Football: My AI System Provides Max-Level Predictions-Chapter 753 - 542 Guardiola’s Final Decision: Winter Window, Get Onana for Me!

Recalling the past, Icardi covered his face with his hands, and tears flowed through his fingers.

Tang Long and Ranocchia exchanged a glance, and both understood why Chiwo had called them here to have this farewell dinner with Icardi.

The scenes of the past, like movie frames, surfaced in Tang Long's mind.

Back then, just after activating the AI soccer engine system, Tang Long's footwork couldn't keep up with his ideas. Everyone thought his several assists were luck, except for Icardi.

As a top forward in Serie A, Icardi had a talent for positioning. He could keenly sense his teammates' passing intentions, and this was his inherent gift.

So, even though many of Tang Long's passes weren't actually very good, only just following the right path without precise footwork, Icardi would always manage to reach the spot and, relying on his superb ball control and shooting skills, complete the goal.

He never complained about Tang Long's passes being too light or too heavy, always giving him a thumbs-up:

"Good pass, Tang! Perfect prediction, we thought of the same thing!"

It was by holding on to Icardi that Tang Long gradually established himself within the Inter team and then became the main attacking midfielder under Mancini, embarking on the path of a supernova.

"Goal scored!"

"Icardi scores again, still assisted by Tang Long!"

"If we have to name them, let's call them the Sugar-Coated Bomb Combination!"

"They cooperate with each other, achieve each other, and can't do without each other!"

"No one can stop their scoring cooperation!"

"The crowd at Meazza has gone mad!"

"They are shouting Icardi and Tang Long's names at the top of their lungs!"

"Tangcardi!"

...

"Mauro, don't cry, face your future like a man." Ranocchia handed Icardi a tissue and patted him on the shoulder.

Icardi lifted his head, his eyes red and swollen, filled with tears. He sniffed hard, making a muffled sound, took the tissue, and while wiping his tears haphazardly, choked out, "Thank you, Captain!"

This "Captain," like an electric current, instantaneously eased the somewhat suffocating atmosphere.

"Captain."

Icardi softly repeated again, with a hint of an almost imperceptible tremor in his voice.

This was the first time after leaving Inter that he called Ranocchia face-to-face with such emotion.

In the past, on the Premier League fields, they had clashed many times, and Icardi only had rivalries with Ranocchia on the pitch, never using such intimate terms in private.

But today, at this special moment, the address instinctively slipped out.

Ranocchia's eyes brightened sharply upon hearing this call, his originally deep eyes suddenly glowed with a different brilliance.

He straightened up, his expression turning serious and earnest, and opened his heart, saying:

"Very well, Mauro, you still remember I'm the captain, this makes things easier."

He paused, his brow slightly furrowed, his eyes showing a trace of disgust, "If you want to be a normal player, to get back on track, you must leave that woman Wanda. She's a disgusting bloodsucker, greedily clinging to you. When she drains you dry, she'll unhesitatingly find the next target, just as she's always done."

Hearing this, Icardi's body slightly stiffened, a complex expression flashing across his face.

After all, he had been married to Wanda for two years, and the myriad experiences between them were not something others could easily understand.

What Ranocchia said was quite abrupt and untimely since a couple's relationship is inherently private and should not be casually commented on by outsiders.

Ranocchia naturally understood this as well.

At 28, nearing thirty, as a mature player who had been through the grind in the football world, and a mature man who had gone through life's tempering, he was well-versed in basic social etiquette.

However, at this moment, he couldn't care about much else, because Icardi's heartfelt call of "Captain" instantly awakened the deep sense of responsibility he once held as the locker room leader at Inter.

In his heart at this moment, Icardi was still the little brother who needed his protection and guidance, and he had to step forward to dispel the fog before him, even if his words might sting.

He was the captain, he had to look out for his little brother!

Icardi's lips moved slightly twice, but he didn't answer.

Tang Long immediately chimed in, "Mauro, since the captain has spoken, let me also speak openly with you, look at my phone."

Icardi looked at Tang Long's phone, and on the screen was a message: [Dear Tang, can you bring me some Chinese silk? I really need your help—Your friend Wanda]

Since two years ago, at Inter's Christmas party, when Wanda got hold of Tang Long's number, she began contacting him intentionally or unintentionally.

Especially after arriving in Manchester, Wanda often texted Tang Long to bring her Chinese specialties, but Tang Long never responded to her.

Icardi's eyes widened instantly, his pupils contracting sharply, and his body suddenly trembling!

This scenario was all too familiar to him.

Back in the day, when Icardi was playing in Sampdoria in Serie A, he was still just an innocent young guy.

One summer vacation, while on holiday in the United States, he suddenly received a message from teammate Lopez's wife, Wanda: [Dear Mauro, could you bring me the latest iPhone from the United States? Italy is out of stock]

That's how Wanda, a married woman, started hooking up with Icardi.

Seeing the same scenario happening to Tang Long, Icardi suddenly realized: "My God, it's the same script!"

Tang Long tutted twice, shaking his head.

"You know, Mauro, my agent Ronaldo accidentally told me one day that when he was starting his agent business, he once came to the Inter training base to pick people, and he actually had his eyes on you, wanting to be your agent."

Icardi was taken aback, "What, Ronaldo wanted to be my agent?" This was somewhat unexpected for him.

"But Mancini told him, don't even think about it, and his exact words were, your wife Wanda is a troublesome woman, better not get yourself in trouble."

"Mancini being Mancini, he's perceptive and saw through it early on. Free yourself, Mauro, don't let this kind of woman stay by your side. Look at me, always alone, never living with a woman; women will only hinder your football career, only your brothers can help you grow," Tang Long laughed.

Ranocchia, who was drinking water, couldn't help but spit it out.

"That's too absolute; my wife treats me very well," he said to Icardi, "You're just unfortunate in meeting the wrong person, but you're still young, only 23, with money, and in good health. Your looks, although not as good as mine, are quite handsome, right? Why stay with someone like Wanda, who has been rotten to the core? Don't you know what kind of person she is? Ten years ago, the Italian tabloids already dug into her thoroughly! You and that Lopez, both were played by her."

...

Icardi bid farewell to everyone at the restaurant entrance, hugging each one.

Ranocchia opened his arms, eyes filled with brotherly care.

Chiwo stood aside, his mouth slightly upturned in an encouraging smile, eyes full of trust. He adjusted Icardi's coat collar and buttoned the top button, seemingly telling him that the future held endless possibilities.

When hugging Tang Long, it was especially tight, with his fingernails almost penetrating the flesh on Tang Long's back.

Back when he was at Inter, every time Icardi scored from a Tang Long assist, he would do this, and sometimes after a game, Tang Long's back would be marked with Icardi's fingerprints.

"Come on, let go, Mauro, go back to Inter, back to where you made your name, play well to finish this season. If you can help Inter return to the Champions League, then you are still a man."

"And also, stop incessantly asking me how to kick a drop-rotation ball like Tang. Just do your part," Chiwo said.

Icardi froze, thinking: "When did I ever ask about this?" Just as he was about to inquire further, the taxi driver parked by the side urged him to get in the car. Icardi climbed in, waving goodbye to everyone.

Everyone watched as the taxi headed south, disappearing at the corner of the road, as if it would continue south, leap over the English Channel, step onto Normandy, and drive straight to Italy.

"Pioli will like him," in the snowy Manchester night, Chiwo tightened his collar, "He's an experienced Serie A veteran, unlike someone useless like Leno. Reportedly, he specifically named Mauro for the winter transfer. If Mauro can stay at Inter by the end of the season, that would be excellent."

...

...

Bang!

In the office of Manchester City's head coach, Guardiola slapped the table heavily and said to scout Raymond:

"Alright, that's settled. In the winter window, buy Onana as the goalkeeper!"