"Pass it to me! Pass it to me!"
Fàbregas shouted frantically.
Goalkeeper Lehmann threw the ball over.
Fàbregas controlled it with his instep, turned around, and toe-poked it to Bergkamp, then immediately surged forward.
Suker chased after him.
Suker swept past Bergkamp, completely ignoring him, locking his eyes on Fàbregas.
"Damn it!"
Fàbregas cursed irritably.
He came to a sudden stop, and Suker mirrored him.
At the same time, Suker retreated slightly, reaching behind with his right hand to grab Fàbregas' jersey.
Fàbregas angrily shook him off.
Meanwhile, Bergkamp had already passed the ball to Henry.
Suker glanced over but didn't pursue.
He just needed to stay on Fàbregas.
Henry controlled the ball but saw no immediate opportunity and passed it back to Pires.
Pires switched the play, and the ball came to the right side of Milan's half.
Hleb carried the ball forward for a moment, then suddenly saw Bergkamp making a run into space on the far side.
Without hesitation, Hleb passed.
The ball sailed over Milan's back line, landing perfectly in front of Bergkamp.
Bergkamp controlled it with his right foot, stopping it at his side while pausing abruptly.
At that very moment, Henry burst forward.
Bergkamp nudged the ball forward softly.
Henry muscled past Stam, touched the ball forward, and broke free of Milan's defense.
"Henry!! A chance!!!——"
Arsenal fans stood up again in anticipation.
This time, Henry did not disappoint.
He took a shot straight at the far corner.
The ball soared over Dida's outstretched leg and curled precisely into the far corner of the net.
55th minute, Arsenal pulled one back.
"Henry!!! Goal!!!"
"The eternal King of Highbury! With Bergkamp on the pitch, he's orchestrating Arsenal's attack and created this opportunity!"
"Henry didn't let Bergkamp down—what a stunning shot! Arsenal pulls one back at home!"
At 55 minutes, Arsenal had clawed back a goal.
This greatly lifted the spirits of the Gunners.
They were regaining rhythm.
At the same time, AC Milan immediately made a substitution.
Maldini and Cafu were taken off.
Jankulovski and Simic came on.
A direct swap at fullback—clearly, the intention was to replace the aging veterans whose stamina was waning.
"Push harder! Feels like we've dozed off again,"
Suker said, slinging an arm around Pirlo's shoulders.
Pirlo sighed, "We went too hard in the first half. Still haven't fully recovered."
"Pass to me!"
Suker pointed at himself. "The boss is off, I don't need to drop back anymore. I'll run into space up front. Hit me when you can."
"Got it!" Pirlo trusted Suker deeply.
Suker nodded, then turned and shouted toward Gattuso on the far side. "Tusso! You asleep or what?!"
Gattuso turned to look.
Suker put on a fierce expression, "Wreck them!"
Gattuso exhaled slowly. He truly hadn't gotten into the game yet in the second half.
"Henry's goal relieved some pressure for Arsenal. But they're still trailing by one. Can they protect the pride of Highbury tonight? That all depends on what comes next."
Despite scoring, the pressure on Arsenal was still immense.
They didn't want to draw or lose at home—they wanted the win.
Fortunately, their old brother Bergkamp seemed to be in excellent form.
Suker glanced at Bergkamp as well.
The older, the deadlier.
That earlier control and pass weren't even flashy in terms of technique.
It was pure experience and awareness that created the assist.
Hold the line, attract the defenders' attention, then time the pass just as Henry made his run.
The timing was perfect!
"The match resumes. AC Milan restarts. Still in the lead, they're not in a hurry to attack. Pirlo is increasingly leaving ball distribution to Suker!"
"We can see Suker getting a lot of touches. Though Shevchenko is the only forward target, Suker's lateral switches and back-passes keep Milan's play flowing."
Suker ran tirelessly, drifting into space, receiving and distributing—over and over.
He was always scanning, always seeking chances.
Arsenal played steadily, but they had one unstable element.
After one pass, Fàbregas ran up and deliberately barged into Suker.
Even though Suker had already passed, Fàbregas charged him in frustration.
Suker didn't react.
He simply turned and ran into space again.
Fàbregas couldn't match Suker's explosiveness. By the time he caught up, Sukre had already released the ball.
Fàbregas grew angrier—he wanted to defend, yes, but even more, he wanted to attack.
And Suker kept shaking him off to get the ball—that infuriated him.
So, he made a reckless choice—he stood directly in front of Suk's position.
Pirlo instantly picked up on this.
As a top-class midfielder, he sensed an opportunity.
Pirlo passed to Kaká and shouted,
"Switch it!"
Despite facing away, Kaká instinctively flicked the ball sideways with the outside of his boot.
The ball flew across the pitch.
Right to Suker—who was already there, facing goal.
"Suker receives the ball—where's Arsenal's holding midfielder?"
The English commentator couldn't help but cry out—he saw Fàbregas trailing behind Suk.
"He's behind him! Trying to defend from in front of his man?!"
What kind of innovative defensive technique was this?
Fàbregas knew he messed up. He sprinted to recover.
But—why is this guy so fast?!
Suker darted forward, heading straight for the goal.
He locked eyes on it.
At that moment, Highbury fell into silence again.
Shevchenko saw Suker's direction and immediately curved left to pull away a defender.
Seeing Shevchenko's movement, Sol Campbell began to panic.
Who should he mark?
In the end, Campbell turned to face Suker sideways.
Trying to block the pass to Shevchenko and restrict Suker at the same time.
Suker noticed Campbell's positioning.
He left a lane open!
"You don't know anything about my speed!"
Suker suddenly surged, nudging the ball into the penalty box, then looked down and activated turbo mode.
Faced with this sudden shift, Campbell was stunned.
He didn't expect Suker to act so decisively.
He tried to lunge forward.
But Suker was already neck-and-neck with him, and by the top of the box, he had gained half a body's lead.
Seeing Suker about to break into the box, Campbell had no choice but to shove him.
"Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!——"
Suker screamed and collapsed.
Highbury once again fell into stunned silence.
Wenger furrowed his brows hard.
He sensed something bad.
Suker had fallen in a very ambiguous spot.
The ref ran over to the linesman. After a brief exchange, he turned and pointed at the spot!
Penalty!!!——
"Penalty!!! Suker draws a foul!!!"
"Milan now has the perfect chance to stretch the lead!"
"Suker! It's him again!"
"He scored one, assisted one, and now wins a penalty!"
"In the second leg of this Champions League tie, Suker has completely outshone his Milan teammates—he's been their best performer."
Pirlo ran over eagerly.
He placed the ball on the spot.
The camera showed Arsenal players looking grim.
They knew this could undo all the hard work they just did to catch up.
Now, all they could do was trust goalkeeper Lehmann.
"Pirlo steps up…"
The Italian commentator, Aldo Serena, dragged out the moment.
On-screen, Pirlo calmly struck the ball—it was a Panenka!
The ball traced a seductive arc, dropping gently into the net as Lehmann dove to the left.
Penalties are psychological warfare—and Pirlo completely dominated this one.
"Woooo~~~~!!!!!!"
Suker shouted and leapt onto Pirlo, clinging to him.
"Saucy! That was saucy as hell!"
Pirlo spread his arms wide and laughed loudly.
Clearly, he was delighted to have toyed with Arsenal's goalkeeper.
The Milan players celebrated.
Enraged Arsenal fans hurled abuse at them.
Some even made "internationally friendly gestures."
Suker turned and made a face, sticking out his tongue.
That enraged the Arsenal supporters even more.
After mocking them, the Milan players turned and ran back.
"They're trailing again!"
Henry stared blankly at the goal.
They had just scored and built momentum—but ten minutes later, they were behind again.
It felt like they were always chasing.
Henry was exhausted.
Every attacking run took everything he had.
Breaking through Milan's back line was no easy task.
He poured his heart into it.
But the midfield and defense gave up another goal.
"Can't we just hold on for a bit?"
Henry muttered in frustration.
Fàbregas stood frozen, staring at the goal—his poor defensive positioning gave Milan the goal.
He felt deeply frustrated.
Even he knew he'd played like crap today.
Suker had completely outclassed him.