After the meeting ended, Zaboru, Massimo Moratti, and Louis van Gaal left the office area and walked toward Inter Milan's training pitch. The summer air was warm, and the atmosphere around the facility felt lighter than during the season. The players had just returned from their holidays, so the training session was not too intense yet. Most of them were doing casual warm-ups, stretching, light passing drills, and relaxed jogging to wake their bodies up again after several weeks away from serious competition.
Moratti arrived first, and the players naturally greeted him with smiles. To many of them, Moratti did not feel like a distant owner. He was warm, emotional, and deeply attached to Inter. The players knew he genuinely loved the club and cared about them, sometimes almost too much. Because of that, some of the senior players treated him like a passionate father figure who worried about every match as if his own family was on the pitch.
"President!" Ronaldo called out first with a grin.
Moratti laughed and opened his arms. "Ronnie! You look healthy!"
"That means fat, doesn't it?" Ronaldo replied suspiciously.
The nearby players laughed.
Moratti quickly waved both hands. "No, no, healthy! Healthy!"
Figo walked over while stretching his shoulder and said, "President, don't lie. All of us ate too much during the holiday."
"Speak for yourself," Bergkamp said calmly.
Figo looked at him. "Dennis, you probably counted calories during vacation."
Bergkamp smiled faintly. "I counted goals I want to score next season."
"That is worse," Figo muttered.
The group laughed again.
Van Gaal arrived next, and the atmosphere changed slightly. The players respected Moratti, but Van Gaal was their direct boss. His presence naturally made them stand a little straighter. He was not cruel, but everyone knew he was strict, detailed, and impossible to fool. If a player came back from holiday out of shape, Van Gaal would notice. If a player pretended to understand tactical instructions but did not, Van Gaal would notice that too.
Then Zaboru appeared behind them with his usual grin.
The moment several players saw him, the atmosphere became lively again.
Zaboru raised one hand and greeted them in Italian. "Yo, everyone! Good job last season!"
The players immediately approached him. To them, Zaboru was not only the club president or owner. He felt closer than that. He was strange, friendly, passionate, and somehow able to talk with everyone without making them feel small. He knew football, he knew games, he knew languages, and more importantly, he treated the players like real people instead of expensive trophies.
Beside Zaboru "Aura Of Influence" really help inter team Bonding as they really close with each others now.
Ronaldo stepped forward first, smiling brightly. "Boss! Long time no see!"
Zaboru looked him up and down with exaggerated seriousness. Then he placed one hand gently against Ronaldo's stomach and narrowed his eyes.
"Yo, Ronnie. You got fatter."
For a second, Ronaldo froze.
Then the entire group burst out laughing.
Ronaldo slapped Zaboru's hand away while laughing. "Boss! You can't say that immediately!"
Figo pointed at Ronaldo and said, "No, no. He is right. Ronnie became slightly rounder."
Ronaldo turned toward him. "You too!"
Figo placed one hand over his chest dramatically. "Mine is elegant weight."
Bergkamp calmly said, "There is no elegant weight in pre-season testing."
Everyone laughed harder.
Zaboru grinned and pointed at all of them. "Don't worry. Holiday fat is normal. The important part is burning it before Van Gaal turns into a demon."
Van Gaal, standing behind them, adjusted his glasses. "I can hear you."
Zaboru turned around and smiled. "That was the point."
The players laughed again, while Van Gaal sighed as if he had already accepted that Zaboru would cause trouble every time he visited the training ground.
Figo then placed an arm around Ronaldo's shoulder and said, "Boss, we can't help it. It was holiday. Food appeared, and we respected it."
Zaboru nodded seriously. "Respecting food is important."
Ronaldo pointed at him. "See? Boss understands."
"But," Zaboru continued, smiling dangerously, "football does not care about your respect for food."
Ronaldo lowered his hand. "That part is also true."
The conversation naturally became warmer after that. Zaboru moved from player to player, greeting each of them in their own language whenever he could. He spoke Portuguese with Ronaldo, Figo, and Roberto Carlos. He spoke Italian with Cannavaro, Pirlo, and Luca Toni. He spoke Dutch with Bergkamp and Van Gaal. He spoke Spanish with Zanetti. He spoke French when greeting Zidane. And when Hidetoshi Nakata approached him, Zaboru switched to Japanese without hesitation.
Nakata bowed slightly. "Zaboru-san, welcome back."
Zaboru smiled. "Nakata, you did well last season. Really well."
Nakata's expression remained calm, but his eyes clearly softened. For him, Zaboru was more than an owner. Without Zaboru, there was almost no chance he would have joined Inter Milan this early. A Japanese player entering such a squad, surrounded by Ronaldo, Bergkamp, Figo, Roberto Carlos, Cannavaro, and now Zidane, would normally have sounded impossible.
But Zaboru believed in him.
That mattered deeply.
Nakata said quietly, "Thank you. I still need to improve a lot."
"Of course," Zaboru replied. "Everyone does. Even Ronaldo needs improvement."
Ronaldo immediately shouted from behind them, "Why am I being attacked again?"
"Because you're the easiest target," Zaboru answered.
The players laughed once more.
Nakata smiled faintly and said, "I want to help the team win more next season."
Zaboru nodded. "Then keep being reliable. Players like you are important, even if newspapers don't always understand it."
Nakata looked genuinely touched by that.
Zaboru then moved toward Andrea Pirlo, who was standing quietly near the side with a ball under his foot. Pirlo was still young, still developing, and still looked more like a calm student than someone who would one day control matches like an orchestra conductor.
Zaboru smiled at him. "Andrea, how was your holiday?"
Pirlo shrugged lightly. "Peaceful."
"Did you train?"
"Yes."
"Did you rest?"
Pirlo paused.
Zaboru narrowed his eyes. "That hesitation means no."
Pirlo gave a small smile. "I rested a little."
Zaboru chuckled and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't rush too much. Your talent needs time and calm. You don't need to become perfect next month."
Pirlo looked at him with slight surprise.
Zaboru continued, "You have a rare brain for football. The way you see passing lanes, the rhythm, the space… that's not normal. But if you force everything too quickly, you'll get frustrated. Grow properly. Trust Van Gaal, trust the training, and trust yourself."
Pirlo lowered his gaze for a moment, then nodded. "I understand."
Nearby, Van Gaal listened quietly and gave a small approving nod. He did not always agree with owners giving players advice, but Zaboru's words were not empty. They were sharp, accurate, and surprisingly gentle.
Next, Zaboru approached Andriy Shevchenko, who had been practicing short shots with Luca Toni.
"Sheva," Zaboru called.
Shevchenko turned and smiled. "Boss."
Zaboru looked at him carefully. "You scored seventeen goals last season even while rotating. How do you feel?"
Shevchenko thought for a moment. "Happy, but not satisfied."
Zaboru's grin widened. "Good answer."
Shevchenko continued, "Ronaldo is incredible. Bergkamp is incredible. Figo too. Sometimes I feel I am chasing monsters."
Ronaldo, who overheard that, smiled and shouted, "You are also a monster, Sheva!"
Figo added, "Just a younger monster."
Bergkamp calmly said, "A dangerous one."
Shevchenko looked slightly embarrassed, but he smiled.
Zaboru pointed at the senior players. "See? They know. Don't compare yourself only to their current level. Learn from them. Steal what you can."
Shevchenko blinked. "Steal?"
"In football, stealing good habits is legal."
Luca Toni raised his hand. "Boss, can I steal Ronaldo's speed?"
Zaboru looked at his tall frame and said, "Maybe not."
Everyone laughed, including Toni himself.
Zaboru looked at Toni and smiled. "But you can become something else. Physical presence, timing, headers, positioning, finishing in crowded boxes. Not every striker needs to move like Ronaldo. If you become great at what your body is built for, defenders will hate you."
Toni nodded seriously. "I'll remember that."
Then Zaboru finally walked toward Zidane.
Zinedine Zidane had only recently joined the team from Bordeaux, and although he was not completely isolated, he was still in that awkward early phase of entering a squad filled with stars. He was calm by nature, but anyone could tell he was still observing everyone, learning the atmosphere, and understanding where he fit inside Van Gaal's plans.
Zaboru greeted him in French. "Zizou, how are you settling in?"
Zidane looked slightly surprised by how naturally Zaboru spoke, then smiled politely. "It is good. Everyone has been welcoming."
Figo immediately called out, "Because you are good. If you were bad, we would still be polite, but less happy."
Zidane laughed softly.
Zaboru smiled. "Don't worry too much about fitting in quickly. This team has many strong personalities, but they are good guys. Ronaldo jokes too much, Figo complains elegantly, Bergkamp speaks like a philosopher, Roberto Carlos shoots like he hates the ball, and Cannavaro looks like he wants to fight destiny."
Cannavaro raised an eyebrow. "Is that a compliment?"
"Yes," Zaboru replied immediately.
Cannavaro nodded. "Then okay."
The players laughed again.
Zidane's smile became more natural.
Zaboru then said more seriously, "Your job is not to copy anyone here. Your job is to bring your own rhythm. Inter already has speed, power, creativity, and movement. What you bring is calm control. When everyone else runs fast, you can slow the world down."
Zidane stared at him.
That sentence struck him more deeply than expected.
He had heard praise before. He had heard people call him talented, elegant, technical, intelligent. But Zaboru's words felt different. They sounded as if he already understood not only what Zidane could do now, but what he could become.
Zidane nodded slowly. "I will try."
Zaboru smiled. "Good. Also, if you need help with anything outside football, tell me or Moratti-san. Language, housing, family, food, anything. A player plays better when his life outside the pitch is stable."
Zidane's expression softened. "Thank you, President."
"Call me Zaboru if you want."
Zidane smiled faintly. "Then thank you, Zaboru."
Moratti watched the exchange from the side and smiled warmly. This was one of the reasons he liked having Zaboru involved with Inter. Zaboru was strange and sometimes reckless, but players naturally opened up around him.
After greeting everyone, Zaboru stayed with the squad for a while.
The players clearly enjoyed having him there.
Eventually, Zaboru changed into training clothes.
Several players immediately noticed.
Ronaldo grinned. "Oh? Boss is joining?"
Zaboru stretched his shoulders. "Of course. I can't come all the way here and only watch."
Van Gaal sighed from the sideline. "Do not injure yourself."
Zaboru smiled. "I won't."
Moratti chuckled. "He says that like we should believe him."
The players did not underestimate him. Many of them had already seen Zaboru play before. His football skill was no joke. Thanks to his Enlightenment Body, his balance, dexterity, stamina, and reflexes were far beyond ordinary people. He was not a professional player in terms of experience, but physically and technically, he could survive inside high-level training in a way that made no sense for a club president.
The older Inter players were already used to it.
The newer players, especially Zidane, were not.
During the small training match, Zaboru immediately showed why the current players respected his ability. His first touch was smooth, his movement was sharp, and he did not panic even when professional players pressed him. He was not always tactically perfect, but his raw ability allowed him to adapt quickly.
At one point, Figo passed the ball to him under pressure. Cannavaro stepped forward to close him down, expecting Zaboru to pass back.
Instead, Zaboru killed the ball with one touch, shifted his body, and suddenly accelerated past Cannavaro with explosive speed.
Cannavaro turned around in disbelief. "Oi!"
Ronaldo laughed loudly. "Boss cooked Fabio!"
Cannavaro shouted, "He used cheat code!"
Zaboru passed the ball through to Shevchenko, who finished calmly into the net.
Shevchenko raised one thumb. "Nice pass!"
Zaboru grinned. "Nice finish!"
Zidane watched from the opposite side, eyes narrowing with interest. What surprised him was not simply that Zaboru could dribble or pass. It was the way he switched tempo. One moment, his touch was calm and almost lazy. The next moment, he exploded forward with shocking speed. His ball control was not as refined as a lifelong top-level professional, but it was strangely effortless. He understood rhythm in a way that made him unpredictable.
Later, Zidane received the ball near midfield and found Zaboru moving into space. Out of curiosity, he passed to him.
Zaboru controlled the ball, turned away from pressure, and returned it with a clever one-touch pass into Zidane's path.
Zidane continued running, then slowed slightly.
For a second, he felt it.
Zaboru understood the idea.
Not perfectly, not with the polished instinct of a top midfielder, but enough to connect.
Zidane looked at him and smiled faintly.
Zaboru grinned back.
After the play ended, Zidane walked closer and said in French, "You play strangely."
Zaboru laughed. "Good strange or bad strange?"
"Good strange," Zidane replied. "You are not trained like us, but you see things quickly."
Zaboru shrugged. "I played a lot in my head."
Zidane blinked. "In your head?"
"Don't worry about it."
Zidane stared for a second, then decided not to ask.
On the sideline, Moratti and Van Gaal watched the training match with mixed amusement and disbelief.
Van Gaal eventually sighed and said, "If Zaboru actually played for Inter, we might have another useful player… Very useful player."
Moratti chuckled and nodded. "Imagine the headlines. Inter president substitutes himself in and scores."
Van Gaal's expression became serious. "That would be a disaster for tactical discipline."
Moratti laughed. "But a commercial miracle."
Van Gaal glanced at him. "Please never suggest that."
"I won't," Moratti said, though his smile suggested he had definitely imagined it.
By the end of the training match, Zaboru had scored twice and assisted several goals. The players clapped, laughed, and teased him, but they were also genuinely impressed.
Ronaldo walked over and placed an arm around Zaboru's shoulder. "Boss, you should train with us more. Maybe you'll become our secret weapon."
Zaboru laughed. "No thanks. My job is already insane."
Figo wiped sweat from his forehead and said, "You say that, but you run like someone who has no job."
Bergkamp smiled faintly. "Maybe that is why he runs so well. His body is escaping responsibility."
Zaboru pointed at him. "Dennis, that was very rude and very poetic."
"Thank you."
The players laughed again.
After training, Zaboru decided to treat everyone to food. Instead of a stiff formal dinner, he arranged a barbecue near the training facility. The club staff quickly prepared everything, and before long, the atmosphere became almost like a family gathering. Grilled meat, vegetables, bread, fruit, drinks, and carefully prepared dishes for players with stricter diets filled the tables.
Zaboru did not care that it was unusual. He wanted to spend time with the players properly, not only talk to them inside meetings or watch them from the owner's box.
Besides, barbecue could be healthy if prepared properly.
At least that was what he told Van Gaal.
Van Gaal looked suspicious but allowed it because the nutrition staff was involved.
The players enjoyed it. They ate, talked, joked, and relaxed together. Ronaldo and Roberto Carlos argued about who ate more during holiday. Figo insisted he looked exactly the same as before. Bergkamp calmly destroyed him by saying, "Your face says otherwise." Cannavaro talked seriously with Zanetti about defensive organization. Pirlo listened quietly while Zidane and Bergkamp discussed movement between midfield lines. Nakata spoke with Zaboru about life in Italy and how difficult but rewarding the adaptation had been.
For a while, it did not feel like a football club filled with stars.
It felt like a team.
Later, while the players were still eating, Zaboru stood up with a drink in his hand.
The conversations slowly quieted.
Zaboru looked around at all of them: Ronaldo, Bergkamp, Figo, Zidane, Shevchenko, Toni, Pirlo, Nakata, Zanetti, Roberto Carlos, Cannavaro, the younger players, the coaches, the staff, Moratti, and Van Gaal.
Then he smiled.
"Our goal next season is simple."
Everyone focused on him.
Zaboru raised one finger.
"Everything."
The atmosphere changed.
The players' expressions became more serious.
Zaboru continued, "Serie A. UEFA Champions League. Coppa Italia. Every trophy we can fight for, we fight for seriously. I'm not saying it will be easy. Actually, it will be extremely hard. Milan is strong. Juventus is strong. Europe is full of monsters. Some matches will be ugly. Some will hurt. Some days, even if we play well, we might lose."
He paused and looked at them one by one.
"But I don't want Inter Milan to think like a club that is satisfied with being close. Last season was amazing. Second in Serie A by only two points, European Cup champion, Coppa Italia finalist. You should be proud of that. I am proud of that."
Several players nodded quietly.
Zaboru's voice became firmer.
"But now everyone knows Inter is dangerous. That means next season, nobody will underestimate us. They will prepare harder. They will study us. They will try to break our rhythm. They will foul Ronaldo. They will press Zidane. They will target Pirlo. They will challenge our defense. They will test whether this Inter is only exciting or truly strong."
The players became silent.
Even Ronaldo's usual playful expression disappeared.
Zaboru grinned.
"So we answer them."
He raised his drink slightly.
"We don't need to promise perfection. But we promise effort. We promise hunger. We promise that every team facing Inter next season will understand they are fighting something serious. If we win everything, amazing. If we fail, we fail while trying to win everything. Okay, guys?"
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Zanetti stood first.
His expression was calm but determined.
"Okay, Boss."
Ronaldo grinned and stood as well. "Let's win everything."
Figo raised his drink. "I prefer winning beautifully."
Bergkamp smiled. "Winning is already beautiful."
Zidane looked around at his new teammates, then quietly raised his glass too. "Then let's try."
Shevchenko nodded firmly. "We will fight."
Nakata looked at Zaboru with deep respect and said, "I'll do everything I can."
Pirlo's eyes were calm, but something inside him looked sharper than before. "I want to become stronger."
Cannavaro hit his chest lightly. "Then we defend properly too."
Roberto Carlos grinned. "And attack from defense."
Van Gaal looked at them all, then finally nodded. "Good. Then tomorrow, we begin properly."
Several players groaned immediately.
Zaboru laughed. "Come on, guys. You want everything, right? Then training comes first."
Ronaldo sighed dramatically. "Boss, you gave a beautiful speech and then ruined it with reality."
"That is my job."
Everyone laughed again.
The day ended with the players satisfied, motivated, and strangely closer than before. They had trained, joked, eaten together, and heard clearly what Zaboru expected from them. The goal was enormous. Winning Serie A, the UEFA Champions League, and Coppa Italia in one season was brutally difficult.
But no one felt that Zaboru had demanded it coldly.
He had not spoken like an owner ordering expensive players to create glory for him.
He had spoken like someone who believed in them.
That made the difference.
Tomorrow, serious training will begin again.
And the next day, Zaboru would visit Inter Milan's academy, where there were many interesting things waiting for him, especially the newest addition: Lionel Messi.
To be continued.
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