The first thirty-minute block ended.
The whistle blew.
Players drifted to the sidelines, grabbing water and catching their breath.
Jorginho walked over to Luca, who was toweling sweat from his face, and handed him a bottle.
“Here.
Rehydrate.”
“Thanks, João.” Luca took it.
Professional football was ruthless.
But most players did not hold grudges against genuine quality.
Once you proved your value on the pitch, respect followed.
Jorginho’s gesture was acknowledgment.
“Hey, Luca.” Jorginho pointed at Luca’s dark hair, messy from the match.
“That hairstyle.
Tribute to Modric?
Or are you going for Pirlo?”
Luca laughed and shook his hair out.
“I think it’s standard issue for midfield maestros.
Long hair flows when you run.
Helps attract the cameras.”
“Ha!” Jorginho grinned.
“Fair point.
Maybe I should grow mine out.
Might add ten percent to my passing accuracy.”
They sat on the grass, talking about the match.
Jorginho praised Luca’s movement and passing choices.
“Your timing on that run into the half-space.
The switch to Diawara.
Very clear thinking.
Most players train their whole lives and never develop that spatial awareness.”
“You and the others gave me options,” Luca said humbly.
“The way you handle pressure is so calm.
I always worry about getting dispossessed.”
“Experience.
Habit.
Play more high-level matches and it becomes muscle memory.” Jorginho shared freely.
“The most important thing is you have a natural gift for seeing gaps.
That’s the rarest thing.
It’s like…
we’re similar in that way.”
It was high praise.
Two midfielders who played with their brains, communicating easily.
Jorginho was only twenty-three himself, no veteran ego.
The conversation flowed.
Nearby, Sarri stood with a folder, flipping through Luca’s youth academy records.
He glanced up occasionally at the dark-haired boy talking with Jorginho.
The file read:
Luca, 17, Italian.
Napoli youth product.
U15 core.
Led team to Campania regional youth league title.
12 goals, 18 assists.
U16 captain.
Led team to national youth championship semifinals.
Named tournament’s best midfielder.
U17 undisputed core.
Last season: 15 goals, 25 assists from midfield.
Led Napoli U17 to the Serie A youth league title.
Swept best player and best midfielder awards.
Technical assessment: Two-footed.
Close control.
Imaginative passing.
Vision.
Game reading far beyond peers.
Weaknesses: Physical duels, top speed, defensive strength.
Potential rating: S.
“Genius…” Sarri muttered.
Everyone in the top five leagues was a one-in-a-million talent.
But this Luca seemed to stand out even among geniuses.
Seventeen years old, and in his first first-team session, his football IQ and adaptability were striking.
The report said he was more attacking-minded, but he had adapted to defensive duties quickly in the first half.
An idea formed.
Sarri closed the folder and walked over to the three B-team midfielders.
“Second half adjustments.”
He was brief.
“Luca, push higher.
Attacking midfield.
You organize the final third and the last pass.
João, drop deeper.
You and Diawara as a double pivot.
Diawara focuses on screening and recovery.
Luca, I want to see more off-ball movement and late runs into the box.”
Diawara nodded.
No argument.
And Luca had earned more attacking freedom.
Jorginho nodded and patted Luca.
“Go do your thing.
I’ll feed you from behind.”
Luca’s eyes lit up.
Back to his favorite position.
“Understood, coach.”
The second half began.
Team B kicked off.
Striker Giaccherini laid it back to Luca.
Luca received and, without a touch to settle, played a first-time ground pass into winger Rog’s run.
The pass was sharp and flat.
Perfect weight.
Rog controlled comfortably and drove forward.
Luca shifted into attacking midfield mode.
His brain raced.
Playing attacking midfield, especially in Sarri’s system, was exhausting.
Constant off-ball runs to stretch the pitch.
Constant scanning of teammates and opponents.
Constant decisions: pass, shoot, or dribble.
Run more.
See more.
Think more.
But with God’s Eye View, it was effortless.
He did not need to turn his head.
The entire pitch, a live 3D map, was in his mind.
Rog ran into traffic on the wing and recycled the ball to Luca.
Luca received with his back to goal at the edge of the box.
Allan pressed immediately, a tank of a man, using his body.
Hamsik shifted over, cutting off the forward pass.
Body contact.
Luca felt the pressure and knew he could not out-muscle Allan.
He stayed calm.
His right foot dragged the ball left, feinting an inside cut.
Allan bit.
Hamsik closed further.
Just as the trap tightened, Luca’s heel flicked the ball.
Through his own legs.
Along the grass.
Into open space behind.
Jorginho, reading it instantly, arrived and collected the audacious backheel.
“Whoa!”
A low murmur from the sideline.
“Beautiful.
Those two are on the same wavelength.”
The assistant coach was excited.
Team A’s defense had been pulled left, drawn to Luca.
Jorginho had space ahead.
He looked up and launched a forty-meter pass, a guided missile, to Giaccherini on the right.
Giaccherini controlled, faced the recovering defender, and intelligently squared it to Mertens arriving centrally.
Then he continued his run.
Mertens received at the edge of the box, drew Koulibaly, and slipped a through ball toward Giaccherini’s run.
Albiol lunged and intercepted.
The ball deflected.
Not out.
It spun toward the back post.
“Luca!”
The dark-haired boy, who should have been organizing in midfield, had ghosted into the six-yard box.
While everyone watched Mertens, Giaccherini, and Koulibaly, Luca had read the weak side and timed a perfect late run.
The ball bounced toward him, chest-high.
Luca adjusted his body and cushioned it with his chest.
The ball dropped to his feet.
Before the keeper could react, Luca stepped in and side-footed it low.
The ball hugged the grass, past Reina’s diving hand, into the far corner.
Two-nil.
Team B.
Both teams froze.
Heads turned.
Questions on faces.
When did he get there?
Wasn’t he organizing?
Jorginho reacted first.
He raised his arms and sprinted at Luca, leaping onto his back.
“Beautiful!
Perfect run!”
Team B swarmed him, ruffling his hair, slapping his back.
First first-team session.
First time at attacking midfield.
A goal.
A dream start.
Team A’s defenders exchanged looks.
Koulibaly scratched his head.
“Damn.
On the sideline, Sarri added lines to Luca’s page.
“Does this kid have poacher instincts too?
That off-ball awareness.”
He looked at the potential positions listed for Luca: attacking midfield, central midfield, defensive midfield, winger.
“Too many positions,” Sarri muttered, even he finding it absurd.
The match continued.
Team A pushed harder, but Team B held firm.
Two-nil final.
After the whistle, on the way to the locker room, Luca was intercepted by some of Team A’s veterans.
“Not bad, Luca!
First session and you score, making our defense look silly.” Hamsik wrapped an arm around his neck, joking.
“That backheel to João was filthy!
Next time you’re on my team, give me a few of those.” Insigne grinned.
“Welcome to the first team, kid.
Good game.
Italian football has a future.” Even Callejón clapped his shoulder.
Despite the competition, Luca’s performance had earned their initial respect.
In the locker room, after showering and changing, Luca was added to the first-team group chat and exchanged socials with several teammates.
He was being accepted.
He checked the time.
Just past five.
His body was tired, especially from the second-half running, but he felt he had more to give.
The stamina issues and physical disadvantages from the latter stages bothered him.
“Gym.
Strength and core.
Then some running.”
He headed for the fitness room.
In the corridor, he ran into Sarri, who was leaving.
“Coach.”
“Luca.” Sarri nodded.
“Training’s over.
Not resting?”
“I wanted to do some extra work in the gym,” Luca answered honestly.
“The physicality and running today took a lot out of me.
I want to build up my stamina and strength.”
Sarri’s stern expression softened.
He nodded, voice gentler than usual.
“Wanting extra work is good.
But don’t rush.
Tomorrow morning, the club has full medicals and fitness testing.
Body composition analysis.
The fitness coaches will design a personalized strength and conditioning plan based on your data.
Scientific training beats blind extra work.”
He paused.
“Also, tomorrow there are official photos and promotional videos.
For the club website and new season marketing.
Look sharp.”
Luca’s mind flashed to images of star signings holding up jerseys in front of sponsor boards.
“Will there be press interviews?”
Sarri almost smiled.
“Unfortunately, no.
You’re a promoted youth player.
Not Higuain.”
Luca rubbed his nose, embarrassed.
“Oh.”
“But,” Sarri added, a hint of encouragement, “train well.
Take your chances.
Once the season starts, if your name starts appearing in match reports…
then the reporters will come to you.”
He patted Luca’s shoulder and walked toward the parking lot.
Luca followed.
His bike was nearby.
Sarri walked to the front row, center spot, closest to the exit.
He looked at his little car, parked perfectly, and nodded in satisfaction before getting in.
So that was the famous lucky spot.
Great location.
Open view.
Easy in and out.
No wonder he cared.
Sarri rolled down the window.
“Need a ride?”
“No, coach.
I have my bike.
Thank you.”
“All right.
Be careful.
Don’t be late tomorrow.” Sarri drove off smoothly.
Luca watched him go and smiled.
The superstitious old Italian, screaming on the training pitch, but also caring and encouraging.
Not bad at all.
He got on his road bike.
His body was tired, but his mind was full of new things.