The next day in Italy, nearly every sports newspaper led with Napoli’s 3-2 comeback over Pescara.
La Gazzetta dello Sport, Corriere dello Sport, Tuttosport, and of course the local Naples papers, Il Mattino and Corriere del Mezzogiorno.
Most front pages featured large photos of Luca celebrating with teammates after an assist, or holding his man of the match trophy.
“Napoli Finds New Pirlo!
17-Year-Old Genius Orchestrates Epic Comeback!”
“One Game, One Legend!
How Napoli’s Academy Jewel Conquered Serie A!”
Young stars always generated the most heat, in any country.
“Miracle Child!
17-Year-Old Luca Lights Up Naples!” — La Gazzetta dello Sport
“Three Assists Tear Apart the Bus!
New Pirlo?
Not So Fast.” — Corriere dello Sport
“Serie A Round One: Napoli Won, But Did They Really?” — Tuttosport
“Our Boy!
Luca Tells the World: Napoli Never Gives Up!” — Corriere del Mezzogiorno
The Corriere del Mezzogiorno heaped on the praise while also blasting the players who underperformed in the first half, the defender who fouled Luca, and the linesman with “eyes under his armpits.”
In the Napoli president’s office, Aurelio De Laurentiis, nicknamed “the Boss” by media and fans, was happily reading the coverage.
The film mogul and club president, known for his shrewdness, his iron grip, and his knack for buying and selling stars, was pleased with the buzz Luca had generated.
Attention meant commercial value.
But when he had his assistant pull up Luca’s contract details, his mood soured.
Three years remaining.
Twenty thousand euros per week.
Thirty million release clause.
“What were Sarri and the sporting director thinking?” De Laurentiis tapped the desk, annoyed.
“A talent like this, on a contract like this?
Three years?
Thirty million?
That’s an invitation for every club in Europe to poach him!”
“Contact Sarri and the transfer department immediately.
Re-evaluate Luca’s contract.
We need a renewal.
Higher release clause.
Longer term.
He is our future cornerstone.
Untouchable.
At least…
until we sell him for a fortune.”
That afternoon, Luca’s apartment.
Sunlight streamed through the blinds.
Luca woke naturally from twelve hours of deep sleep.
He stretched, feeling most of the fatigue gone.
He stumbled to the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, and woke up fully.
In the kitchen, he made a simple brunch: fried eggs, bacon, whole wheat bread, and a glass of milk.
He sat at the small table and finally picked up his phone.
The notifications had hit “99 plus.”
He scanned them.
Congratulations from Domenico.
The U17 team group chat exploding.
A flood of messages from unknown numbers.
He replied to Domenico first, then opened Mino Raiola’s missed calls and voice messages.
He called back.
Raiola picked up instantly.
“My God!
My dear Luca!
My money tree!
My superstar!”
Raiola’s voice boomed through the speaker.
Background noise suggested a busy place.
“What did you do last night?!
You tore a hole in the Serie A sky!
My phone is melting!
Premier League, La Liga, Bundesliga.
Men in suits with blank checks in their pockets, all wanting breakfast, lunch, dinner, and midnight snacks with me!
They want to bury me in money for one nod from you!”
Luca smiled and sipped his milk.
“Thanks, Mino.
But my thinking hasn’t changed.
This season, I want to stay at Napoli.
This is home.”
“Ha!
Of course!
Of course!
I respect your decision.
I always do!”
Raiola laughed loudly.
“But kid, listen.
Some invitations…
a certain club from North London, for example.
Their sporting director called me.
They are even preparing a试探性 offer to Napoli.
But it depends on you.
I am just telling you the market temperature.”
“Anyway, I called mainly to warn you.
The club, especially that old fox De Laurentiis, will likely come to you with a new contract soon.
Remember.
Whatever they say, whatever promises they make, do not sign anything before you see me.
Understand?
Not a single word.
Leave it to me.
I will get you the best terms.
Matching your current value and leaving room for the future.
You are young.
Sentiment is good.
“I understand, Mino.
Thank you.” Luca knew Raiola was a professional in this domain.
A few more exchanges, then Luca hung up and replied to a few important messages.
After eating, he washed the dishes and looked out at the bright Mediterranean sun.
He decided to give himself a day off.
Go out.
Walk.
But first.
He sank into the system interface.
Three ability points sat there.
He thought.
The Ibrahimović template was slowly fusing.
His physical resilience and duel potential were secured.
The Jorginho defensive reading template was mostly integrated.
Defensive positioning had improved massively.
The priority now was his biggest weakness: stamina.
The clear fatigue in the final thirty minutes had been a warning.
A top midfielder ran forever.
“All into stamina.” Luca decided.
[ding!
Stamina: 70 → 73.]
A faint warmth spread through his limbs.
Not a dramatic transformation like the star templates, but he felt his endurance improve slightly.
He would need a way to test it.
Maybe a helper.
Speaking of stamina, Luca suddenly remembered a certain player from his past life.
A man who ran forever.
But he was gone now.
He shook the thought away.
He pulled on a simple white t-shirt, khaki shorts, canvas shoes, a baseball cap, and wireless earphones.
He pushed his beloved road bike out the door.
Downstairs, a few neighbors ambushed him.
“Luca!
Hero!
Sign my son’s jersey!”
“Luca, last night was amazing!
Photo?”
“Kid, keep it up!
The whole family supports you!”
Luca obliged each one.
Signatures.
Photos.
A genuine smile.
The small annoyances of fame still felt fresh and warm.
He rode through the familiar streets.
The Weepies’ “Gotta Have You” played through his earphones.
Sunlight.
Sea breeze.
A deep sense of peace.
Competitive sports were a brutal battlefield.
But life itself deserved to be enjoyed.
He rode past cobblestone streets and lively markets.
Maradona murals, graffiti, and banners covered the walls.
The legend still watched over this football city.
Luca looked at them with respect, but his own hunger burned.
He reached the seaside and parked near a quiet public beach.
Worried about theft, he pushed his bike to a small shop selling drinks and ice cream.
“Excuse me,” Luca said, removing one earphone.
“I’m going to sit by the sea for a while.
Can I leave my bike here?
I’ll pay for storage.”
He pointed to a shaded corner.
The shop owner, a dark-skinned man, looked up.
He looked again.
His eyes went wide.
The ice scoop clattered into the freezer.
“You…
you’re…
Luca?!
Number sixty-six!
Last night, the three assists!”
Luca nodded shyly.
“If you mean Napoli’s number sixty-six, that’s me.”
“God!
It’s really you!”
The man spun, rummaged through the shop, and produced a brand new Napoli home jersey.
Number sixty-six on the back.
“I was so excited after the match, I bought this first thing this morning!
And now I actually meet you!
Sign it, please!”
Luca laughed and signed below the number.
The man asked for a photo.
Luca agreed.
“Luca, keep going!
Giovanni and this shop, we support you forever!
You are our pride!” Giovanni beat his chest.
“Leave the bike!
I’ll watch it.
Anyone touches it, they deal with me!”
Luca thanked him and left a ten-euro tip despite Giovanni’s protests.
Giovanni shoved a large tub of ice cream and a bottle of cold water into his hands.
“Take it!
Sun’s strong today! This chapter is updated first at g.com.
On the house!”
Luca walked along the warm sand and found a quiet spot.
He sat, dug into the ice cream, and watched the blue waves roll in.
His mind emptied.
A few tourists and fans recognized him, asked for photos.
He obliged.
But mostly, the afternoon was quiet and lazy.
A break from the football world.
The next morning, eight o’clock, Castel Volturno.
Sunlight gilded the training pitches.
More than an hour before training, the coach’s office was already full.
Smoke filled the room.
Italian coaches smoked.
After every match, the staff met immediately.
Review.
Analyze.
Plan.
The tactics board was covered in formations and running lines.
Sarri, grim-faced, was summarizing.
“First half, we played like a bunch of idiots who forgot how to run in new boots.
Slow tempo.
Blind passing.
Loose defense.
And the attack wasted chance after chance.”
Fabio, the fitness coach, dropped his usual humor.
He pointed at Milik’s data on his tablet.
“It’s not just his shooting boots.
Look at these duel stats.
First half, as a target man, his success rate in one-on-ones against their center-backs was under 30 percent.
He’s tall, looks strong, but his core strength and lower body stability are worse than Mertens.
He can’t hold the ball with his back to goal.
Can’t be a wall for Insigne and Callejón.
Our attack lacked a pivot from the start.
Too flat.
Too predictable.”
An attacking coach nodded.
“Yes.
Crosses into the box, he couldn’t win anything.
Or if he did, no threat.
His movement is static.
Always waiting in the center.
Easy to defend.
His fitness and match sharpness need urgent work.”
Sarri circled Milik’s name.
“His physical recovery is the priority this week.
Fabio, extra work, but carefully.
No new injuries.
We need him, but only if he can give us what we need.
If he can’t…”
Fabio nodded and lit another cigarette.
Sarri moved on.
“Mertens as a false nine was unexpectedly good.
His mobility and link play opened the game.
But we need more variety.
Can’t rely on one approach.”
The discussion turned to Luca.
The attacking coach pulled up Luca’s touch and heat maps.
“Look here.
And here.” He pointed to key zones.
“Luca’s off-ball movement is like he has radar in his head.
He always finds the spot that hurts the defense.
His passing choices are bold but logical.
The timing and precision of his final ball.”
“More importantly,” another analyst added, “his control of tempo.
After he came on, he didn’t blindly speed things up.
He and Jorginho controlled the midfield, patient, probing.
Very mature.”
Sarri listened, eyes fixed on Luca’s image.
He spoke slowly.
“Luca is our biggest discovery this season.
But we must manage him carefully.
He’s young.
Stamina is a weakness.
His duels have improved, but he needs time.
We cannot rush him.”
He walked to the board and drew new formations.
“I’m considering starting Luca and Jorginho together in certain matches or certain phases.
Two playmakers.
Or giving Luca a freer role, switching between attacking midfield and wide.
Maximize his passing and movement.
But it all depends on his body keeping up.”
He looked at Fabio.
“The fitness and strength plan for Luca must be scientific.
No rush.
I want a Luca who contributes all season.
Not a meteor who shines for a few games and burns out.”
Fabio nodded seriously.
“Understood, boss.
I’ll work closely with the medical team.
The kid’s attitude is top-notch.
Good material.”
“All right.
I need to go court the businessman.
You continue.” Sarri was off to discuss Luca with De Laurentiis.
The coaches exchanged knowing smiles.