The San Siro was a cathedral of noise, a swirling mass of black and blue scarves and flashing camera lights. The Champions League anthem faded into the roar of sixty thousand Inter Milan fans, their voices crashing against the pitch like a tidal wave. Ibukun adjusted his gloves, the pressure of the Real Madrid crest heavy against his chest. The System's golden text pulsed in his vision, stark against the floodlights:
***UCL GROUP STAGE - MATCHDAY 3***
**Mission:** Score or Assist + Maintain 85% Pass Accuracy
**Reward:** €75,000 + 2 Dribbling Points
**Failure Penalty:** -10% Composure (Next 2 Matches)
Lautaro Martinez stood across from him at the center circle, eyes sharp, mouth set in a thin line. The Argentine striker didn't blink, didn't flinch—just watched, calculating.
The whistle blew.
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### **The First Half: A Battle of Patience**
Inter pressed high from the first second, their midfield trio of Barella, Çalhanoğlu, and Brozović closing space like a noose tightening. Every pass was contested, every run shadowed.
Ibukun dropped deep, demanding the ball from Kroos. The moment it touched his foot, Barella was on him, a whirlwind of aggression. A sharp turn, a flick to Valverde—safe. But Inter recovered instantly, their defensive shape unshaken.
The first real chance came against the run of play. Vini Jr. picked up a loose ball near the halfway line and exploded forward, his feet a blur. Dumfries stumbled, just for a second, and that was enough. Vini cut inside, drawing De Vrij toward him.
Ibukun saw the space before it opened.
He darted toward the near post, dragging Bastoni with him. Just as the center-back committed, Ibukun checked his run, leaving Valverde unmarked at the top of the box. Vini's cutback was perfect. The Uruguayan's strike was cleaner.
The net rippled.
San Siro's roar dimmed for just a moment before the traveling Madrid fans erupted.
**0-1.**
The System logged the contribution—**+0.5 Mission Progress**—but there was no time to celebrate. Inter responded like a wounded beast.
A quick free-kick, a clever flick from Çalhanoğlu, and Lautaro was through. Rüdiger lunged, but the Argentine was faster, his finish brutal.
**1-1.**
The crowd's roar was deafening.
---
### **The Second Half: The Moment of Truth**
Ancelotti's voice cut through the halftime huddle. *"Bastoni pushes too high. When he does, that left channel is yours."*
The System confirmed it:
***WEAKNESS DETECTED***
**Left Channel Exploitation:** Bastoni's recovery speed decreases after the 60th minute.
The second half was a war of attrition. Inter's press didn't relent, but Madrid's midfield began to find cracks. Kroos, calm as ever, dictated the tempo. Modrić, ageless, wove through traffic.
Then, in the 67th minute, the opening came.
Brozović's pass was lazy, just a fraction underhit. Kroos read it before it left the midfielder's foot. The German intercepted and, without hesitation, launched a 40-yard diagonal toward Ibukun's run.
The ball hung in the air for an eternity.
Bastoni sprinted back, but Ibukun was already moving. His first touch was perfection—killing the ball dead, leaving it poised for the next move. Bastoni lunged.
A feint left, a drop of the shoulder, and the Italian was left clutching at shadows.
Onana rushed out, but Ibukun had already decided. Near post. No hesitation.
The shot burned through the keeper's gloves and into the net.
**1-2.**
San Siro fell silent.
***MISSION COMPLETE***
**Goal Scored (1/1)**
**Pass Accuracy:** 87%
**Reward Unlocked:** €75,000 + 2 Dribbling Points
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### **The Aftermath**
The final whistle brought relief, not celebration. Ancelotti's post-match words were simple: *"Barcelona in four days. This changes nothing."*
Valentina waited outside the locker room, a folded bank slip in her hand. She didn't smile, just handed it over.
*"Don't spend it all on cars."*
The System's deeper analysis scrolled in his vision:
***SEASON TRACKER***
**Goals (All Comps):** 11
**Assists:** 6
**Market Value:** €180m → €210m
Jay-Jay's hologram flickered to life in the shower steam, his voice a low growl.
*"Now comes the hard part—carrying this when your legs feel like lead."*
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