The final whistle had barely sounded when the screenshot of Luca’s tired smile into the camera began spreading like wildfire.
Especially in communities and hashtags where female fans gathered.
“#Luca# One minute.
I need everything on this number sixty-six kid.”
“Help!
His smile is so clean!
Even collapsed from exhaustion he looks good.
What is this face?”
“He plays with his brain, so why does he look like a romance drama lead?
Unfair.”
“Screenshot set as wallpaper.
From today, I am a Napoli number sixty-six technical fan.”
“Italy’s future midfield core plus face of the team.
Called it first.”
In bars and living rooms across Naples, the celebrations continued.
“What a player!
Seventeen years old, debut assist hat-trick, orchestrating a comeback!
You can’t write this in a novel!”
“That face, that football IQ, that presence.
I am officially a Luca fan.”
“Napoli!”
“Recorded the whole last half hour.
Luca compilation complete.”
“Seventeen and already a Serie A name.
What was I doing at seventeen?
Never mind.”
Social media exploded.
Clips of his assists, his disallowed chip, his composure under pressure.
The hashtag #Luca trended in Italy by midnight.
On the pitch, the celebrations finally settled.
Jorginho and Mertens pulled Luca to his feet.
Hamsik walked over and ruffled his hair, making the messy dark mop even worse, but his grin was wide.
“Beautiful passing, kid!
That last one, how did you find me?”
Luca smiled shyly.
“Honestly?
I don’t know.
Instinct.”
“You’re something else.”
Hamsik laughed and walked him toward the away section, applauding the traveling Napoli fans.
They responded with thunderous cheers, especially for Luca.
His name echoed loudest.
Coach Sarri stood on the sideline, watching Luca surrounded by teammates, acknowledging the fans.
A rare, satisfied smile crossed his face.
He opened his notebook to Luca’s page, drew a hard circle around the name, and wrote a few words.
“Future cornerstone.
Ready for the big time.”
In the post-match interview area, Luca was named man of the match and became the media’s focus.
Still slightly awkward on camera, he was brought along by Sarri.
His answers were humble, crediting the team and the coach’s trust.
“First Serie A appearance, helping the team complete a comeback.
How does it feel?”
“Unbelievable.
Like a dream.
But the most important thing is we won.
In such a difficult situation.”
“The disallowed goal, the foul on you.
Did it affect you?”
“I don’t understand the referee’s decision, but I respect it.
As for the physical stuff, that’s football.
I focus on the next attack.”
He navigated the sensitive questions about retaliation smoothly.
“Many compare you to Pirlo.”
“No.
I’m Luca.” The boy looked at the camera, eyes clear and steady.
“Pirlo is a legend.
A master.
I’m just starting.
I’m Luca.
Napoli’s number sixty-six.”
The answer won him even more admirers.
Back in the locker room, the mood was electric.
Pepe Reina held a water bottle like a microphone, imitating the commentator.
“Eighty-ninth minute!
The magical Luca plays a lethal assist!
Captain Hamsik, the killer blow!
Three-two!
Miracle belongs to Napoli!”
The room erupted in laughter.
Jorginho handed Luca a water bottle and said quietly, “Well played, kid.”
Luca clinked bottles with him.
After showering and changing into clean clothes, Luca felt like his bones had been reassembled wrong, but his spirit was soaring.
He turned on his phone and was buried in congratulatory messages.
Teammates.
Youth coach Domenico.
Agent Raiola.
On the bus back to Naples, the city lights streaked past the window.
Luca leaned against the glass, listening to his teammates still buzzing about the match.
He opened the system interface.
[ding!
Serie A Debut quest complete!]
[Playing time: 35 minutes.
Post-match media rating: 9.2 (joint highest).]
[Quest rewards:]
Base reward: Ability Point x1 (issued).
Bonus rewards:
Complete one assist: Achieved!
(Assist to Insigne) ‘Precise Passing’ skill fragment x1.Complete one goal: Not achieved (goal disallowed).Play ≥30 minutes and receive a post-match rating ≥7.0: Achieved!
Ability Point x2.
(Collect ten to unlock a legendary player’s technique.)]
[Ibrahimović template fusion rate slightly increased: 10% → 12%.]
[Note: New challenges approach.
Keep working.]
That evening, on Sky Sport Italia’s “Tonight’s Match,” the first round of Serie A was dissected.
But nearly half the highlight reel belonged to a dark-haired teenager in Napoli’s number sixty-six.
The precise through balls.
The audacious chip.
The cool assists.
The last-minute winner he orchestrated.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Tonight’s Match.
Serie A round one.
We witnessed more than just victories.
We witnessed the birth of a phenomenon.”
The host, Luca Marchetti, set the tone with a barely suppressed grin.
He glanced at his colleague, whose face had been sour since the show began.
Paolo Di Canio, the famously loud Juventus-supporting pundit, stared at the replay of Luca’s assist to Insigne, his expression like he had swallowed a fly.
His pre-match mockery, “Sarri’s brain would have to be fried to play him,” “unless he wants to surrender,” had become a boomerang, and every throw was hitting him square in the face.
“Hey, Paolo,” Marchetti prodded.
“I remember we had a little bet.
About the number sixty-six who wouldn’t play a single minute.
Turns out he didn’t just play.
He decided the match.
So, the usual stakes…”
Di Canio’s face cycled from pale to purple.
He coughed.
“It’s one match.
One match proves nothing!
Young players need consistency!
We can’t judge based on one game…”
“One game?” Marchetti interrupted, grinning wider.
But he was a colleague, so he did not twist the knife further.
He steered the topic back.
“Fine.
Paolo is right.
We need more data.
But regardless, we must acknowledge that in Pescara versus Napoli, we witnessed a comeback worthy of the season’s top ten.
And the architect was a seventeen-year-old making his Serie A debut.
Luca.”
He turned to the camera, addressing all of Italy.
“Serie A round one.
Pescara led two-nil at halftime.
They had victory in their pocket.
Then Sarri played a surprising card.”
“Luca.
Seventeen.
Born in Naples.
A pure Napoli youth product.
Just promoted to the first team.
Number sixty-six.
In this match, he came on as a substitute, provided three direct assists, orchestrated all three goals, and had a brilliant chip disallowed.
According to statistics, he became the youngest player in Serie A history to complete an assist hat-trick on debut.”
“He possesses composure beyond his years, surgical passing, ghostly off-ball movement, and a face that could make the entire peninsula swoon.”
“So, allow me, on behalf of Tonight’s Match and all the fans just discovering him, to say:”
“Congratulations, Luca.
Welcome to Serie A.
Welcome to the biggest stage.”
The screen cut to Luca receiving his man of the match trophy.
The boy stood in front of the sponsor board, trophy in hand, a shy but brilliant smile on his face.
Washed clean, hair slightly tamed, that unique mix of youth and charisma radiated through the screen.
The show then analyzed every run, every pass, every decision in detail.
It was clear.
From tonight, Luca was no longer just a Napoli youth prospect.
He had entered the consciousness of Italian football.
Late that night, outside Castel Volturno.
The bus carrying the heroes pulled in slowly.
Despite the midnight hour, over a hundred fans waited.
Scarves raised, songs echoing.
When the players descended, the cheers peaked.
And when Luca appeared in the doorway, the sound shifted.
High-pitched, female voices screaming.
“Luca!
Over here!”
“He smiled at me!”
“Luca!
I love you!”
“I’m in love!”
A few bold fans tried to break the barriers, phones flashing.
Luca, flustered but polite, waved and smiled.
The scream volume broke new records.
He was about to hurry toward the entrance when God’s Eye View sent a jolt through his senses.
His peripheral vision caught several pink and white objects arcing toward him from the crowd.
Different trajectories.
Underwear.
And notes.
Phone numbers.
Luca’s body reacted before his mind caught up.
His footwork, honed on the training pitch, turned evasive.
He ducked, sidestepped, twisted.
The projectiles missed.
“Whoa!”
The crowd gasped at his agility.
“Danger!”
Just as Luca exhaled, two strong arms clamped onto him from either side.
Hamsik and Jorginho.
Veterans.
“Go, go, go!
Inside!”
“See that, Luca?
That’s the price of fame.
Women, especially crazy female fans, are one of the most dangerous species on this planet.”
“Captain is right.” Jorginho nodded sagely.
“Their passion is fire.
It will burn you dizzy.
They will drain your energy, make your legs weak at training, turn you into a soft noodle on the pitch.
Remember.
You’re young.
Seventeen.
Football is your first love.
Your everything.”
“Listen to your elders.” Hamsik was dead serious.
“Think about your career.
Think about trophies.
Women only slow down your shooting.
We’re looking out for you.”
The two played off each other perfectly.
Coach Sarri walked over, saw Luca’s shell-shocked face, and nodded in agreement.
“Exaggerated, but the principle stands.
Luca, focus.
Your talent is a gift from God and countless hours of sweat.
Do not let anything off the pitch distract you.
Your road is long.”
Luca: “…”
After a brief locker room stop, everyone said their goodbyes.
The new season had just begun.
Serie A, Coppa Italia, Champions League.
Three competitions.
Every ounce of energy mattered.
“Luca, wait.” Sarri called out as Luca moved toward his bike.
“Coach?”
“Don’t ride tonight.
Too late.
And…” Sarri glanced outside at the lingering fans.
“Not safe.
I’ll drive you.
Put your bike in my trunk.”
Luca did not argue.
He could feel the danger.
“Thank you, boss.”
The car was quiet.
Sarri turned on the radio.
A show was praising Luca.
Sarri turned it off.
“Don’t listen to that.” He kept his eyes on the road.
“The higher they praise you, the harder you fall.
You did well today.
Better than expected.
But remember.
It’s one match.
Serie A has thirty-eight rounds.
Europe is even harder.
Stay hungry.
Stay humble.
Stay the same kid who fights on the training pitch.”
“I will, coach.”
Sarri was silent for a moment.
“Domenico told me you live alone.
Family?”
Luca explained briefly.
Parents gone.
Uncle working elsewhere.
Renting alone.
Sarri’s grip on the wheel tightened.
He glanced at the boy’s calm profile.
On the pitch, he was electric.
Off it, his life was simple, even lonely.
“Take care of yourself, Luca.
If you have difficulties, come to me.
The team is your home.” Sarri’s voice was uncharacteristically soft.
“You are my most important card this season.
But more than that, I want you to be healthy, happy, and grow into a real man.
A real champion.”
The car stopped outside Luca’s apartment.
Sarri helped him unload the bike.
“Rest well.
Tomorrow is a day off.
Don’t stay up too late.
See you at training the day after.”
“Good night, coach.
Thank you for the ride.”
Luca watched the taillights disappear, then pushed his bike up the stairs.
He opened the door.
Silence.
A different world from the roaring stadium hours ago.
He dropped his bag on the floor, dragged himself to the bed, and collapsed face-first.
The adrenaline of the debut.
The ecstasy of the comeback.
The media spotlight.
The fans’ madness.
The physical exhaustion.
The mental high.
All of it receded like a tide, leaving only bone-deep fatigue.
So tired.
And so…
wonderful.
Luca’s consciousness sank into sleep, a faint smile still on his lips.
His first dream as a Serie A hero.