Players were making mistakes, their tired minds unable to keep up with their still-beating hearts.

A simple pass from Inter's midfield went straight out of play.

A promising Lazio attack ended when a winger accidentally tripped over his own feet.

"They are zombies!" the commentator cackled. "Zombies in very expensive football boots! But they are our zombies, and we love them!"

On the sideline, Coach Chivu was a caged lion.

His immaculate suit was rumpled, his hair was a mess, and he was screaming instructions that were being completely lost in the wall of noise.

And then, in the 85th minute, in the heart of the beautiful, ugly chaos, Lazio produced a moment of sublime, heartbreaking genius.

The ball was worked to their creative maestro, Luis Alberto, about 25 yards from goal. He was surrounded by the tired, desperate blue and black shirts of Inter. He had no time, no space. But he didn't need it.

He saw the run of Ciro Immobile, a ghosting movement towards the near post.

But he also saw Yann Sommer, the Inter keeper, taking a tiny, fractional step in that direction, anticipating the pass.

So he didn't pass.

With a touch as soft as a whisper, Luis Alberto scooped the ball.

A delicate, audacious, impossibly perfect chip that floated over the entire Inter defense, over the head of the wrong-footed, backpedaling Sommer, and into the net.

It was a goal of such breathtaking intelligence and skill that for a second, the entire stadium, friend and foe, was united in a single, stunned silence.

3-2 to Lazio.

The home fans erupted in a sound of pure, delirious ecstasy.

The Inter players just collapsed, their faces a picture of utter, devastating heartbreak.

They had fought so hard. They had given everything.

And they had been undone by a single, perfect, world-class moment. It was over.

The next five minutes were a blur of Inter desperation.

They threw everything forward, a final, hopeless, glorious charge.

A frantic scramble in the box saw the ball fall to Barella, whose tired shot flew high over the bar.

A minute later, a beautiful cross from Palmer found Julián Álvarez, whose diving header went agonizingly wide.

"They are throwing the kitchen sink at them!" the commentator wailed.

"But their aim is off! They are missing the target! The clock is their enemy! The dream is dying!"

The fourth official's board went up. Five minutes of added time. Five minutes to find a miracle.

In the 92nd minute, they won a corner. It was their last, desperate roll of the dice.

Every single Inter player, except for the goalkeeper, was in the Lazio box.

Çalhanoğlu whipped it in. The ball was headed away, but only to the edge of the area.

It fell to Alessandro Bastoni. He hit it on the volley, a shot of pure, desperate power. It was blocked. The ball ricocheted to Julián, whose shot was also blocked.

A frantic, pinballing mess of legs and bodies.

Somehow, the ball squirted free. It rolled perfectly to Stefan de Vrij, who had stayed up from the corner. He had an open look at goal.

He shot. But his tired legs betrayed him. He scuffed it.

The ball trickled harmlessly towards the goal.

But the Lazio keeper, who had dived for the previous shot, was on the ground.

The ball rolled, in agonizing slow motion, past his outstretched hand... and hit the post.

The entire stadium gasped. The ball rebounded back across the face of goal, and in the heart of the chaos, a man who had been a hero, a villain, and now a ghost, appeared.

Alessandro Bastoni. He threw himself at the ball, a full-body lunge of pure, unadulterated will, and smashed the ball into the empty net from one yard out.

3-3.

Pandemonium. The Inter players didn't even have the energy to celebrate.

They just grabbed the ball and sprinted back to the center circle.

The dream was, impossibly, still alive.

Two minutes of added time left. The game restarted.

It was the last attack. The ball was worked to Leon, deep in his own half. He was exhausted.

But the bracelet from Sofia was a warm, calming presence on his wrist. His 'Unshakeable Heart' was beating a steady, powerful rhythm.

He started to run. He glided past one tired Lazio midfielder. He nutmegged another. He was in space, driving at the heart of the terrified, backpedaling Lazio defense. He had options. Palmer was to his left. Julián to his right. But he only saw one thing: the goal.

He was 25 yards out.

The entire season, every drop of sweat, every tactical masterclass, every ridiculous Julián Álvarez question, had led to this single moment. He drew back his right foot. He put every last ounce of his energy, his hope, his love for his team, into this one, final shot.

He didn't curl it. He didn't chip it. He smashed it.

The ball flew like a cannonball, a white blur of pure, unadulterated power.

The goalkeeper, a statue, didn't even move.

The ball rocketed past him and crashed into the back of the net with a sound like a gunshot, a sound of pure, beautiful finality.

4-3. To Inter.

The stadium was silent, except for the tiny pocket of traveling Inter fans who were losing their collective minds.

Leon just stood there, his arms outstretched, a primal roar ripping from his throat.

His teammates, running on a fuel that was beyond physical, buried him in a pile of screaming, crying, laughing bodies.

The referee blew the final whistle. It was over.

They had done it.

Amidst the beautiful, glorious chaos, as his teammates lifted him onto their shoulders, a single, final notification flashed in Leon's mind.

It wasn't a skill. It wasn't a synergy. It was the only thing that mattered.

[Current Rating: 89]

[Status: Campioni d'Italia]

Leon was buried at the bottom of a twenty-man pile, the weight of his ecstatic teammates the most wonderful, suffocating feeling in the world.

He could hear Julián Álvarez yelling something about rewriting the laws of physics, and Barella just screaming, a single, primal roar of triumph.

The commentator, his voice a shredded, happy ruin, tried to put the moment into words. "THEY HAVE DONE IT! INTER MILAN ARE THE CHAMPIONS OF ITALY! Against all odds, through all the drama, after the most chaotic, beautiful, ridiculous final day in Serie A history, the Nerazzurri have climbed the mountain! The Scudetto is theirs! Let the party in Milan begin!"

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.