The distances between the players shortened, the passing became cleaner, and Ukraine’s front line found itself spending longer spells chasing shadows than pressing, gradually being forced back behind the halfway line as Italy tightened their grip on possession.

Italy’s patience eventually began to stretch Ukraine apart.

The Ukrainians began picking on players to focus on as it was getting hard to follow Italy all around, and that led to gaps.

After seeing one such gap, Raspadori dropped into the pocket, pointing to his feet as he asked for the ball.

Leo saw him, but above all, he saw what Raspadori’s movement had done.

The moment the attacking midfielder checked short, one of Ukraine’s midfielders followed instinctively, leaving Zaccagni alone against the touchline.

Leo ignored the obvious pass, and instead, he slid the ball right past the two and straight into Zaccagni’s stride.

The winger met it first time, taking a touch and then, with his next, he sent the ball inside.

Exactly where Raspadori had wanted it all along, just a bit farther up.

For a moment, the movement worked as Zaccagni burst beyond him immediately looking for the return pass from Raspadori, who looked to complete it but Stepanenko read it brilliantly, throwing himself across the lane.

The ball struck his shin and kicked loose, and for an instant it belonged to nobody.

Leo, who’d stepped forward after seeing Raspadori get the ball, motored towards the loose ball and just reached it just as Zinchenko flew toward him.

The Ukrainian captain arrived aggressively, convinced he could catch the Italian midfielder before he settled the ball.

Instead, Leo never settled it at all.

With a swift movement, he held the ball with the inside of his right foot before switching it to his left to go past the Ukrainian.

By the time he realised the ball had already changed feet, Leo was gliding past him, leaving the former Arsenal man turning on the spot.

"Oh, that’s lovely..." the commentator breathed.

"That is absolutely effortless from the teenager."

Effortless, though it was, the word never really did justice to how difficult it really was.

Leo, seeing the space, wanted to thread another pass, but he resisted the temptation to force it.

He slowed, lingering about with the ball, which in turn drew another yellow shirt toward him.

Then another.

And only when they both committed did he release it.

The pass skimmed across the grass with barely enough room to exist, threading between two Ukrainian midfielders before splitting the next line completely.

And inside that space, Kean met it without breaking stride.

"Brilliant football!" the commentator exclaimed.

"Italy have played right through them!"

As the commentary went on, Kean surged toward the penalty area while Zabarnyi came across immediately, matching every stride and refusing to let him drive inside.

Kean accepted it, and rather than forcing the duel, he waited until the defender committed, then slipped the ball square into Raspadori’s path.

The latter’s first touch betrayed him as the ball bounced awkwardly away with Yellow shirts looming to grab it and for a heartbeat it looked gone.

But in adversity, Raspadori refused to let it die.

Stretching every muscle, he poked the loose ball beyond one challenge before somehow squeezing another pass toward Chiesa who was somehow beyond the Ukrainian defence.

A moment later, Ukraine’s entire back line threw up their arms.

"Offside!"

They appealed first before they began to recover, but the assistant never moved.

His flag stayed exactly where it was, and by then, Chiesa had already taken his touch.

He drove inside the area with numbers behind him while Bushchan narrowed the angle.

After seeing Chiesa getting closer and closer, the keeper lunged, but right then Chiesa whipped his right foot through the ball, driving it viciously across goal toward the far bottom corner.

Bushchan reacted with his legs, trying to get something on the ball but it was too late.

The ball squeezed beneath him, kissed the inside of the post and ripped into the side-netting, and a moment later, the San Siro let loose.

"GOOOOOAAAL!" the commentary came through as the noise of the Italian crowd joined them in the gantry.

"Federico Chiesa! And Italy have their breakthrough!"

For a split second Chiesa didn’t celebrate.

He turned immediately toward the assistant referee, searching for the flag he’d expected to see but he saw nothing.

Instead, the official began walking back toward the halfway line while the referee pointed emphatically to the centre circle.

"It counts!" the commentator shouted over the noise again.

"Italy’s goal stands, and they finally have the goal their football this evening deserves!"

It was only then did Chiesa wheel away, fists clenched as his teammates crashed into him near the corner flag.

Zaccagni was the first to reach Leo.

He grabbed him by the shoulder and almost dragged him into the celebrating huddle.

Hands landed on Leo’s head, his back, his shoulders as blue shirts gathered together beneath the roar of the San Siro.

And the co-commentator couldn’t help smiling.

"What a debut this young man is putting together."

"The first chance came from his vision. And that goal?" he said as he shook his head slightly.

"It starts because he has the courage to play a pass most midfielders wouldn’t even see. It’s taken Italy just two good chances to pull ahead here at the Giuseppe Meazza."

After a while, the huddle broke, and the players began turning back toward the halfway line.

While they did, the broadcast cameras found Spalletti on the touchline, looking for a possible reaction but the man just had his hands in his pockets.

And his expression was as neutral as it could be as he watched his team walk back into their positions, this time a goal up.

"So we look to restart again and it’s Italy one, Ukraine nil," the commentator said.

"And we are only getting started."

........

"Where did you say that kid came from again," a man in the upper tiers of the stands asked as he looked at the person sitting beside him.

At that the former being questioned, laughed a bit before looking back at the pitch.

"He’s from Wigan"