The evening Mediterranean breeze brushed past Luca’s face as he rode his road bike through the lively streets of Naples.
His rented apartment was about fifteen minutes from the Iannello training center.
It was a small suite in an apartment building.
One bedroom, a tiny living room that doubled as a dining area.
But Luca kept it spotless, everything in its place.
Seven hundred euros a month was a charity rate for that neighborhood.
The landlord was a diehard Napoli fan.
When he heard his tenant was the prodigy from the youth academy, he had barely hesitated.
In this city, where football was in the blood, a homegrown hope always got a little extra love from the neighborhood.
Luca parked the bike and unlocked the door.
The furniture was sparse, but enough for a boy focused on football.
He suddenly remembered a video he had seen on TikTok once.
A foreign student in Naples, documenting a tough life, always stressing about rent and exams.
Compared to that, Luca had it easy.
No parents, sure.
But the club supported him.
His environment was stable.
He was lucky.
He shook his head, clearing the thought.
He opened the fridge and pulled out ingredients: a piece of beef, two eggs.
Cooking was simple.
Hot pan, a little olive oil, beef and eggs in.
The sizzle filled the kitchen with a rich aroma.
A pinch of black pepper and sea salt.
High protein.
Simple.
Fast recovery.
He ate quickly, washed the dishes, dried his hands, and pulled the contract copy from his backpack.
He sat at the small table and read carefully.
The terms were clear.
First-team registration.
Role: rotation and substitute player.
Weekly wage jumped from two thousand euros in the youth team to eight thousand.
For a seventeen-year-old who had not proven himself in the top flight, that was a generous starting point.
Contract length extended to five years.
Release clause set at thirty million euros.
“Five years…
that’s a bit long.” Luca rubbed his chin.
In football, a long contract could be security or a cage.
Especially for a young player on the rise.
And the release clause seemed high.
He did not know enough to judge.
He took photos of the key pages and sent them to his agent, Mino Raiola.
[Luca]: Mino, draft contract received.
Take a look at the length and details.
He put the phone aside and sank his consciousness into the FC Football System.
The pale blue screen appeared again.
His lifelike 3D model stood to one side, attributes listed clearly.
Luca scrolled through the panel.
Below the attribute list, he noticed an option: [Bind Character/Template].
It was grayed out.
He tried to select it.
A small line of text appeared: [Template activation or binding conditions not yet met.
Continue exploring.]
“Template?
Like in some novels, where you can bind a legend like Cristiano Ronaldo or Messi?” He guessed, but the system offered nothing more.
He filed it away.
He continued exploring and found faint “+” symbols behind each numerical attribute.
When he focused, he felt a connection.
A stream of information entered his mind: Attributes could be improved through targeted hard training to accumulate proficiency, or by spending ability points directly.
Ability points were earned through…
“matches and related achievements.”
“So matches are the key.” Luca understood.
Training was the foundation.
Matches were the catalyst and reward source.
A sensible design.
The next morning, Saturday, Luca was doing core strength training at home when his phone rang.
The caller ID read Mino Raiola.
“Hey, my dear Luca!” Raiola’s unmistakable voice crackled through the speaker.
Background noise suggested a busy place.
“I saw your contract.
First, congratulations, kid!
First team.
That’s a great first step!”
“Thanks, Mino.” Luca wiped sweat with a towel.
“But listen,” Raiola’s tone shifted, professional and rapid.
“Five years?
No, no, no.
Too long, my boy.
I know you love Napoli.
But we have to be responsible about your career.
Five years from now you’ll be twenty-two.
If your development exceeds expectations, this contract becomes a chain.
Your value will be badly undervalued.
And thirty million release clause?
That’s a joke!”
He paused, voice dropping, tempting.
“Luca, I’ve heard whispers.
Not just Napoli.
Your youth team performances, especially your dominance in the title run last season, have attracted attention.
Arsenal in England.
They’ve always loved technical, creative young midfielders.
If we play our cards right, we could…”
“Mino,” Luca interrupted calmly, voice warm.
“Thank you for the advice.
I understand.
And I trust you’ll fight for the best for me.
But I came up through Napoli’s academy.
The coaches, the teammates, the fans who watched me grow up.
They gave me a chance.
I want to stay.
At least for now, I want to play for Napoli.
That’s my decision.”
Silence for two seconds.
Then Raiola laughed loudly.
“Ha!
All right, all right, Luca.
You’re still the same sentimental kid.
I respect your choice.
I always respect my players’ wishes, especially when they have a mind of their own.
Fine.
We won’t consider other options for now.”
His speed picked up again.
“But the contract details, we fight.
Five years is too long.
Release clause is too low.
Bad for your future.
I’ll fly back to Italy Monday.
I have to be there on signing day.
Trust me, kid.
These clubs are old foxes.
Without an agent in the room, they’ll tie you in knots with complicated clauses and make you think you got a great deal.”
“Leave it to me.
I’ll respect your wish to stay at Napoli while fighting for the best terms.
More reasonable length, better wages, maybe goal and assist bonuses, playing time guarantees.
All negotiable.”
Luca knew Raiola’s reputation for squeezing every euro.
But he also knew the man protected his players fiercely.
“Thank you, Mino.
For always looking after me.”
“You’re a valuable client, Luca.
Your success is my success.
Stay focused.
Train hard.
Especially when you report to the first team next week.
Make a good impression on Sarri.
Leave the rest to me!” Raiola hung up.
Luca put the phone down and checked the calendar.
Saturday.
The team had the morning off, but there was a friendly against Roma U17 in the afternoon.
He had already secured his promotion to the first team, but Domenico had asked him to play this last U17 match.
A farewell, and a chance to help his teammates secure their futures.
Luca also wanted to test God’s Eye View in a real match.
Lunch was another efficient, simple meal.
Then he got back on his road bike, blending into the Naples afternoon sun and streets, heading for the training center.
Iannello Youth Academy, U17 Training Pitch.
When Luca arrived a little after one, the sidelines were busier than usual.
A professional camera was set up in the stands, the operator adjusting the equipment.
It was only a youth match, but with trial players from other clubs involved and several players’ futures on the line, the club would record it for evaluation.
The mood among his teammates was strange.
This could be the last time some of them wore Napoli blue.
Or it could be a stepping stone to something bigger.
No one was late.
Everyone had their gear ready early.
Luca parked and went to the coach’s office to greet Domenico.
“Afternoon, coach.”
“Luca.” Domenico looked at the player he had raised, eyes full of pride and reluctance.
“Last one, Luca.
Honestly, I’m going to miss those wild passing ideas you pitch before every match.
The locker room won’t be the same.”
Luca grinned and patted the bald coach’s sturdy arm.
“Don’t get too sentimental, sir.
The first-team training ground isn’t far.
Come watch anytime.
Or better yet, when I win the title for this club, you have to come celebrate in the locker room.”
“Ha!
Cocky brat.” Domenico laughed and pulled him into a rough one-armed hug.
“I’ll hold you to that.
Now go get ready.
Play well today.
Show those outsiders what you’ve got.”
Luca walked into the locker room.
The stares were obvious.
Envy, sure.
A first-team call-up was every boy’s dream.
But mostly, it was respect.
Over the past two years, Luca’s midfield control and razor-sharp passing had won them countless tough matches.
Playing with him, the ball always arrived at your feet.
Your runs were always seen.
The game felt simpler.
At two in the afternoon, both teams came out to warm up.
Soon, the Roma U17 bus arrived.
A stream of red-and-yellow shirts filed onto the pitch.
It was a friendly, but the air was thick with competition.
After warm-ups, both teams returned to the locker rooms for final preparations.
Domenico stood in the center of the room, tactical board in hand, voice loud and clear.
“Listen up!
4-3-3, double pivot.
Keeper, Gianluca!
Left back, Stefan.
Center backs, Alessandro and Cristian.
Right back, Marco.”
The defenders named sat up straight.
“Three midfielders.
Luca, you’re the attacking mid.
Free role.
Behind you, Daniele and Lorenzo.
You two screen and protect.
Give the ball to Luca.”
“Front line.
Left wing, Federico, use your pace.
Striker, Luigi.
Right wing, Antonio.”
Domenico finished the lineup and scanned every young, tense face.
This starting eleven, aside from Luca, was made up entirely of players whose contracts were expiring.
Luca was in because Domenico did not want to risk a collapse.
“We are the defending champions!
You are the best U17 players in Italy!
Remember what we trained.
Cut out the stupid mistakes.
Move the ball.
Victory will be ours.
Leave everything out there.
For yourselves, and for the teammate next to you.
Ninety minutes.
Understand?”
“Understood, coach!” The locker room roared with fighting spirit.
The chosen players’ faces mixed tension with excitement.
Domenico paused, then dropped the bomb.
“Also, in the stands today, besides our camera, there are scouts from several other clubs.
Maybe Serie B.
Maybe…
foreign clubs.”
A suppressed gasp and murmurs rippled through the room.
Eyes lit up.
Fires ignited in pupils.
A loan or a transfer to a club where they could play real professional football, even in Serie B, was a hundred times better than waiting for a slim chance in the youth team.
It meant exposure, better wages, a brighter future.
“So seize the moment!
Make them notice you!
This is professional football!” Domenico’s words lit the final fuse.
But for every joy, there was a sorrow.
The Napoli youth players who did not make the starting eleven wore sour faces.
They huddled in a corner, muttering bitterly.
“Why them?
Just because their contracts are ending?
We’ve played youth matches for this club for years.
And now, in the important match, we sit?”
“Shh…
keep it down.
I heard the club wants to evaluate the trial players.
See who’s worth signing.”
“But it’s not fair!
We’ve had big matches before.
Where were all these scouts then?
Now they show up, and we’re on the bench…”
“Stop.
That’s football.
Just hope Luca and the others win.
At least don’t embarrass us.”
Luca heard the complaints.
He said nothing.
He just quietly adjusted his shin guards and laces.
He understood their frustration.
But the trial players probably needed this chance more.
He decided that on the pitch, if he had the opportunity, he would feed those trial teammates every good ball he could.
For them, one beautiful shot could change a career.