In the tunnel, minutes before entering the pitch.
Sarri suddenly pulled Luca back, signaling him to slow down.
Luca was surprised.
He turned to look at his coach.
Sarri rarely pulled a player aside for a lengthy pre-match talk.
But today, he could not help himself.
Luca had talent, maturity beyond his years.
But he was 17.
This was his first Serie A start.
“Luca,” Sarri said seriously.
“First start.
Don’t be nervous.
Play like you do in training.
Don’t change your game because it’s an official match.”
Luca looked at the old man, usually stern and merciless in his criticism, now fussing like a parent sending a child to an exam.
Warmth spread through his chest.
He nodded.
“I understand, coach.”
Sarri continued.
“Your position is attacking midfield.
That role demands more running than a striker.
You are the bridge between midfield and attack.
If you stop running, the connection breaks.
Our attack stalls.
Remember.
Use your vision.
Use your brain.
Football is a game of the mind.
Your vision is your weapon.
Don’t waste it.”
“I’ll remember.” Luca repeated it seriously.
Sarri patted his shoulder.
Said nothing more.
The players lined up.
The camera found Luca’s face.
Calm.
Focused.
Luca and his teammates huddled, arms around shoulders, a brief shout, then dispersed to their positions.
Palermo kicked off.
The match began.
Luca stood near the edge of the center circle, watching the ball played back.
He took a deep breath.
His eyes sharpened.
He knew better than anyone.
A starting spot was not given.
Not from pity.
It was taken.
Earned.
This match, he would show everyone.
He was not just a super sub.
He could be the core.
From the first minute, everyone sensed something different.
Napoli’s front three: Insigne, Mertens, and Callejón.
Relentless high pressing.
And behind them, Luca joined without hesitation.
Four wolves.
Sprinting.
Pressing.
Cutting passing lanes in Palermo’s half.
Thud.
Through relentless pressing, Palermo’s midfielder was forced to the touchline.
He tried to turn and shield.
As he turned, Luca slid in.
Clean.
Precise.
The ball flew out of play.
The crowd gasped.
Sarri, right there, applauded hard.
“Yes!
That’s it!
Don’t let them breathe!”
Palermo’s coach, De Zerbi, frowned.
Something was wrong.
Napoli was too aggressive.
Like they were on a mission.
The Palermo midfielder picked himself up, looked at his grass-stained shorts, and glared at Luca.
Luca met the stare.
No flinch.
“What are you looking at?”
Play resumed.
Palermo threw the ball in quickly.
But Luca had already positioned himself.
Body firm.
He controlled the first point.
The three forwards made horizontal runs.
The ball fell to Luca.
He did not even settle it.
As it dropped, his heel flicked it.
The ball threaded through defenders, rolling perfectly to the right flank.
Insigne, sprinting.
“What a backheel!
He didn’t even look!
How did he know Insigne was there?”
Insigne took it in stride, drove into the box, feinted past a defender, and crossed.
Mertens arrived.
Clang.
The crossbar.
Mertens grabbed his head, groaning at the sky.
Palermo’s keeper, cold sweat on his brow, leaped to collect the rebound.
“So close!
The crossbar saved Palermo!” The co-commentator chuckled.
“Napoli’s start is ferocious.
Palermo’s defense is still asleep.”
Restart.
The keeper played it to the center-back.
Mertens pressed immediately.
His job: no comfortable passes.
The center-back panicked, passed back to the keeper.
The keeper launched it long.
But Luca had already read the trajectory.
He moved early, jumped ahead of the midfielder, cushioned the ball with his chest, and drove forward.
His reading of the ball’s landing point was unmatched.
No one on the planet understood it better.
He scanned the front.
Teammates’ runs were not ideal.
Palermo’s shape was compact.
A risky pass could be intercepted.
He decided to carry it.
Stretch the defense.
Luca accelerated down the left.
Palermo’s midfielder did not panic.
He signaled the full-back to track Luca.
In his mind, the kid would cross.
Most young playmakers did.
Meanwhile, Mertens, marked tightly after his early warning shot, was shadowed by a center-back.
Luca glanced at the defensive setup.
The gap was huge.
Did they really think he could only pass?
He feinted a sprint to the byline.
The full-back bit, accelerating to block the cross.
Then Luca stopped.
Cut inside.
The defender’s face changed.
He reached out, grabbing Luca’s shirt, trying to drag him down.
But Luca was no longer the skinny kid who had just joined the first team.
The strength training.
The Ibrahimović template.
His core was transformed.
The tug did not unbalance him.
Instead, the defender stumbled and fell.
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