The next day.
Luca arrived at Vesuvio Outdoor’s headquarters for the endorsement shoot.
The brand owner was a Naples local in his fifties, beer-bellied, with a warm, honest smile.
A signed Maradona jersey hung in his office.
He greeted Luca enthusiastically, pumping his hand.
“Welcome, welcome!
Our Napoli hero!
It’s an honor to have you endorse us!”
The shoot went smoothly.
Luca changed into several windbreakers in different colors, following the photographer’s direction.
Standing on a rooftop overlooking the harbor.
Leaning against a vintage motorcycle, smiling down.
Wearing a hiking backpack, posed as if about to set off on a trail.
His camera presence was surprisingly good.
The photographer praised him repeatedly.
After the shoot, the owner produced a brand new number 66 jersey, rubbing his hands nervously.
“Luca, could you…
sign this for me too?
My son is a huge fan.
When he heard you were endorsing our clothes, he couldn’t sleep all night!”
Luca took the pen and signed, adding a short message.
The owner beamed.
“Luca, happy to work with you!
Besides the contracted 200,000, I’ll add another 100,000 personally.
A small contribution to Napoli’s future king!”
Luca was surprised but did not refuse.
He thanked him sincerely.
300,000 euros.
A significant sum for someone just starting to earn.
After the shoot, Luca looked at the sample photos the photographer sent.
He scrolled through a few and had to admit it.
He looked good.
The windbreakers’ cut complemented his increasingly solid frame.
Combined with his slightly melancholic eyes, the overall effect had a fashion magazine quality.
“Tch.” Luca muttered narcissistically at his phone.
“My face is not inferior to Pirlo or Kaka.”
He posted a few photos to his social media with a caption.
“New gear, new journey.
#VesuvioOutdoor
#ForzaNapoli”
Within minutes, likes and comments exploded.
Female fans were especially enthusiastic.
“Husband looks good in anything!”
“I’m buying this windbreaker!”
“Luca, look at me!
I’m from Asia!”
Luca scrolled and smiled, not replying to each one.
With this money, Luca began considering improving his living situation.
His current apartment was familiar, but too small.
And with his rising fame, privacy had become a concern.
He decided to rent a larger place with better security.
He also wanted to hire a professional nutritionist or sports nutrition consultant to help plan his diet scientifically, making his physical development more systematic.
He picked up his phone to call Raiola.
This kind of thing was the well-connected agent’s specialty.
Then he noticed a message from last night.
Sender: Uncle.
The message was short.
One line.
“Keep going, Luca.
I’m proud of you.”
Luca stared at the screen for a long time.
After his parents died, his uncle Capela had taken on the responsibility of raising him.
His uncle’s wages were low, with three children of his own.
But every month, without fail, he sent Luca a few hundred euros.
The amounts were never round numbers.
Luca knew.
His uncle scraped them together from an already tight budget.
Later, when Luca signed a professional youth contract and had his own income, he stopped accepting his uncle’s money.
But he never forgot the debt.
He took a deep breath and pressed call.
The phone rang a few times.
Connected.
Neither spoke.
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
The awkwardness of long-unspoken connection.
“Uncle…
it’s me.
Luca.”
“Mm.”
“I know.”
Another short silence.
Luca said, “I have some tickets.
Home match seats.
Do you have time to come to Naples?
Don’t worry about travel or accommodation.
I’ll arrange it.”
The line was quiet for a long time.
Then he heard his uncle’s soft “Mm.”
No pleasantries.
No emotional speeches.
The two-week international break ended.
Napoli’s players returned from their holidays and reconvened at Castel Volturno.
Luca had also completed his move.
The new apartment was in a quiet, secure neighborhood in central Naples.
Tight security.
Good privacy.
The rent was high, but for someone earning 100,000 euros a week, it was no burden.
On moving day, he took one last look at the small apartment that had accompanied him through his entire youth academy years.
The room was spotless.
Furniture in place.
Floors gleaming.
He left a signed number 66 jersey on the coffee table, with a note.
“Dear Landlord, thank you for your care all these years.
This jersey is a memento.
May Napoli always have good fortune.
— Luca.”
He closed the door softly.
Did not look back.
He had considered buying the apartment.
Too many memories.
But he gave up the idea.
A house is for living.
He was leaving.
The next dream-chasing kid would move in and start his own story.
That was good.
Besides moving, Luca, accompanied by Raiola, signed a new contract with Napoli.
After several rounds of negotiation, the final terms: weekly wage raised from 20,000 to 100,000 euros.
Contract length unchanged at three years.
Release clause raised from 30 million to 50 million euros.
De Laurentiis was satisfied.
He had not locked Luca down long-term, but 50 million was enough for a big payday.
Luca signed and felt more settled.
With all players back, training resumed.
Everyone quickly noticed a clear change.
Luca’s role in the tactical system had visibly risen.
Sarri spent an entire afternoon drawing on the whiteboard, finalizing a new tactical plan.
In the 4-3-3, Luca was officially the team’s attacking organizer.
Central, advanced.
Responsible for the final third and the last pass.
Jorginho dropped slightly deeper.
The deep-lying hub.
Receiving from the defense.
Transitioning.
Distributing.
Captain Hamsik’s role shifted.
More midfield interceptions.
Screening.
The dirty work.
Protecting Luca and Jorginho.
The three formed a clear midfield triangle.
Luca organizing ahead.
Jorginho dictating from deep.
Hamsik shielding in between.
After two days of training, everyone had to admit it.
The plan worked.
Luca’s performance at attacking midfield won the team’s recognition.
Out wide or centrally, he always found the right outlet, delivered the ball to the most dangerous spots.
Professional players were sharp.
Much did not need to be said.
Everyone knew.
The weekend away match against Palermo.
Luca would likely start.
Sarri had not officially announced the lineup, but the training patterns and tactical emphasis made it clear.
No wall was impermeable.
Media had picked up clues from Napoli’s open training sessions.
Luca always wore the yellow bib of the starters in scrimmages.
Sarri often pulled him aside for individual tactical talks.
Even corner kicks were being tilted toward him.
That evening, on Sky Sport Italia’s Tonight’s Match.
“I’m Paolo Di Canio!”
“I’m Luca Marchetti!”
The show began as usual.
The screen showed the weekend’s Serie A preview.
Marchetti opened.
“Tonight we look ahead to Napoli’s away match at Palermo.
According to insider information, the young Luca, who dazzled off the bench last round, is very likely to make his first Serie A start.”
Di Canio perked up immediately.
Since his reverse-jinx of Luca had unexpectedly generated massive traffic and buzz, his career had found a second wind.
The show’s ratings climbed because of his big mouth.
He was happy to keep playing the “number one Luca hater.”
“Luca?” Di Canio tilted his head, feigning confusion.
“Who?
I don’t remember that name.”
Marchetti stared at his co-host, speechless.
“…Paolo, you spent an entire episode last week trashing him.”
“Oh, you mean the kid the Napoli media hypes to the heavens!” Di Canio slapped his forehead, pretending to remember, then waved dismissively.
“Two matches.
Hasn’t even completed a full 90 minutes.
And they’re calling him the new Pirlo?
I don’t understand why Napoli people get so excited so easily.”
Marchetti coughed and cut in.
“Cough.
Regardless, let’s wait and see.
If Luca does start, it will be his first Serie A appearance as a starter.”
September 11, Sicily, Stadio Renzo Barbera.
Napoli away at Palermo.
Palermo, the only Serie A team in Sicily’s capital, had hovered near relegation for seasons.
Not a strong side.
For a title-chasing Napoli, a chance to grab points.
In the pre-match locker room, Sarri stood before the tactics board, scanning the squad.
“Today’s opponent is not strong, but I don’t want anyone relaxing.” His voice was low but carried unquestionable weight.
“We control this match from the first minute.
We destroy them with our attack.”
He picked up the marker and wrote the starting lineup.
Goalkeeper: Pepe Reina
Defenders: Elseid Hysaj, Raúl Albiol, Kalidou Koulibaly, Faouzi Ghoulam
Midfielders: Luca, Jorginho, Marek Hamsik
Forwards: José Callejón, Dries Mertens, Lorenzo Insigne
Sarri wrote the last name, put down the marker, and turned.
“That is today’s starting eleven.”
The locker room went quiet for a beat.
Then Sarri spoke again.
“Luca.
You start today.”
He picked up the marker and drew a hard circle around the central position in the 4-3-3 diagram.
“You play attacking midfield.
Behind Mertens.
The attack starts with you.”
Luca looked up, met Sarri’s gaze, and nodded firmly.
Sarri swept the room.
His tone was decisive.
“Today we have one task.
Attack.
Tell them with goals.
Napoli is not here to make up the numbers this season.”
A low murmur of agreement rippled through the room.
Fighting spirit filled the air.
Luca bent down, tightened his laces, and took a deep breath.
First start.
Serie A, here I come.