Harbinger Of Glory

”Okay, let’s see how it goes after this,” Baldini said, his phone to his ear as he made his way out of his car, and then turned towards the reception area of the player complex.

The FIGC was still waking up, and Baldini, as usual, had come in earlier than most.

His steps echoed down the corridor, a paper cup of espresso he had gotten from the cafeteria in one hand and his briefcase in the other.

When he reached his office, he pushed the door open, slipped inside and then turned on the air conditioning before taking off his coat.

He set his things down, then stopped by the wide glass panel overlooking the training pitches below.

There, a single figure was running.

Leo.

His shirt clung to his form, and his steps were too disciplined for a casual jog.

Even from here, Baldini could tell the kid was putting in extra work.

He watched for a while, but Baldini only exhaled through his nose, a low snort escaping.

”All that grind,” he muttered, half under his breath, ”won’t save you if you’re already someone’s project.”

He stayed there for a few more seconds and then, with a quiet shake of his head, Baldini muttered, ”Bad luck, kid,” and turned away, heading for his desk.

An hour later, Leo stepped back into his room.

The air was still, curtains drawn halfway, and Carlo’s bed was empty.

Not that it was surprising.

He dropped his phone and towel onto his bed, shook his head, and sighed through his nose.

”Unbelievable,” he murmured to himself, glancing once more at the untouched blanket on Carlo’s side.

He picked up the towel again, ready to shower, when his phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number.

He hesitated, thumb hovering, before finally answering.

”Hello?”

”Leo, bro—listen, I need help,” Carlo’s voice came through, low and urgent, a bit of wind on the line.

Leo frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed.

”What do you mean, help?”

Carlo looked around before answering, his voice hushed.

”We’re like... outside the FIGC area. About four of us. Ricci, Fornella, Udo, and me.”

Leo blinked. ”You’re joking.”

”No, man, listen,” Carlo said quickly.

”We just need our training wear so we can blend into the morning without anyone noticing.”

Leo leaned back, rubbing his forehead.

”You want me to sneak your stuff out?”

”Just grab it, please. I swear we’ll owe you one.”

Leo stayed quiet for a moment, his jaw flexing.

”If I help you now, you’re gonna keep doing this. Every time.”

”No, no,” Carlo insisted.

”This is the last one, I promise. Look—Ricci’s room is 217, Udo’s 219—”

”And Fornella’s?” Leo asked flatly.

”Two-twenty—wait, no, two-twenty-one. Yeah. Two-twenty-one. Please, bro—”

But the line clicked dead before he could finish.

Outside the complex, Carlo stared at his phone, then glanced at the others.

Ricci and Udogie were shifting nervously, Fornella chewing his lip.

”He hung up?” Udogie asked.

Carlo sighed. ”Yeah.”

”Think he’s coming?” Ricci muttered.

Carlo didn’t answer.

They stood there, half in the shade near the service road, unsure what to do.

Seven long minutes dragged by, the morning air starting to warm.

Then the sound of slides slapping against asphalt came closer, steady, casual.

The group turned as Leo appeared from the bend in the road, black slides, shorts, and a bag slung over his shoulder.

He didn’t say a word at first, just tossed the bag toward Carlo.

”Here,” he said. ”Change. Baldini’s car was already in the lot when I passed.”

The four froze for a second, then scrambled to open the bag.

”Shit, really?” Carlo said, already tugging off his shirt.

”Yeah. Move,” Leo said, half amused, watching them juggle between folding their night-out clothes and pulling on their training tops.

Fornella tried stuffing his jeans into the bag, but it wouldn’t close.

”Man, it’s not fitting—”

Leo snorted.

”Use that.” He tossed over a folded tote bag from his pocket.

”Where do you even keep these things?” Ricci asked, wrestling his jacket into it.

Leo shrugged, a small grin slipping through.

”In my pocket. I felt bad for telling on you guys to Marco before, so consider this a repayment of sorts.”

Carlo zipped up his jacket and grabbed the bag.

”No worries. You’re a lifesaver, man. Seriously.”

Leo just shook his head at them, knowing very well that they were going to do this again.

”You guys need help.”

The four, after changing, hurried off toward the side gate, jogging to blend in, while Leo stood there for a moment, watching them disappear before he turned back, through the same gate, toward the accommodation wing.

With their little escapades out of the way, the morning at the complex ran like usual after any gameday, with the players making their way onto the pitch and stretching to release whatever was left of the previous day’s tension in their muscles.

Baldini, as usual, was nowhere to be found, with Marco leading the whole session together with the other coaches and then finishing up half an hour later.

”We will just be having a recovery session after breakfast, so stick around afterwards,” Marco said after the session before dismissing the players.

Leo, together with Carlo and his usual entourage, afterwards made their way towards the accommodation wing, looking to wash off in their rooms, but along the way, Leo found himself alone again, as Carlo and the other boys had decided to switch to Udogie’s room as the latter had set up the console they had been playing on since the start of the camp.

Without much to do, Leo made his way towards the cafeteria to wait, receiving a call just as he entered the cafeteria, and Jake’s voice came through the line, a little too energetic for Leo’s morning.

”Guess who just got bumped to the senior team?”

Leo leaned back in his chair, brows raising. ”Who?”

”Ezra,” Jake said, drawing out the name like he’d been waiting to say it all morning.

Leo blinked. ”Really?”

Jake paused, then laughed. ”Uhhhh... no.”

Leo shook his head, smiling despite himself. ”You’re an idiot.”

”Alright, alright,” Jake said quickly, laughing too.

”But soon enough, though, yeah? I’m serious this time. McClean’s out—sprained something yesterday. So Ezra’s been added to the match squad for the seniors.”

That got a genuine grin out of Leo. ”You’re serious?”

”Dead serious,” Jake replied. ”He nearly fainted when the gaffer told him. Think he’s already printing it on a shirt.”

Leo chuckled, resting his elbow on the table. ”Where’s he now?”

”Ran off to tell his mum and dad,” Jake said.

”Couldn’t even finish the session with us. Said something about buying a cake or some nonsense.”

Leo nodded slowly, still smiling. ”He deserves it,” he said, voice soft but certain.

Jake snorted. ”Yeah, he does. I do too, by the way.”

Leo rolled his eyes even though Jake couldn’t see it. ”Yeah, yeah,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Across the room, one of the staff had started setting trays on the buffet counter, whole grain bread, yoghurt and the usual.

The smell drifted faintly across the air, and Leo’s stomach decided for him.

”Hey,” he said, glancing at the trays, ”I’m gonna go eat before the others get here and wipe everything out.”

”Alright,” Jake said. ”Congratulations on that assist, though. I got my hands on the highlights, and I must say, your coach is either blind, doesn’t like you, or is just bad at his job.”

Leo smirked. ”I’ll tell him you said that.”

”Yeah, make sure to do so.”

The call ended with Jake’s laughter still echoing faintly through the speaker.

Leo slipped the phone into his pocket, stood, and stretched his arms before heading toward the serving line, taking some of the whole-grain bread with some scrambled eggs, as well as some yoghurt and a bowl of Muesli with milk.

”Say what you want,” he muttered as he sat back down in his seat with the food, ”but Italian mornings are the best.”

.....

[4 days later]

The door to the conference room opened with a soft click, and Baldini stepped in, the faint sound of voices tapering off as every head turned his way.

At the far end of the table, Tommaso Piatelli sat in his usual calm poise, a pen balanced loosely between his fingers.

Around him were four others, three men in suits and a woman with a laptop open in front of her.

The atmosphere carried the quiet weight of business being handled.

Baldini exhaled, his sigh caught somewhere between fatigue and impatience.

Then he smirked, though his eyes told a different story.

”Didn’t think we’d start this early,” he said, shutting the door behind him.

Piatelli didn’t seem fazed.

”We were waiting for you,” he replied evenly, gesturing toward an empty chair across the table. ”Please.”

Baldini nodded once, keeping the faint smirk as he made his way around, his shoes dull against the polished floor.

He set his folder down, adjusted the chair, and lowered himself into it.

Piatelli leaned back, that calm, easy smile still playing on his face. ”Good,” he said. ”Let’s begin.”