A deep sense of wrongness had settled over the Juventus supporters in the stands.
A good number of them had never paid much attention to Leon and had no idea he had once scored a stunning knuckleball in the Milan Derby.
Seeing a goalkeeper step up to take a free kick, more than a few Juventus supporters felt as though they were being mocked outright.
"This is outrageous!"
"Who do they think they're looking down on, sending their goalkeeper to take a free kick?!"
"He'll regret it — the moment he misses and we clear it, that's an empty net."
"He'll pay for his arrogance."
Out on the pitch, Leon could not hear the Juventus supporters in the stands.
Although the badge he had drawn was Cristiano's [Knuckleball Master], Leon's set-piece technique carried none of Cristiano's theatrical flair.
Instead, Leon simply walked up to the spot, standing directly over the ball with one foot resting on top of it.
The [Knuckleball Master] badge guaranteed Leon could execute a knuckleball with perfect consistency, so he had no need to worry about whether a standing start would prevent him from generating the right technique.
'No run-up?'
Pirlo studied Leon's stance and it looked very much like he was going to strike it from where he stood.
Perhaps it was not a shot at all but a pass.
Pirlo exchanged a glance with Buffon and made a small gesture.
Buffon signalled that he understood.
Not taking a run-up did not make a free kick impossible, but it made it very difficult to generate real pace on the ball.
Either it was a pass, or it would carry a wide arc but limited velocity.
The referee's whistle sounded, and the kick was given.
Every eye in the stadium fixed on Leon in that instant.
This free kick had every chance of deciding which side would progress to the Coppa Italia final.
Leon swung his right leg from a standing position, driving the outside of his boot hard into the ball.
The ball took enormous force and launched into the air with almost no rotation.
'Misjudged this completely.'
Pirlo and Buffon both jolted at the same moment.
The pace on the ball was significantly higher than either of them had anticipated.
It was heading for the top right corner.
Buffon made his read quickly and shifted sharply across to his right.
Then he stopped.
'Something's wrong.'
Just as Buffon was about to commit to his dive, he watched the ball begin to move erratically through the air.
Rising, dropping, drifting.
Buffon lost all sense of where it was going to land.
The ball hit the net.
After reaching its peak, the ball had plummeted sharply downward and buried itself in the bottom right corner.
Buffon, caught in that moment of hesitation, had not managed to get his body moving in time and was left standing almost motionless.
But in reality, a fierce, silent battle had taken place between Buffon and Leon, and it had ended in Buffon's complete defeat.
"A knuckleball."
Pirlo's eyes narrowed.
Pirlo could produce a knuckleball himself, of course.
But executing one from a standing position with no run-up was genuinely beyond him.
A free kick delivered in that way carried a level of disguise that made it extraordinarily difficult for any goalkeeper to read.
This was someone operating at a different level.
That was Pirlo's immediate reaction, watching Leon score from that distance.
Leon saw the ball go in and allowed himself a quiet smile.
'I seem to have done it again.'
Leon's reactions were always a beat behind: a few seconds passed before he threw his arm down sharply.
By that point, his teammates had already closed in around him from every direction.
"Let me get back to the goal first!"
Leon turned and broke through the crowd of teammates, sprinting back toward his own goal.
The match was not over yet.
The chance of Juventus catching them off guard was slim, but if a referee decided to help them, that was a different matter entirely.
If the referee quickly blew for the restart and Leon was still not back in his goal, that would be a disaster.
"Ha!"
His teammates had long since grown used to Leon's habits, and watching him tear back toward his goal, everyone broke into laughter.
Suso, seized by a sudden impulse, took off after Leon at full speed.
Bloody hell.
He could not catch him.
Suso was stunned.
Since when had Leon become this quick?
With pace at that level, would it not be far simpler to just play him as a winger?
Why on earth was he a goalkeeper?
Leon had no idea what was going through Suso's mind and did not much care.
Once back in his goal, Leon felt a deep calm settle over him.
'The goal I am guarding cannot be breached.'
Back in the commentary booth in the East, Jackson and Donny had both gone quiet again.
Jackson had shouted himself hoarse moments earlier and simply could not find his voice.
Donny, meanwhile, had been made to look completely foolish yet again.
He had just been saying that Leon, as a goalkeeper, was taking an enormous risk by stepping up to take the free kick, that even Cristiano could not guarantee every free kick would go in, and so on.
And then this.
Donny: I am not saying another word. I deserve everything I get.
[Good boy — say sorry and you're forgiven!]
A wave of bullet comments swept across the screen.
The fans back in the East erupted.
"This is brilliant."
In a university dormitory somewhere in Spain, Su Jing was curled up on her bed watching the match and scrolling through the comments at the same time.
Seeing the fans back in the East finally embrace Leon without reservation, she felt a warm satisfaction wash over her.
'I wonder when I'll get to see Leon again.'
'The workload this term has gone up noticeably, it's such a pain.'
'No, I have to push through, I have to keep working.'
'After I graduate, I'm going to be Leon's dedicated journalist — just you watch!'
A fire lit inside Su Jing.
'Leon, by the time I graduate, will you have become the greatest goalkeeper in the world?'
'When that day comes, I'll be there to interview you.'
In the final few minutes, Juventus finally committed everyone forward in one last desperate push.
But two outstanding saves from Leon shattered any hope Juventus had of drawing level.
In truth, even if Juventus had equalised, they would still have gone out, because AC Milan now held two away goals.
The final whistle blew.
AC Milan won two-nil away from home against Juventus.
Two-one on aggregate, and they had forced their way into the Coppa Italia final.
Inzaghi on the touchline was in raptures, and nearly forgot to go over and shake hands with a thoroughly deflated Allegri after the match.
This was the first final Inzaghi had reached as a manager.
He was drawing closer and closer to his first trophy in coaching.
As a player, Inzaghi had already collected more than enough honours and titles.
But this was different.
At that moment, inside a bar at Milanello, three people in AC Milan shirts were drawing no small amount of attention from the other patrons.
This being AC Milan's home base, the sight of Milan shirts was nothing unusual.
What was unusual was why these three people looked so familiar.
All three were wearing sunglasses, which was why no one in the bar had placed them immediately.
Baresi.
Maldini.
Ambrosini.
The captains of AC Milan, the line of succession.
All three had gathered in this bar at the same time.
"Milan needs a proper captain again."
Maldini spoke as he shook his head slowly.
"Agreed."
"Some traditions should never be allowed to fade."
Baresi echoed the sentiment.
Ambrosini beside them said nothing.
Because the way things had ended between him and Milan had not been without pain.
After leaving AC Milan, Ambrosini had gone to Fiorentina for a single season before retiring.
In other words, AC Milan had not even been willing to offer Ambrosini a farewell contract to see out his career.
That had left a deep wound in him.
Compared to the substantial wages paid to Mexes, Ambrosini's salary had never been particularly high, and he had been willing to take a further pay cut.
It was simply one more in a long line of bewildering decisions from AC Milan across those seasons.
The club wanted to shed the image of a retirement home but never went far enough in rebuilding.
Unable to attract top talent, with no transfer budget to speak of, they had resorted to luring players with inflated wages.
And so a vicious cycle took hold: results worsened, and the old identity was lost in the process.
Of course, AC Milan now were a completely different proposition, but that had a great deal to do with Leon's arrival.
"I think Leon is the right choice."
Maldini spoke again.
"I agree."
"No objection from me."
The three Milan captains settled the question of who the next AC Milan captain would be in just a few casual words.
If AC Milan had continued on the trajectory of the first half of the season, getting worse with each match, Maldini and the others would not have had any interest in wading into club matters.
But seeing AC Milan show genuine signs of a revival, the three captains who had never stopped caring about the red and black could not simply stand aside.
The combined influence of those three names was enormous.
Even Berlusconi would have to show them that courtesy.
Leon had no idea yet that an immense honour and an immense responsibility were about to land on his shoulders.
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