Harbinger Of Glory

Chapter 110: ”Bonding.”

Leo chuckled again, shaking his head as the video closed.

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, still smiling faintly.

He’d reply later.

Maybe send something equally stupid back just to keep the cycle going, or be the smarter person and end it, but he was more inclined towards the former way.

For now, though, he had to figure out where the cafeteria was.

He looked up from his phone and turned around, glancing at the signs above the hallway intersections.

None of them helped—they were all in Italian.

He rubbed the back of his neck, muttering under his breath, ”Cafeteria... mensa... something like that, right?”

He wasn’t sure if he was saying it correctly, but it was better than wandering aimlessly.

He started down the hallway again, past closed doors and muffled voices from other rooms, hoping he’d eventually find the smell of food or someone kind enough to point him in the right direction.

That was usually how these things went; he never quite knew where he was going, but he figured it out eventually.

Leo wandered through the dimly lit hallways, hands in his pockets, trying to follow the vague directions, but after five solid minutes of aimless walking and a couple of wrong turns, he stopped dead in the middle of the corridor.

”Okay... this is definitely not easy,” he muttered under his breath.

He sighed, turned another corner, and finally spotted someone, a man in a staff jacket, carrying some documents and looking busy.

”Mi scusi,” Leo started awkwardly, his accent clearly foreign.

”Uh... mensa? Cafeteria?”

The man blinked, then smiled faintly, nodding.

”Ah, sì, sì, caffetteria. Down, then right, seconda porta.”

He pointed helpfully, gesturing like he was drawing a map in the air.

Leo grinned, grateful that he had taken the important words in the Italian for dummies book and his short Duolingo sessions seriously.

”Grazie,” he said, his pronunciation rough but understandable.

The man gave him a thumbs up and went on his way, while Leo followed the directions, walking down the hall until he reached a set of double doors.

”Must be this,” he muttered, looking at the plaque beside the door.

The muffled chatter and clinking of plates behind them told him he’d finally found the right place.

He took a breath and pushed the doors open.

The cafeteria was bright and buzzing, with long rows of round tables, players scattered around in small groups, trays clattering as they laughed and talked.

But as Leo stepped inside, the noise dipped ever so slightly.

Heads turned as dozens of eyes, slightly older players mostly, shifted toward him, taking him in from head to toe.

Some just looked curious; others had that assessing stare athletes get when sizing up a new arrival.

Leo froze for half a second, then forced his legs to keep moving.

He tried to look casual, like this was totally normal, like he hadn’t just walked into a room full of people silently asking Who’s that kid?

He found an empty table in the corner, only one other person sitting there, a guy with earbuds in, scrolling through his phone, but as Leo approached, the guy stood up, grabbed his tray, and walked out without a word.

”Well Fuck you too, then,” Leo muttered under his breath before sliding into a seat at the now-empty table.

He unzipped his jacket and pulled out his headset, which he hadn’t realised was still in the pocket of the new tracksuit.

He connected it to his phone and scrolled a bit, letting the screen distract him while the line for dinner started forming near the buffet.

He sat there for a while, pretending to look busy, until the rush of players died down.

When most of them were already seated and eating, he stood up, grabbed a plate, and walked over to the buffet.

There wasn’t much left of the earlier chaos, just the steady shuffle of feet and a few murmured conversations in Italian.

He piled a modest serving of pasta and salad onto his plate and returned to his table, sitting back down and eating quietly.

Halfway through his meal, the cafeteria doors swung open again.

This time, Regutti walked in, same casual confidence, hair slightly messed up like he’d only gotten out of bed minutes ago.

A few players near the middle tables immediately waved him over, calling his name.

He looked around, scanning the room, his gaze briefly pausing on Leo before he turned and made his way to his friends’ table.

Leo looked up for a moment, then back down at his food, chewing thoughtfully.

He wasn’t offended; it wasn’t like they were friends, but there was something about being ignored so effortlessly that made him wish dinner would just end faster.

The room had started to settle again when the doors opened one more time, and Marco stepped in.

His voice carried easily over the chatter.

”Buonasera, ragazzi.”

The conversation quieted as a few heads turned toward him with respect, others with mild indifference.

Leo glanced up too, fork halfway to his mouth, before looking back down and continuing his food.

It’s not like I will get what they are about to talk about, Leo thought as Marco gave the room a once-over before smiling.

”Welcome, everyone. To the regulars, it’s good to see familiar faces. To the first-timers...” He paused, glancing subtly in Leo’s direction.

”Benvenuti.”

Leo, even though he couldn’t get what Marco was saying, felt the weight of several eyes swing his way again, but he kept his head down, pretending to focus on the salad he wasn’t really eating.

Marco went on, explaining that the main coach wouldn’tbe arriving until the first training session in two days’ time.

”Until then,” he said, ”I’ll be handling drills, fitness checks, and team structure. So get your rest, eat properly, and don’t be late for anything,” but the chuckles from the players said they were going to do otherwise.

He looked around the room. ”Questions?”

No one spoke.

The silence lingered for a moment before Marco nodded in approval.

”Good.”

Then his gaze flicked back to Leo, and then in English, ”Leo, see me after you’re done here, alright?”

Leo froze mid-bite, feeling the quiet ripple of curiosity from a few nearby tables.

He nodded quickly.

”Yeah. Sure.”

Marco gave a small smile and walked out, the door swinging shut behind him.

Leo set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, mumbling under his breath, ”Great. ’See me after dinner,’ but doesn’t say where. Love that.”

He poked at his plate again, the corner of his mouth twitching in annoyance.

Around him, the other players had gone back to eating and talking, but Leo’s mind was already running, part of him trying to finish his meal with the other half wondering where the hell Marco wanted him to meet, and mostly just wishing this first night would hurry up and end.

By the time Leo was done eating, most of the players were also done eating, yet none of them seemed in a hurry to leave.

They lounged around their tables, laughing, leaning back in their chairs, shouting across to each other in half-Italian, half-football slang.

It was the kind of comfortable noise that came from familiarity, the kind Leo wasn’t part of yet.

He sat back, done with his food, his fork resting across the empty plate.

For a moment, he just stared at it, then looked around, trying to figure out where the dishes were supposed to go.

Usually, there was some kind of tray station; every club, every camp,had its own system.

But here, it was nothing obvious.

He glanced to his left, then right, watching a few other players still chatting, their plates untouched and their trays still on the table.

No one seemed to be getting up, and that didn’t help him at all.

He frowned, muttering under his breath, ”Alright... where do you people put your dishes?”

His eyes kept scanning until something caught his attention, a wooden sign nailed to a wall about forty meters away, right near the far end of the cafeteria.

The word painted across it read: ”Posate Sporche.”

He squinted.

”Posate what now?”

Pulling his phone from his pocket, he opened Google Images, snapped a quick picture of the sign, and waited.

Within seconds, the translation popped up on the screen.

He read it quietly: ”Dirty utensils.”

”Oh,” he muttered, nodding like he’d just solved a mystery. ”Right. That makes sense.”

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Leo pushed his chair back.

The wooden legs scraped against the tiled floor, a sharp, echoing sound that drew a few glances his way.

He froze for half a second, feeling the eyes on him, quick, curious looks from the older players who didn’t say anything but definitely noticed him.

Then, pretending not to care, he lifted his tray and started walking.

His sneakers squeaked softly as he crossed the cafeteria, passing tables still buzzing with laughter and stories he didn’t understand.

When he reached the board, he spotted the stack of trays and bins arranged neatly underneath.

He slid his plate and cutlery in carefully, making sure not to make a mess, old habits drilled in from his time in academy life.

”Grazie,” he murmured under his breath to no one in particular, dusting his hands off.

Then he turned back toward the hall, heading for the door where, outside, the night’s next challenge was set: find Marco before he accidentally wandered into somewhere he wasn’t supposed to.

A/N: Hi guys, Art here. For those of you talking about the Duolingo AI-first initiative by their company, it wasn’t a thing back in 2022, so I do not want them coming for me, saying it is now going to be shit. I haven’t used it much to understand what is up with it.