Harbinger Of Glory

An ample roar swept through the Stade Tre Fontane the moment the whistle sounded.

The Italian players threw their arms up, with some of them having small bursts of joy.

Even if it was a friendly, a win was still a win, and nobody wanted to be the one losing.

”It’s been a good one tonight, and Italy come out on top,” the commentary rolled on the broadcast.

”The future, as always, looks bright for the Azzurrini. The question now, as it’s always been, is whether these kids can live up to their potential when they take that next step in their careers.”

The co-commentator chimed in.

”And one name that we have unearthed from this contest is Calderon, a new face in the setup, but who looked already comfortable on the pitch. That run, that pass, that intelligence, Italy might have found a player they’ll be talking about for years.”

While the commentary carried on, the camera panned to Leo, who stood near the centre circle, with sweat streaking down his face and his hands on his hips.

The Japanese players walked past, offering handshakes and quick nods of respect.

Leo returned each one without much expression, giving short pats on the shoulder where he could.

Then Carlo came jogging up from behind, clapping Leo on the back with a loud smack.

”Hey, grazie for that one,” he said between breaths, flashing a grin.

Leo shook his head, wiping sweat from his face.

”Anybody would’ve passed it if you kept finishing like that.”

Carlo laughed, bumping his shoulder lightly.

”Then I’ll hold you to that.”

They stood there for a second, just catching their breath and watching the crowd start to make their way out of their stands.

Then Carlo gave him another pat on the back. ”Come on,” he said, motioning toward the tunnel.

Leo nodded, falling in step beside him.

The two began the slow walk back, waving absently at the fans as they went.

But halfway there, Carlo veered off, heading toward the stands.

Gianna had already made her way down to the railing, practically leaning over it, her voice cutting through the noise.

”Babe! That was amazing!” she shouted, clapping and laughing.

Carlo beamed, lifting his arm to wave.

”You sure you saw it?” he asked, mainly because of the short attention span of his girlfriend.

”I saw everything!” she said, almost giddy.

Then, spotting Leo just behind him, she added, ”And you—nice work too!”

Leo looked up, managing a small, polite smile.

”Thanks,” he said, his voice barely carrying over the crowd.

But his gaze didn’t stay on Gianna for long.

Behind her, or rather beside her but turned slightly away, stood Vittoria.

She wasn’t smiling, just watching, phone in one hand, expression unreadable.

Feeling the gaze on her, she looked up and their eyes met.

It should have been just that, but neither of them looked away.

It felt like a staring contest, silent and oddly charged, as if the one who looked away first would lose whatever was the price.

Eventually, Gianna’s laugh broke it as she turned between them, catching the tail end of the exchange.

”Oh! Right—this is my friend—”

”Vittoria Fiorella D’Averna,” Carlo cut in, finishing for her with a grin.

Gianna blinked, then burst out laughing.

”Of course you’d know that. You’re such a nerd for Italian news.”

Carlo shrugged.

”I should at least know this much if I pride myself on keeping up with the Italian news despite being in Manchester”, he said easily, smiling toward Vittoria.

Vittoria gave a small nod, polite but distant.

”Well, knowing who I was, Carlo Regutti,” she said quietly before glancing back at her phone, leaving Carlo and Gianna who kept on talking.

Still, every few seconds, her eyes flicked up, always back toward Leo, who had now turned to the side, looking at one of the vendors carrying the Arrancini.

After talking for a bit, Carlo leaned his forearms on the railing.

”We’ll see you both after the game, yeah?”

To which Gianna nodded enthusiastically.

”Definitely.”

Carlo smiled and turned back toward the pitch.

Leo was already a few steps ahead, hands tucked behind his back, walking toward the tunnel without looking back.

Carlo jogged to catch up, tossing one last wave to the crowd before disappearing down the tunnel beside him.

...

”Yes, the game should have ended by now,” came the voice of Tommaso Piatelli inside his dimly lit office as he set his telephone down.

He should have clocked out a couple of hours ago, but Piatelli was still there, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a half-drained espresso sitting cold beside his laptop.

A few moments later, a soft knock came on the door.

”Avanti,” he said, not looking up.

Marco stepped in, still in his FIGC tracksuit.

”Thought you’d want to see this before you go home.”

He walked over and handed him a tablet with a smirk.

”Highlights from the Japan game. Or mostly...Leo’s highlights in particular. It starts from when he comes on.”

Piatelli finally looked up, curiosity tugging at the edge of his expression and clicked the file.

Instantly, the room filled with the raw noise of the Stade Tre Fontane, the unfiltered hum of a crowd layered over the clear pitch sounds: shouts, boots striking the ball, the distant echoes of whistles.

The first clip rolled: Leo intercepting a pass and playing calmly through pressure.

Then another, him gliding past two Japanese midfielders before splitting the defence with that curling ball to Carlo.

Each clip was clean, clipped together chronologically, his touches and decisions forming a story.

By the time the footage reached the counterattack and Leo’s run through midfield, Piatelli was already leaning forward, one hand on his chin, the other frozen midair from where it had been about to reach for his cup.

The final pass came, followed by Carlo’s goal, and then the celebration.

When the clip ended, the only sound left in the room was the faint buzz of the monitor fan.

Piatelli sat back slowly, a small grin creeping across his face.

Then he chuckled.

And the chuckle turned into a laugh, a deep, satisfied one that made Marco laugh too, even though he’d already seen the footage a dozen times.

”Buono,” Piatelli muttered under his breath, nodding once, then again, more firmly. ”Molto buono.”

Marco smiled faintly.

”What are you so happy about?”

Piatelli pointed the tablet toward him.

”It wasn’t my intention, but if he continues like this, I’ve got a bit of leverage on Baldini,” he said dryly, still smiling.

Piatelli leaned back, satisfied, eyes flicking back to the still frame of Leo frozen mid-pass on the screen.

”We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Marco nodded, gave a small salute, and headed out the door.

–––

After dinner, Leo pushed open the door to his room, kicking it behind with his leg before raising his head from his phone.

Standing near the lamp beside Carlo’s bed was Udogie, dressed in a clean white tee, dark jeans, fresh sneakers, and a watch that gleamed under the light.

Carlo, on the other hand, stood in front of the mirror, buttoning up a casual shirt, his hair still slightly damp from the shower.

Leo walked past them without a word, grabbing a bottle of juice from the small refrigerator before dropping down on his bed.

He leaned back, scrolling absently through his phone, the quiet slurp of the drink cutting through the low shuffle of Carlo’s movements.

Carlo glanced at him through the mirror, staring for a bit, before speaking.

”We’re heading out,” he said, adjusting his collar, then turning. ”You coming?”

Leo didn’t even look up at first.

He took another sip, thumb flicking through a couple of notifications before he muttered, ”Nah.”

Carlo smirked, already expecting that.

”Of course you’re not.”

Leo finally raised his eyes, one corner of his mouth twitching in a lazy half-smile.

”I don’t do too much after game days. I like to rest.”

He paused, then added dryly, ”But I’ll be on the lookout for you two. Just in case you end up on some street corner calling for help.”

Carlo laughed, shaking his head.

”Yeah, there’s no need for that, brother. We’re just getting food and maybe a drink. Nothing wild.”

Leo’s eyes flicked back to his phone as he nodded, clearly unconvinced.

”Uh huh.”

Carlo rolled his eyes, but there was amusement in the gesture.

He grabbed his wallet and keys, patting Udogie on the shoulder as the two made for the door.

”You sure you don’t wanna come?” Udogie, whose English was getting better and better by the day, asked, half-turning as he slipped on his jacket.

”We are going to have fun with the girls, though.”

Leo gave him a small wave without looking up.

”Have fun for me.”

Carlo chuckled, glancing at Udogie.

”Told you.”

”Yeah, yeah,” Udogie said as they stepped into the hallway.

Leo heard the door click shut and exhaled softly, his shoulders sinking into the mattress.

He took another slow sip of his juice, set the bottle down on the nightstand, and kept scrolling, the light from his phone screen being the only thing illuminating the room after Carlo turned off the lights on his way out.