising star.
He was a match-winner. A difference-maker. A player who shaped the destiny of entire teams.
Meanwhile, results from the other three Champions League quarterfinals were released.
In North London, Arsenal had defeated Juventus 2–0 at Highbury, an impressive result that saw Fabio Capello's men fail to find any rhythm against a resolute Gunners backline. Patrick Vieira's return to his former home ended in frustration, unable to inspire the Old Lady to a comeback.
In Lisbon, Benfica held Barcelona to a goalless draw. Despite boasting an attack featuring Ronaldinho, Eto'o, and Deco, the Catalan side was unable to break through. It was a reminder to everyone that away fixtures in Europe remained notoriously difficult, even for giants.
In Lyon, the French champions edged Villarreal 2–1. While Lyon's attacking fluidity was on display, Pellegrini's side managed an important away goal, keeping the tie finely balanced heading back to El Madrigal.
All four ties from the first leg of the quarterfinals were delicately poised. No match was beyond reach. No result beyond reversal.
But of all the matchups, the clash between Ajax and AC Milan had clearly seized the imagination of the football world.
Two of the top scorers in the competition. The highest-scoring game of the Champions League season. Tactical drama. Momentum swings. A stunning late goal.
Now, the footballing world turned its eyes toward Amsterdam.
The question loomed large.
Who will advance—Ajax or AC Milan?