Harbinger Of Glory

After a sizeable amount of time, the bus slowed as the narrow road opened into a complex lined with trimmed hedges and a white sign marked with the blue crest of the Federazione Italiana Giuoco Calcio.

A neat driveway curved up to a low, modern-looking building framed by cypress trees, their tall shadows stretching across the afternoon sun.

Leo had been half-dozing against the window, his music a soft hum in one ear.

The gentle halt of the bus, however, made his eyes flick open, and he straightened up, blinking at the view outside: open pitches in the distance, crisp green, and a couple of staff moving about with no player in sight.

At least not from what Leo saw as the bus gave a final hiss as the brakes locked.

Marco was already on his feet, talking to the driver.

Then, with his usual grin that Leo had come to know in the few minutes of knowing him, he stepped down first, stretching his arms like a man who had just finished a long trip.

Behind him, the other player, Regutti, followed, tossing his bag carelessly onto his shoulder while pulling the other bag behind.

Leo took a second longer, slinging his backpack and tugging his rolling bag behind him before stepping out into the dry Italian air.

Marco gestured ahead toward a wide double-door entrance.

”Andiamo,” he said, waving for them to follow. ”Let’s go. This way.”

Leo fell in behind them, trying to take in the surroundings, before walking a bit faster than usual to catch up to Marco.

”Do you always come here for camp?” Leo asked as they walked, his voice cutting through the brief silence.

Marco shook his head.

”No, no. Not always,” he said, switching easily between English and Italian.

”Sometimes Coverciano or Formello. Sometimes Milan or Florence. We go where FIGC has partnership or property. It depends on the season and program, or just what is helpful with our schedule at the time.”

Leo nodded, making a mental note, the name Coverciano ringing faintly familiar; Italy’s famous training centre.

They reached the entrance, where cool air drifted out from the hallway.

Marco led them down a short corridor lined with framed jerseys and team photos, generations of Italian youth squads smiling under trophies.

”Here,” Marco said, stopping at a door and unlocking it with a keycard.

”You two are lucky. This room is one of the bigger ones. Usually two smaller beds, a smaller space. But this one, buono, yes?”

Leo nodded at his words and stepped in first.

The room was neat, modern, with two single beds separated by a small nightstand, a tall wardrobe by the wall, and a wide window overlooking part of the training pitch.

It wasn’t luxurious, but it was clean and quietly functional.

Marco turned to them both.

”You will stay together,” he said, glancing between Leo and Regutti.

”Make sure you get along, sì?”

Leo nodded automatically, though inwardly, he wasn’t entirely sure how that would go.

Regutti, or whatever they called him, had that air about him, detached, self-contained and a bit too sure of himself.

This is going to be interesting, Leo thought, setting his bag by the bed closer to the window.

Marco clapped his hands together lightly.

”Dinner at six,” he said, tapping his watch.

”You rest now, unpack, do what you like. But—” he paused at the doorway, raising a finger, ”—never be late for dinner. Mai.”

Leo smiled.

”Got it,” he said, slowly getting a hang of the Italian being fused with English, any chance possible.

Regutti rolled his eyes behind Marco’s back, muttering something under his breath in Italian that Leo couldn’t catch.

Marco either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

”Good,” the man said, finally stepping out.

”Welcome to the Azzurrini.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and silence settled again, broken only by the faint thump of footsteps from the hallway.

Leo dropped to one knee, unzipping his bag and starting to unpack.

His movements were precise, shirts folded into neat stacks, unnecessary toiletries lined on the desk in an orderly row, charger cables coiled perfectly.

It wasn’t that he was obsessed; he just couldn’t think straight in a mess.

Regutti, meanwhile, had thrown his bag onto the bed and collapsed onto it like it owed him money.

One shoe was off, the other halfway hanging.

He was already scrolling through his phone, half-lost in whatever was happening on his feed.

Leo glanced over once, sighed quietly, and went back to arranging his things.

By the time he was done, the room looked balanced, his half tidy, organised, while Regutti’s side looked like a scene out of a teen drama.

Messy.

Just as Leo sat down, his phone buzzed as Sofia lit up on the screen.

He picked it up immediately.

”Hey, Aunt.”

”Leo!” Her voice was sharp and half-panicked over the line.

”Did you land safely? Did you get your bag? Did you find your people? Is everything okay?”

Leo chuckled. ”Yes, yes, and yes.”

”Are you sure? You sound tired.”

”I’m fine. Just arrived at the camp. They put me in a room with another player.”

”Oh, really? That’s good! Be nice to him. And keep your things safe, okay? Don’t leave your passport anywhere.”

Leo smiled, glancing at his passport already neatly tucked in the drawer.

”Already done.”

”You’ve eaten?”

”They have dinner at six.”

”Six? That’s a bit late, isn’t it?”

”Sofia...” he laughed, leaning back against the headboard.

”It’s fine. I’m not starving.”

There was a pause on the line.

Then her sigh came through, tinged with a bit of worry and affection.

”It’s your first time travelling alone. I’m allowed to worry, no?”

”Yeah,” Leo said softly. ”But I’m fine. Promise.”

From the other bed, Regutti groaned, muttering something like ”mamma mia” under his breath, rolling to face the wall.

Leo pretended not to hear him while Sofia kept talking, reminding him again to drink water, rest early, and send a message before sleeping.

”Okay, Sof,” he said between amused nods. ”I’ll text you later, alright? Promise.”

”Va bene,” she said finally, her voice a bit teasing.

”Ooooh,” Leo said with a smile. ”I thought I was the one supposed to be Italian,” Leo said, causing Sofia to chuckle over the phone.

”Well, Mia started a Duolingo streak yesterday, so I also have to keep up so you don’t talk shit behind my back when both of you become good. Anyways, be good, Leo.”

”I will. Bye.”

The call ended, and Leo placed the phone on the nightstand beside him before turning to look at the other player, who now had his back facing Leo.

He leaned back, exhaled, and for a moment, just stared out through the window, watching the faint orange glow of the Italian evening beginning to settle over the training grounds.

The clock ticked by as minutes soon turned into hours.

Leo stepped out of the room, the faint click of the door behind him the only sound breaking the silence of the corridor.

He gave a glance back at the clock above the doorframe—5:40 p.m.

Twenty minutes to dinner, before his eyes then dropped to his so-called roommate, still sprawled across the bed, one arm hanging off the edge, headphones in, the very picture of indifference.

Leo stood there for a second, debating whether he should say something or even offer to go together.

But then he didn’t.

The guy hadn’t moved a muscle since they’d arrived.

Instead, Leo sighed inwardly, the kind of quiet exhale that said, not my problem, and stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

The place felt empty, like everyone had vanished into their rooms.

His footsteps sounded louder than they should have as he started walking, trying to remember which turn Marco had mentioned earlier.

He pulled his phone from his pocket out of habit, mostly for something to do, and saw a new message from Jake.

A video.

Unusual.

The thumbnail already looked suspicious, Jake with his hands in midair, that stupid grin on his face.

Leo tilted his head a bit, and then, with a sigh, he hit play as the video opened with Jake doing his worst Italian impression.

”Mamma mia, Leonardo!” Jake exclaimed, waving his hands around dramatically.

”You-a go to Rome, and you forget-a your brothers, eh? You eat all the spaghetti and-a spicey meat-a-ball-a by yourself?”

Leo’s laugh came out before he could stop it.

Jake was standing in his shared apartment’s kitchen, an apron tied around his waist like he was some chef from Naples.

The camera shook as Jake turned, revealing Ezra, the other half of the apartment, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of Leo’s PS5, controller in hand.

”Say hi to our international star!” Jake said, flipping the camera toward Ezra.

Ezra didn’t even look up.

”He’s not getting this back,” he said flatly, his eyes glued to the game. ”It’s community property now.”

Jake swung the camera back to himself, grinning.

”See? We’re taking very good care of your things. Don’t worry, Leo. We’ll make sure the PlayStation feels loved.”

The video ended with Jake doing another exaggerated hand gesture, saying, ”Arrivederci!” before blowing a kiss to the camera.

Leo chuckled again, shaking his head as the video closed.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, still smiling faintly.

He’d reply later.

Maybe send something equally stupid back just to keep the cycle going, or be the smarter person and end it, but he was more inclined towards the former way.

For now, though, he had to figure out where the cafeteria was.

.