Harbinger Of Glory

”It’s been a good contest between both teams,” the voice of one of the commentators came over the broadcast as Caprille took the ball from behind the post for the goal kick.

”Both sides have been adventurous in the past 10 minutes, but as the clock winds down, the two sides may have to start thinking about winning.”

Caprille looked up towards the field, but a long kick wasn’t looking very favourable, so she just played it short to Pirola, who touched it to Leo.

Leo took a calm first touch, let the ball roll just ahead of him, and then angled a short pass into space where Ricci had drifted free.

”Calderon again,” the commentator’s voice came in over the feed.

”He’s barely put a foot wrong since coming on. Hasn’t lost possession once, aside from a couple of aerial duels, but you can’t really fault him when he looks a bit scrawny in comparison with those he’s competing with for the ball.”

Ricci received it on the turn, trying to open his body toward the Japanese half.

He took two steps forward, but within seconds, he was crowded out with three white shirts closing in fast, pressing from all sides.

The space he thought vanished almost immediately, so Ricci hesitated and then spun to play it back out, but the warning shouts from his defenders came half a second too late.

”Oh no, Italy could be in trouble here!”

Ricci’s pass was picked off in midfield, and suddenly Japan had numbers.

One touch, then another, and their counter sparked to life.

Kimura, the tall forward who had been testing the backline since coming on, drove into the open channel with the ball at his feet, three teammates flooding behind him.

Leo immediately read the danger and started thinking of a way out.

He saw Pirola already stepping forward to close the space, but he was too flat-footed, caught off guard and slightly panicking, so Leo moved behind him, gave him a sharp shove between the shoulder blades, forcing him to engage.

”Vai, vai!” he shouted.

Pirola cursed under his breath, startled, but it did the trick.

Kimura reacted, pushing the ball to one side and preparing to burst through into the space he thought had opened up.

But before he could build any real chance, he stumbled because in that heartbeat, Leo was already there.

Using Pirola’s body as cover, he lunged out from behind and jabbed his foot through, poking the ball cleanly away.

Kimura went down clutching at the turf while the nearby Japanese players threw their hands up, shouting for a foul, maybe even a red, but the referee waved play on.

The Japanese supporters groaned, voices mixing into a sharp buzz across the stadium while the Italians roared back in response, rising to their feet in applause.

”High IQ interception by Leo. This boy has his thoughts in all the right places with that shove to Pirola and then leg out to take the ball.”

But as they went on, Leo didn’t stop to look.

He had already stepped around the fallen forward, collecting the loose ball with one touch, lifting his head immediately, and there was space, a massive, gaping stretch of green ahead of him.

So without hesitation, he drove into it.

”He’s gone himself!” shouted the co-commentator, excitement growing.

”Look at Calderon go! Straight through the middle!”

Leo’s strides lengthened as he surged forward, the noise in the stadium rising with every meter.

Two Japanese midfielders closed in from either side, another tracking back in front of him.

For a moment, it looked like he’d be swallowed up.

But Leo slowed, shifted his weight, and with one deft flick of his boot, nudged the ball through the gap.

The two nearest players lunged, but both missed, nearly colliding into each other as Leo slipped between them, and then he was free.

The roar from the Italian fans grew louder as Leo drew closer and closer towards the Japanese goal, slipping through players like they weren’t even there, until it was just him facing up against the remainder of the Japanese setup.

He glanced left, spotting Carlo’s run slicing inside from the wing and then forward, where the two defenders ahead of him tried to force him right, stepping toward him in sync.

But Leo adjusted instantly, veering left, selling them both on the movement.

Then, with perfect timing, he slowed again as a shadow darted across his right shoulder from behind, Carlo’s shadow.

The Japanese players, seeing Carlo hidden by Leo’s frame and movement slip out, tried to backpedal, but Leo had already slipped the ball, threading it through the line he’d just drawn open.

”Through to Regutti!”

the commentator’s voice cracked with energy.Carlo met it in stride, the ball almost slipping away before he could shoot, but he steadied his planting foot, then he curled his shot past Sasaki, low, sharp, precise and into the bottom corner, rippling the net.

”Goallllll! Italy take the lead!” the roar of the commentator came over the broadcast.

The stadium exploded in sound, cheers, applause, and flags waving behind the benches.

Carlo threw his arms out wide, turning toward Leo, who was still facing the other corner flag, fist pumping once in satisfaction before Carlo leapt onto his back.

”Brilliant from Calderon!” the commentator continued. ”Just brilliant.”

”A run from deep, composure under pressure, and the intelligence to draw the defenders before releasing Regutti at the perfect moment. That’s his rendition of the Midfielder/Defender in this game!”

More blue shirts swarmed in.

Ricci, Cambiaso, Parisi, all piling in, shouting, laughing, grabbing at Carlo and Leo until the two were buried under a tangle of bodies.

They tumbled to the ground in the chaos, the Italian bench on its feet.

Even Leo cracked a grin when Carlo yanked him up.

As they jogged back toward their half, the camera cut briefly to the touchline.

There, Marco, arms folded, turned to Baldini with the faintest smug smirk, but Baldini, who most probably didn’t see it, didn’t say a word.

He just exhaled, still watching the number 17 jogging back into formation.

After Carlo’s goal, Gianna suddenly jolted up from her seat, grabbing Vittoria’s shoulders and shaking her as she yelled, ”That’s my boyfriend!”

Her voice carried over the noise in the stands, drawing a few curious glances before she cupped her hands around her mouth, shouting Carlo’s name down toward the pitch.

Carlo, jogging back to his half after the play, spotted her and grinned before blowing a quick kiss in her direction.

Gianna almost squealed, twisting in her seat as she clutched Vittoria’s arm.

Vittoria winced and pulled away.

”Sit the fuck down, Gianna.”

Gianna frowned at her, wrinkling her nose.

”You’re just jealous. You wish you had a boy like Carlo,” she said, her tone half-teasing but laced with pride.

Vittoria let out a small scoff.

”Yeah, sure,” she muttered, then pointed toward the field.

”If I had to pick, I’d take, what’s his name, umm—”

”Leo?” Gianna finished for her.

”Yes, Leo. He’s the one who saved them from conceding, ran all the way from behind and through half of Japan’s midfield. He could’ve gone for goal himself, but he slowed down, drew the defenders, and made space for Carlo to finish. That’s smart play.”

Gianna gave her a look, eyebrows raised.

”Please. Carlo’s the one who actually scored. That’s the hard part.”

Vittoria rolled her eyes.

”Right, because tapping it around after the keeper, after Leo does all the work, is such a challenge.”

Gianna laughed, leaning closer.

”Since you’re so into him, want me to ask Carlo for Leo’s number?”

Vittoria just groaned, sinking back into her seat.

”Remind me why I ever looked up from my phone,” she muttered.

Gianna grinned, clearly satisfied with getting under her skin, then went back to watching the pitch.

Down below, the game had hit its tense final minutes.

Both sides were pressing high, the crowd roaring with every break.

Japan were still dangerous on the counter, using their pace to catch Italy out whenever they pushed too far forward, while Italy sat fluidly, not sitting back to absorb the pressure but also not pushing for another goal.

”Japan still searching for a late winner here,” one of the commentators said, his voice tight with anticipation.

”But Italy have been the stronger side since that last chance. Leo especially, controlling the tempo well even in that unfamiliar position.”

As the commentator spoke, Leo intercepted another pass near the halfway line, spun away from his marker, and slipped a ball through to Edoardo Bove, who switched play out wide.

The Italians surged forward, the crowd sensing one last chance before the whistle.

Carlo made another darting run, but Japan’s defenders closed ranks quickly.

So the long ball back bounced towards Leo awkwardly, forcing him to chase it down before lofting a smart pass to Cambiaso again as the clock ticked into stoppage time.

In the 95th minute, Japan won a late free kick about thirty yards out.

The stadium collectively held its breath, mostly for the small Japanese crowd who hoped for an equaliser.

The delivery swung in dangerously, but Pirola rose highest, heading it clear.

Following that was Leo, who was first to react, shielding the ball and drawing a foul to waste precious seconds, and the whistle for full time came soon after, sharp and echoing.