“Here it comes, captain!”
“Watch the ball, haha!”
Around 9 in the morning, Castel Volturno was already buzzing.
After the season-opening win, the mood was light.
The pre-training rondos were full of laughter.
Hamsik’s exaggerated failed Marseille turn drew a round of giggles.
After the routine session, there was no high-intensity scrimmage scheduled.
Players dispersed to complete their individual training assignments.
Some worked on shooting.
Some on crossing.
Some headed to the gym.
Luca stayed on the empty pitch.
Yesterday’s complete rest had wiped away the muscle soreness and deep fatigue from the high-intensity match.
He felt full of energy, eager to improve.
He opened the system interface and looked at the [Character Bonds] section.
[Current Bond: Ibrahimović’s Physicality.
Fusion Progress: 15%.]
[Effect: Strength 70 (Potential Cap 88), minor boost to duel balance, injury recovery speed.]
His highest attribute was not passing or dribbling.
It was defense: 88.
That was entirely thanks to the full integration of Jorginho’s Defensive Reading template.
His defensive positioning was now Serie A elite level.
For passing, both short and long passes were at 83.
The result of the 6 ability points from his debut rewards.
“So each legendary template can push a related attribute to a very high level.” Luca mused.
He had tried to trigger new bonds through close cooperation with teammates in training, but the system showed nothing.
It seemed bonds required specific triggers.
Deep recognition.
Or, like Jorginho, a combination of experience sharing and the system’s own judgment.
Rare.
Not something to force.
“Fine.
Don’t get greedy.
Let’s grind out Ibrahimović’s physicality first.” Luca clenched his fist, feeling the faint lines of muscle on his arm.
With the Ibrahimović template as a foundation, every targeted strength session yielded better results than normal.
A grinder’s dream cheat code.
Strength was the foundation.
Without it, technique broke down in duels.
Passes lost their accuracy when you were knocked off balance.
He did not just want to beat his man.
He wanted to hold off the covering defender after.
Shield the ball.
Run through challenges like a tank.
He walked to the gym.
Strength was the key bottleneck limiting his ceiling.
A morning of weights left Luca drenched in sweat but visibly relaxed.
Every set to failure felt like his muscle fibers were growing under the template’s guidance.
More efficient.
More powerful.
The feeling of effort producing visible returns was addictive.
After lunch, under the scorching Mediterranean sun, Luca returned to the pitch.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Alone, he set up cones and dummies and began the tedious but vital work of individual technique.
Outstep touches.
Instep cuts.
Rapid changes of direction.
Linking into shots or passes.
Every action performed at speed, simulating match intensity.
After each dummy, he consciously used his shoulder, back, and hips to bump the dummy, simulating how to use his body to separate from a defender after beating him.
Sweat soaked his training kit, clinging to his increasingly defined frame.
Fatigue came in waves.
His brain started whispering.
You’re already famous, Luca.
Serie A debut, shocked the nation.
Fans everywhere.
More cameras next match.
Why suffer?
Enjoy the star life.
Sun, beach, parties, beautiful girls screaming your name.
Luca lay back on the hot grass, breathing hard, staring at the blinding sun.
He thought about his past life.
A life of mediocrity.
People are like that.
When they have time, they waste it.
Scroll the phone.
Zone out.
Wait for tomorrow.
Wait for next week.
Wait for the right mood.
Always thinking there’s time.
Always thinking it’s not too late.
Then one day, time is gone.
Not used.
Wasted.
Youth is a tail end.
Dreams are dusty.
The person you said you’d chase later is long gone.
You panic.
You rush.
You try to make up for it.
But what can you do?
Everything feels futile.
Too many things to redo.
Too many people too far away.
Too many places you no longer have the heart to visit.
So you return to the starting point.
Doing nothing.
Just more anxious about doing nothing.
The cruelest thing is not the lack of time.
It is having had plenty of time and wasting it with your own hands.
Luca laughed and shook his head.
Building discipline and hard work is difficult.
Giving up takes only a moment of weakness.
He closed his eyes.
In his mind, he saw the roaring stands of the San Paolo.
The impossible weight of lifting a trophy.
And one day, standing at the top of the world, looking down.
He exhaled, shaking the sweat from his hair and the weak thoughts from his head.
He forced himself up and continued.
Over 2 hours later, Luca collapsed at the sideline, stretching.
The system prompt arrived.
[Ibrahimović’s Physicality fusion progress: 15% → 16%.
Strength: 70 → 71.]
Only one point.
But it accumulated.
Luca smiled, flicked a ball up with his toe, tucked it under his arm, and headed for the locker room.
A soak was the best reward for a tired body.
5 days until the home match against AC Milan.
A real giant.
The San Siro.
The red and black stripes.
Just thinking about it spiked his adrenaline.
On the way to the locker room, Luca ran into Sarri, who was leaving the office building.
The old man looked unhappy, face dark.
But he nodded at Luca.
“Coach.” Luca greeted him with a smile.
Sarri looked at the boy, eyes bright, drenched in sweat.
His expression softened.
“Finished your extra work?
Focus on recovery.”
“Understood!” Luca waved and walked into the locker room.
Sarri watched him go, shook his head, but a small smile tugged at his lips.
This kid.
He liked the hunger.
The conversation with De Laurentiis had not gone well.
The businessman with dollar signs in his eyes understood nothing.
Annoying.
But he was the boss.
Sarri would have to find a way to contact Mino Raiola.
That fat bastard would never budge.
Let the two of them fight it out.
Two idiots.
Over the next few days, Luca steadily increased his strength training load under Fabio.
Coordination and agility work never stopped.
He felt his body changing.
Core more stable.
Base stronger.
In duels, impacts that used to stagger him were now absorbable.
“I’m going to become a little Ibrahimović soon.” Luca flexed his new biceps in the gym mirror.
Far from Cristiano Ronaldo or Ibrahimović, but the lines were there.
2 days until AC Milan.
In an internal scrimmage, Luca made a clean but ruthless tackle, taking down Zielinski and the ball together.
The whistle blew.
Foul.
But everyone saw the improvement.
Timing.
Positioning.
Decisiveness.
And the hardness of the challenge.
“Hey, Luca!
You defend like that now?” Zielinski got up, grinning, and patted his back.
“Sorry, Piotr.
Couldn’t pull out.” Luca helped him up.
After training, everyone stripped off their soaked shirts.
Jorginho walked over and squeezed Luca’s arm and shoulder, surprised.
“God, when did you secretly build this?
That tackle had real power.”
Luca was a bit embarrassed.
“Extra work lately.
I think it’s showing.”
“Showing?
More than showing!” Jorginho teased.
“Dinner at my place tonight?
Carlota, my wife, made authentic Brazilian barbecue.
A reward for our hardworking star.”
“Amazing!
I’ve missed Carlota’s cooking!” Luca’s eyes lit up, then he hesitated.
“But I might be late.
I need to see the masseur after training.
Otherwise I’ll be sore tomorrow.”
“You’re busier than me now!” Jorginho laughed and punched his arm.
“Fine.
Don’t be too late.”
The team masseur, Kenji, was a polite young man in his twenties.
Recently, his life was both painful and happy.
Happy because the overtime pay was generous.
Painful because Luca’s extra training was brutal, and every massage required serious effort.
“Good evening, Luca.
You’ve worked hard.” Kenji stood and bowed slightly as Luca entered.
“Good evening, Kenji.
Sorry to trouble you again.” Luca lay on the table, familiar routine.
“Not at all.
It’s my job.
Please relax.”
Kenji’s hands were professional, pressure perfect.
He chatted in accented Italian while working, mostly about training and diet.
Luca discovered the young man had studied sports recovery in university.
His knowledge was impressive.
August 27, 2016.
Serie A Round 2.
Napoli vs AC Milan.
Home.
San Paolo.
AC Milan was in a strange period.
Chinese owner Li Yonghong had just taken over.
The squad was less star-studded.
The ambition was diminished.
Their target was Europa League qualification.
No longer a European superpower.
But they had weapons.
Colombian striker Carlos Bacca, powerful and direct.
French winger M’Baye Niang, talented.
Spanish playmaker Suso, technically gifted.
And in goal, a 17-year-old already a starter.
The new Buffon.
Gianluigi Donnarumma.
Same age as Luca.
Both born in 1999.
Luca knew Donnarumma would become one of the best goalkeepers in the world.
But right now, he was young.
Match day.
The area around the San Paolo was a sea of blue.
Napoli fans gathered early.
Songs.
Drums.
A deafening wall of sound.
After the miraculous comeback in Round 1 and Luca’s emergence, expectations were sky-high.
Morning.
Match not yet started.
Kickoff at 8:30 PM.
The locker room was quiet.
Tense.
Different from the promoted side in Round 1.
This was AC Milan.
A name carved into Italian football history.
Even in a slump, their pedigree and individual quality demanded respect.
All players sat at their stalls, eyes on Sarri.
Convention said the lineup should be announced before the match.
But the old fox was playing mind games.
The official squad list was a smokescreen.
The real starting eleven would be revealed last.
Sarri stood before the tactics board, scanning every face.
He saw the fire in their eyes.
Hunger for a big opponent.
Desire for a bigger stage.
He cleared his throat.
Silence.
“Gentlemen,” Sarri’s voice was hoarse but calm, carrying unquestionable authority.
“Last round, we proved we are a team that cannot be broken.
This round, we prove we are a team that can beat anyone.”
“AC Milan is a giant.
Their history is greater than ours.
But so what?
History is history.
Now is now.
At the San Paolo, on our turf, we are the masters.”
He picked up a marker and began writing names on the pre-drawn formation.
“Goalkeeper: Pepe Reina.”
“Defenders: Hysaj, Albiol, Koulibaly, Ghoulam.”
“Midfielders: Allan, Jorginho, Marek Hamsik (captain).”
“Forwards: José Callejón, Dries Mertens, Lorenzo Insigne.”
“Substitutes: Arkadiusz Milik, Luca…”
The list finished.
Unlike the first match, Milik was not starting.
On the bench.
And Luca was not in the starting eleven.
Several teammates instinctively looked at Luca, surprised.
After his stunning debut, many thought he would earn a start.
Luca’s face was calm.
He listened intently.
“Everyone else, be ready.” Sarri closed his notebook.
“Go warm up.
Starters first.”
Soon, only Sarri and Luca remained.
Sarri walked over.
“Curious, Luca?
Why you’re not starting?
After your performance last match, many would say you should.”
Luca smiled, calm.
“Coach, I know.
My stamina is the issue.
I can’t sustain a full match at high intensity yet.
Especially against a team with Milan’s counterattacking speed.
If I start, my stamina dip in the second half could become a hole in front of the defense.
And…”
He paused, looking at Sarri.
“I trust your arrangements.
When you put me in, how you use me, you have your reasons.
All I need to do is be ready.”
Sarri looked at Luca.
Behind his glasses, a flash of admiration.
This young man’s mind was clearer and more mature than he expected.
No arrogance.
Clear self-awareness.
Complete trust in the coach’s tactics.
“Good.” Sarri patted his shoulder.
“You’re right.
Stamina is one factor.
But more importantly, kid…”
He leaned in, voice low.
“You are my secret weapon.”
“AC Milan will study our last match.
They will focus on stopping our midfield.
Especially marking you.
But they won’t know how to prepare for you.”
“I want you in the second half.
When their legs are heavy.
When their defensive focus starts to drift.
You go in.
Change the game.
Tear open their defense that will have solidified by then.”
“Understand?
You’re not a substitute.
You’re the hidden card.
The one who decides the match.”
Luca’s heart beat faster.
Not nerves.
The fire of trust and responsibility.
He nodded firmly, eyes bright.
“I understand, coach.
I’ll be ready.”