Chapter 12 Abdominal Muscles and Dried Apples
Fino brought a large bag of dried apples to Milanello; he had dried them using a whole box of apples.
Since moving back to his own home last winter break, Fino has started trying to cook for himself. He is not a picky eater and does not reject Italian food at all, but he still misses Chinese food, especially the variety of vegetables that can be stir-fried very well with only oil, salt and other small seasonings.
In Italy, vegetables are usually fried, roasted, stewed, or eaten raw in salads, but Fino prefers stir-frying.
So he went to Chinatown and bought some basic seasonings and kitchen utensils, as well as a few Chinese cookbooks, and started trying to cook Chinese food himself. Although he couldn't learn any classic dishes in a short time, he was perfectly capable of making simple stir-fries.
Cooking is something that can easily give people a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction. After satisfying her basic needs for Chinese food, Fino started to try making some healthy snacks herself, such as dried apples.
Making dried apples is so simple. Peel and core the apples, cut them into four pieces, and let them dry. After the apple pieces have lost moisture and shriveled, put them in a steamer to steam until cooked, and then continue to dry them. Repeat this steaming and drying process several times until they are completely dry.
No seasonings are added during the entire preparation process; it relies entirely on the natural sugars and aroma of the apples, making it very healthy.
Fino's first attempt at making it was a great success; it was sweet, soft, and delicious.
But a lot of water evaporates when apples are dried. He dried the amount of four or five apples, but only got one plate of dried apples. He watched the game and quickly finished it.
Having learned from the initial success, Fino decided to make more. Dried apples are very durable and can be sealed up and eaten slowly.
On a day off, Fino bought a whole box of crisp, sweet apples from the market, turned on the CD player, and prepared to make a big splash.
The CD was also found in Chinatown. The album is called "Missing You," and it was released in the first half of the year by a Chinese singer named Li Jian. The owner of the CD shop brought a few copies back to Italy when he returned to China.
When Fino passed by the CD store, the store was playing "Stranger" from the album. The familiar local accent and touching lyrics immediately struck a chord with Fino.
"Unconsciously, I've come to regard this foreign land as my hometown. Only when I'm occasionally sad, and I inadvertently gaze into the distance, do I find my familiar accent quietly hidden away..."
Ten years have passed, and the memories of his past life are slowly fading. His hometown has become an unreachable distance, and Fino can only make this foreign land his hometown.
Amidst Li Jian's pure and ethereal singing voice, Fino spent an entire day peeling, chopping, and drying all the apples.
This monotonous and repetitive work was particularly stress-relieving. Fino didn't feel tired at all. He hummed along with the CD while finishing about 30 kilograms of apples.
This is the most time-consuming step; the rest of the work simply involves steaming and drying the apples when the time is up. The dried apples can be made in less than a week.
Fino's dried apples were a hit in the locker room; almost everyone ate a few pieces, with Kaká and Nesta especially enjoying them.
Only Inzaghi hesitated. This was a dish not popular in Italy, one he had never tried before, and his stomach was too sensitive to try something new.
But Fino made it himself.
Fino noticed his hesitation.
"Pippo is made solely from apples, without any seasonings or spices, and the only preparation methods are steaming and sun-drying. If your stomach can tolerate apples, it should be fine. If you feel uncomfortable eating apples, then don't try it."
These were just ordinary words, but they brought Inzaghi great joy.
He placed his hand on Fino's neck, gently rubbed his thumb across Fino's lips, and then whispered in Fino's ear, "Thank you for your thoughtfulness, handsome boy."
The warm, moist breath brushed against Fino's earlobe, making him feel a slight tingling sensation. Just a moment ago, he had caught a whiff of Inzaghi's perfume, a calm and warm woody scent.
Inzaghi tasted a piece of dried apple; it was his favorite flavor. He gave Fino a smile, his eyes full of charm.
Until training began, Kaka and Nesta didn't stop eating. Fino was worried that their stomachs would feel uncomfortable when they got into a workout, so he forced them to put the remaining dried apples away in his cabinet.
"I'll leave it here. You can come and eat it anytime, but don't eat too much at once, or you might have an upset stomach."
Pirlo chuckled: "Fino, you underestimate foodies. They're not like Pippo. Sandro can eat several kilograms of food at once, and Richie is no less capable. Their digestive systems could probably even digest steel."
As it turned out, Pirlo was right. These dried apples didn't even last until the next league match; they were all eaten up in just two training days.
Fino was a little surprised to see the empty cabinet.
That's dried fruit made from over 30 kilograms of apples. Even if it shrinks by 90%, it still weighs over 3 kilograms. Less moisture means a stronger feeling of fullness. How could it be eaten so quickly?
The others only occasionally came to touch a couple of sweets, and most of them ended up in Kaká and Nesta's stomachs, which did not affect their appetite for regular meals.
The foodie's abilities were terrifying, and Fino felt a sense of awe.
"Ciao, Fino." Nesta walked into the locker room at that moment. He was wearing number 13, and Fino was wearing number 14. His locker was right next to Fino's.
Nesta said to Fino as he took off his clothes, "Those dried apples were really delicious, but Richie can eat so much, I didn't get to eat much. Can you make some more? I'll treat you to dinner."
Looking at Nesta's well-defined abs, Fino wondered where all that food had gone. He asked hesitantly, "Is it really okay to eat so much?"
Nesta put down the training clothes he was about to put on and chuckled, "Of course, no problem. You can feel it if you don't believe me."
Fino certainly didn't reach out; why would he touch someone's stomach for no reason?
Seeing that Fino didn't move, Nesta grabbed Fino's hand and placed it on his own abs, sliding it up and down a few times.
"How is it? No excess fat, and your abs are in great shape, right?"
Before Fino could react, the sharp-eyed Pirlo shouted, "Fino, why are you touching Sandro's abs? Is it nice to touch? What does it feel like?"
He certainly saw that Nesta had taken the initiative, but Fino was clearly more shy and his reactions were more amusing.
In an instant, everyone's eyes were focused on him. Fino felt as if he were being scanned up and down by twenty or thirty laser beams. His face quickly turned hot, and he withdrew his hand as if he had been electrocuted.
"Yoooooooo~" Monkey shouts echoed throughout the locker room.
Inzaghi walked over, lifted his shirt, and teased, "Do you like abs? Want to touch mine too? Come on, try it out."
At this moment, everyone else seemed to have had a prank switch flipped, and one by one they lifted their shirts or even walked over shirtless.
"Touch mine, my abs are bigger than Pippo's abs."
"Try mine, my girlfriend says it feels really good."
"You can touch my pectoral muscles too; they're firm and reliable."
...
Even Kaka joined in the prank, baring his teeth and pointing at his own abs.
Fino felt his face burning hot. He forcefully pushed aside his teammates who were showing off their muscles and strode out of the locker room.
The locker room erupted in laughter.
Pirlo kept his achievements and fame hidden.
That's too much! That's way too much! Fino rubbed her face vigorously.
Last season, everyone was kind and friendly to me, showing great respect as seniors. How come after just one summer, these respected seniors have all turned into hooligans?
Could it be that the newbie protection period has ended?
Especially Pirlo. Fino remembered the look in Pirlo's eyes after the match against Benfica. He couldn't let Pirlo lead him by the nose anymore; he had to find a way to counter him.
And those damn teammates, he absolutely cannot let them run away in disgrace again. He had a feeling that if he didn't fight back, this matter would be brought up and teased repeatedly in the future.
By this time, the main group had changed their clothes and arrived at the training ground together. When they saw Fino, they burst into laughter again.
Inzaghi spoke first: "Why did you run away before even touching it? How disappointing! Really, don't you want to give it a try?"
After saying that, he lifted the hem of his training uniform, bit it with his teeth, inserted his thumbs into the gap between his waistband and groin, tilted his head slightly back, lowered his eyelids, and looked at him with five parts expectation, four parts teasing and one part provocation.
Fino's teammates immediately surrounded him, eager to see where he would run to this time.
Unfortunately for them, Fino was determined to retaliate.
"Okay, let's give it a try." Fino silently told himself to calm down, clenched his fist to ease his tension, and walked to a spot a step away from Inzaghi, extending his hand.
With his palm facing up, he touched the lower edge of Inzaghi's abdominal muscles, close to his waistband, with his middle finger. Then, he slowly lifted his hand upwards along the indentation in the middle of his abdominal muscles, across his navel, all the way up to the middle of his chest muscles. He then flipped his hand and swept it downwards, finally hooking his middle finger around the waistband of Inzaghi's lower abdomen and making a pulling motion.
"Very good." Fino suppressed the urge to run away and smiled knowingly.
His gaze never left Inzaghi's eyes; he tried to see shyness and embarrassment in them.
"Hmm, that's great." Inzaghi released his teeth from the training uniform, letting the hem fall and cover Fino's fingers. His eyes remained fixed on Fino, as if hooked, and he said with a playful smile, "If you like, you can touch other places too."
"Yooooooo~" Another group of monkeys shouted.
"I can't outdo her, I can't outdo her!" Fino withdrew her hand.
Fino felt his face burning hot, but he couldn't afford to give up now. He kept telling himself to "calm down" and turned to look at his teammates, trying to appear composed: "Who's next? Move forward a bit."
The teammates took several steps back in a flash and scattered.
They just wanted to tease their quiet teammate and see him get angry, but they didn't expect Fino to go all out, preferring to suffer heavy losses himself rather than let the enemy suffer heavy losses, aiming to ensure that no one could watch the show.
Forget it, they're not as shameless as Inzaghi, who can calmly spout nonsense in this situation.
win!
Fino affirmed his victory in his heart.
Then, feigning nonchalance, he walked toward Pirlo, the culprit: "Andrea, come on, lift up your clothes."
Pirlo remained silent.
He's now in a bit of a bind, especially since his damn teammates, now that they're safe, are starting to enjoy the drama and are all watching him closely.
If he actually lifted his clothes, he would be being led by the nose by Fino, which would be quite embarrassing; if he refused, it would mean that he was admitting defeat.
I can't figure out how to counter this; it's a bit tricky...
"What are you doing?" A questioning voice sounded from behind; it was Ancelotti.
Training time had arrived, but everyone remained gathered together without starting.
Everyone scattered. How do you explain this? Training, training!
Fino and Pirlo both breathed a sigh of relief.
Fino felt he was at his limit; he wasn't as calm and collected as he pretended. If Pirlo pulled any more tricks, he wouldn't be able to hold on.
Pirlo was also grateful to Ancelotti for freeing him from that awkward situation.
Inzaghi gently bit his lower lip. The warmth of Fino's fingers still seemed to linger on his lower abdomen. A faint current traveled between his abdomen and chest with Fino's fingertips, finally disappearing into his lower abdomen.
In the eyes of the experienced driver Inzaghi, Fino's behavior just now was just like a harmless kitten baring its teeth and claws, a complete bluff.
Even though he tried to appear confident and at ease, his flushed ears, trembling fingers, and clear eyes betrayed his inexperience.
But it was precisely this awkwardness that aroused Inzaghi's intense desire and stirred up his wicked possessiveness.
She wanted to bully him, to fill his clean, clear eyes with desire and allure.
Inzaghi chuckled to himself. What was going on? How come the handsome boy was still clueless while he was the one falling for him?
He searched for Fino's figure with his eyes and found Nesta talking to him again. He hadn't forgotten that in the locker room earlier, it was Nesta who had grabbed Fino's hand and touched his abs.
He frowned. What did Nesta mean?
Nesta means "to eat".
"Sandro, it's not possible to do it now. The rainy season is coming soon, and the dried apples will get moldy if the sun isn't strong enough."
Nesta looked disappointed; he really loved eating dried apples.
Fino really likes Nesta, and he can't bear to see his favorite teammate unhappy, so he instinctively tries to comfort him: "When we rest, I'll make you something else to eat, okay?"
“Okay, it’s a deal.” Nesta nodded quickly, immediately becoming happy.
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