Luca recognized him.
The young man from the video he had seen on TikTok.
A foreign student in Naples, scraping by.
His wallet had just been stolen.
Luca walked over and spoke gently in English.
“Hey.
Need help?”
The student and Jose both turned.
The young man blinked at Luca, then recognition flickered.
He had seen this kid in local sports news.
The prodigy.
His face flushed with surprise.
“No, no, it’s nothing.
Just…
my wallet was stolen.” His English was accented but clear.
Jose waved a hand.
“Oh, Luca!
It’s you.
This young man is a student at the university nearby.
Bad luck today.”
Naples was famous for pickpockets.
Luca glanced at the bill on the counter.
Not much.
He pulled out his own cash and handed it to Jose.
“Jose, put his meal on my tab.
And our table too.”
“What?
No, I can’t let you do that.” The student waved his hands frantically.
“It’s fine.
Small favor.” Luca smiled.
“Come watch us play sometime.
Good luck with your studies.”
He did not linger.
He paid the bill and returned to his noisy teammates.
It was a small moment.
He did not think much of it.
The night grew late.
The dinner ended in song and laughter.
Hugs, handshakes, promises to stay in touch.
Luca rode his bike home through the cool Mediterranean night.
The youth academy was behind him.
Ahead was a bigger stage.
A harder one.
He parked, pulled out his keys.
Ding.
The familiar mechanical voice echoed in his mind.
[Host has completed the ‘Youth Team Farewell Match’ and achieved victory.
Performance evaluation in progress…]
[Evaluation complete: Outstanding.]
[Reward: Ability Point x1.]
[Host has used ‘God’s Eye View’ in an official match for the first time and produced a decisive impact.
Hidden achievement unlocked: ‘Commander’s First Flourish.’ Ability Point x5.]
[Additional reward: Random Talent Skill Fragment x1.]
[Note: Talent Skill Fragments can be used to synthesize or upgrade rare talents.
Continue collecting.]
[Current Ability Points: 6.
Allocate attributes now?]
Harvest time was always pleasant.
Sunday.
Luca gave himself a rare day off.
He stayed in his small apartment all day.
He experimented with his ability points first.
He dumped all six into passing.
A midfielder lived and died by his distribution.
Then he watched some first-team match footage.
Mostly, he did nothing.
Rest was preparation for the grind ahead.
He ended the day on Netflix.
Monday.
First team reporting day.
Before dawn, a knock at the door woke him.
He stumbled up, rubbing his hair, wondering who would come this early.
He opened the door.
A round, smiling, bald man stood there.
Mino Raiola.
“Hey, my dear Luca!” Raiola was electric, completely out of place at five in the morning.
“Looks like I interrupted a future star’s beauty sleep.”
Luca rubbed his eyes, still groggy.
He checked his phone.
5:07.
He was not Kobe.
He did not want to see the sunrise.
“…Mino?” Luca said.
“What’s going on?
Why are you up so early?”
“Up?”
Raiola laughed and slipped past him into the apartment with surprising agility.
“No, no, Luca.
I haven’t slept.
The world is beautiful.
Opportunities every minute.
Wasting time on sleep is a crime.”
Luca stared at the energetic man.
A memory surfaced.
This super-agent, the titan of football, had died young in the original timeline.
Overwork.
Health problems.
He closed the door.
“Mino, life isn’t a game.
Even the strongest machine needs maintenance.
You’ll burn out.”
Raiola blinked, then laughed louder and clapped Luca on the shoulder.
“Ha!
You talk like an old Italian man.”
“Listen, Luca.
You’re seventeen.
A player your age, with your name and your face, should be in nightclubs.
Surrounded by beautiful women. New chapters come out on g.com first.
But you?
This place?
It’s clean like a church.
You sleep at ten?
Enjoy life!
With your looks and your future, you could have anyone.”
Luca rolled his eyes.
“Thanks for the advice, Mino.
I prefer sleeping alone.”
Raiola walked into the tiny living room, scanning the spotless space.
“Unbelievable.
A seventeen-year-old Italian boy with a room this tidy?
Luca, are you sure you’re Italian?
Not German?”
Luca ignored him and opened the fridge.
“Want something, Mino?”
“Beer?
Cold, preferably.”
“Water, milk, instant coffee.” Luca shook his head, pulling out the coffee.
“Oh, God.
Instant coffee.” Raiola made a face but took it.
“Fine.
Two sugars, please.”
Luca made two cups.
He leaned against the kitchen doorway, sipping slowly, letting the caffeine chase away the last of his sleep.
Raiola took a sip, frowned, and set the cup aside.
“Business, Luca.
Look at this place.
Too small.
Not fitting for who you’re about to become.
I can arrange a better apartment.
Near the training ground.
Good view.
Security.”
“Thanks, Mino.
Really.” Luca meant it.
“But this is fine.
Quiet.
Cheap.
Close to the base.
When I’ve actually established myself in the first team, we’ll talk.”
He liked the simplicity.
No distractions.
Focus.
“Your call, kid.
You’re the boss.”
Raiola shrugged.
He picked up the contract copy and his expression shifted from casual to razor-sharp.
“Now.
Let’s see what Napoli’s ‘welcome gift’ looks like.”
The next half hour was a masterclass.
Raiola went through every clause, every comma.
He circled problems with his pen, muttering rapid-fire legal and business jargon.
His Italian was fast, clipped, mixed with English.
“Look here.
Playing time guarantee?
Vague.
‘Best efforts’ is meaningless.”
“And this.
Commercial rights split.
How dare they write this?
Do I look like a charity?”
“Five years?
Ha!
They must have been drunk.
Absolutely not.”
“Thirty million release clause?
That’s a price tag to sell you the moment you break out.
This number changes.
It’s about respect.”
Luca watched Raiola fight for every detail and felt a weight lift.
This was why you hired the best.
He listened quietly.
He did not interrupt.
When Raiola finished his first pass, he rubbed his eyes.
“A few points need hard negotiation.
Napoli’s legal team still likes burying little landmines in the fine print.
Don’t worry.
I’ll handle it.”
He glanced at the brightening sky.
“Come on.
Let’s get food.
I can’t negotiate on an empty stomach.
I prefer dinner meetings, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”
They found a family-run breakfast place just opening.
Raiola devoured eggs, bread, and ham like a man who had not eaten in days.
“God.
I don’t remember the last time I had a proper breakfast.”
“What do you usually do at this hour?” Luca asked.
“This hour?” Raiola chewed, talking around his food.
“There’s a club I know.
Should still be going.
Peak hours.
Want to see it?
My treat.”
Luca shook his head.
“Thanks.
I’ll stick with breakfast.”
At eight, they drove to the Castel Volturno training center.
In the main building, only a few staff and early arrivals were around.
By the coffee machine in the lounge, Luca spotted a familiar bald head.
Pepe Reina, the Spanish goalkeeper.
He was chatting and laughing with a physio.
Raiola leaned in, voice low and fast.
“Pepe Reina.
Good guy.
Loyal to Sarri.
Say hello.
Be respectful, but don’t be stiff.”
Reina noticed them.
His eyes lingered on Luca.
Familiar, but he could not place him.
“Morning.
You are…?”
Luca stepped forward.
“Morning, Mr.
Reina.
I’m Luca.
Just promoted from the U17s.
This is my agent, Mino Raiola.”
Raiola gave a professional smile and a nod.
“Luca?”
Reina’s eyes lit up.
He set down his coffee and walked over, clapping Luca on the shoulder.
“That’s why you looked familiar.
Little Pirlo!
I’ve seen your footage.
You can play.
Those passes.
You’ve got the touch.”
He mimed a long ball.
“You’re too kind, Mr.
Reina.
Good to meet you.”
“I’ve seen your games too.
Your goalkeeping.
Impressive.” Luca smiled.
Reina’s warmth was disarming.
“Here to sign?
Sarri mentioned you.”
Reina was helpful, open.
“His office is on the second floor, far end.
But this time of day…”
He checked his watch and grinned.
“He might still be in the parking lot.
Having a friendly discussion with whoever stole his spot.”
Luca blinked.
Reina explained.
“Our coach, Sarri, has a little habit.
He believes he has a fixed, lucky parking space at the club.
If someone parks there, he thinks his whole day is cursed.
He will hunt down the owner until the car is moved.
It’s a morning ritual.”
Reina’s tone was teasing but fond.
Raiola chimed in, showing off his information network.
“From what I know, Sarri’s philosophy is like his old banking days.
Detail, process, attacking organization.
He likes possession.
Building from the back.
Luca, your profile fits him perfectly.”
He was reminding Luca.
Luca nodded.
He had done his homework.
Sarri’s style demanded quick one-touch passing, combinations in the half-spaces.
A midfielder with vision and technique would thrive.
Just then, a tall, lean Italian man in a tracksuit, hair combed meticulously, frameless glasses on his nose, strode in.
Maurizio Sarri.
His eyes landed on Luca and Raiola.
He paused on Raiola for a beat, a flicker of irritation.
Then he looked at Luca, expression softening.
“Luca?
Early.
Did you eat?”
His tone was flat.
Different from the screaming, chain-smoking coach of legend.
Luca answered quickly.
“Good morning, Mr.
Sarri.
I ate.
Actually, I was so excited I barely slept.
Came early.
Hope to make a good impression.”
Raiola raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his lips.
The kid had game.
Sarri almost smiled.
“Relax, kid.
Welcome to the first team.
Come with me.”
He glanced at Raiola.
“You too, Mr.
Raiola.”
Reina mouthed “good luck” to Luca and went back to his coffee.
Sarri’s office was bigger than Domenico’s.
Cleaner.
A whiteboard covered in tactical diagrams.
Stacks of files and video equipment.
He gestured for them to sit, pulled a contract from a drawer, and slid it across.
“This is based on our earlier discussions.
Look it over.
If it’s fine, we can sign today.”
Before Luca could reach for it, Raiola smiled and placed a hand flat on the contract.
“Coach Sarri.
Before we sign, allow me, as Luca’s agent, to propose a few small…
modifications.”
Sarri leaned back.
His gaze moved between Raiola and Luca, settling on Raiola.
“Mino Raiola.
I knew it would be you.
Honestly, I hate agents.
You turn football into a marketplace.”
Raiola’s smile did not waver.