Harbinger Of Glory

The stadium lights glared bright against the early evening sky as the broadcast feed from Rai Sport flickered onto screens across Italy.

The camera panned over the pitch at Stadio Tre Fontane, gliding across the 4000+ capacity stands packed with waving flags and the hum of anticipation.

A graphic slid onto the screen, Italy U21 Starting XI, Formation: 3-5-2—as each player’s name and position appeared in clean white text over clips of them stepping onto the pitch.

Starting in goal was Caprile with Pirola, Viti, and Scalvini forming the back three while Bellanova stayed wide right and Udogie on the left; Rovella, Fagioli, and Vignato patrolling midfield; and up front was Carlo Regutti and Colombo, both looking sharp and focused.

”Buonasera a tutti,” the lead commentator began with a bubbly tone.

”It’s not every day you get to watch a proper U21 international on national television, so if you’re here with us tonight, consider yourself lucky, or maybe, like us, you’re paying your Karma for missing the last few.”

His co-commentator laughed softly in the background.

”Ah, but this is a good one to start with,” the second voice replied.

”This group got some serious talent here. Of course, you’ve got Carlo Regutti, the Manchester City boy who has had the spotlight on him since he was young, and so far, I would say he hasn’t disappointed, making his debut for Pep Guardiola’s side some months ago and has stayed with the senior team, coming off the bench and doing what he does best.”

”They’ve also got Udogie, who’s already signed for Tottenham as of a couple of weeks ago, and Scalvini, one of the best young defenders around currently... I mean, you look at that lineup and it’s no wonder there’s excitement building around this new generation, like it was a few decades ago, with Pirlo, Totti and a few others.”

”Absolutely,” the first added.

”And on the other side, Japan U21, never a dull team. Technically sound, very organised, and they play with this calm confidence that reminds you of the senior side. A few of their players are already being scouted by European clubs, and I think this should be a fascinating test for the Azzurrini.”

The camera then cut to midfield, where both teams stood poised, hands behind their backs, waiting for the referee’s whistle.

The buzz in the stadium settled into a low, nervous hum as a small pocket of Japanese fans, numbering less than 200, roared.

What they lacked though in numbers, though, they made up for in intensity, making the Italians feel their presence even before the match began.

After a while, the whistle blew and Japan kicked off.

Immediately the ball got in play, Italy pressed high, the midfield trio tightening space as Colombo chased down the right-sided defender of the Japanese team.

The ball, however, zipped between Japanese feet, neat, controlled and patient, while Italy’s defensive line shuffled in sync, Scalvini barking out orders, Pirola holding the centre tight.

Within seconds, Italy regained possession through Fagioli, who turned neatly before sliding the ball out wide to Bellanova, already bursting forward.

”Bellanova straight into it,” one of the commentators noted as the wingback galloped up the right flank.

”He’s one of those players who doesn’t need time to warm up to the game, just plug him in and watch him run.”

The ball whipped across midfield to Udogie on the opposite side, drawing a loud cheer from the home crowd as he controlled it with a soft touch before pushing forward.

Rovella was right behind him, orchestrating from deep, calm and composed, pointing and calling for support.

Japan’s press was tidy, but Italy’s rhythm looked fluid.

Vignato dropped between the lines, receiving and turning with quick feet, linking with Carlo, who peeled off his marker to create space.

A few quick passes later, and Italy were knocking around the Japanese half, probing, testing.

”Already you can see the difference in intent,” said the co-commentator.

”Italy are moving the ball quicker than we’ve seen in some of their previous matches. Regutti’s movement off the ball is sharp, and he’s dragging defenders all over.”

Carlo darted into the channel, collected a diagonal pass from Rovella, and tried to whip in a low cross for the midfielders who had now settled into the box together with Colombo, but it deflected out for an early corner.

The crowd responded instantly, clapping and shouting encouragement as Faglioli approached the ball to take the corner.

On the sideline, Baldini stood with his arms crossed, but his expression was approving of what he was seeing.

”Good start for Italy,” the lead commentator said as the corner was set to be taken.

”Our boys have well and truly come to play, though the Japanese aren’t making it easy for them.”

From the Italian bench, Leo watched with his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes locked on the crowded penalty box as Italy started their corner kick routine.

Fagioli now stood over the corner flag, right arm raised, before whipping a curling ball into the air.

The delivery was good, pacing toward the six-yard box where blue shirts surged forward, jostling for position.

Scalvini and Colombo both rose, their eyes on the ball, while a few of the Japanese defenders clung desperately to their shoulders.

But before any contact came, Japan’s keeper, Masato Sasaki, burst through the crowd, timing his leap perfectly.

He soared above everyone, gloves stretched high, and snatched the ball cleanly out of the air.

A sharp whistle cut through the noise as bodies collided beneath him, but Sasaki was already back on his feet.

Without a pause, he launched the ball forward with a throw that cut through the Italian shape like a blade.

The ball bounced toward the left flank, where Joel Chima Fujita, Japan’s captain, was already anticipating it.

He didn’t waste a touch.

With one quick glance up and one fluid swing of his foot, he sent the ball curling into space behind Italy’s backline.

Kobayashi Saito, quick and sharp, read it instantly, darting between Udogie and Pirola to slip it ahead for their striker, Mao Hosoya, who broke clear.

”Danger here for Italy!” one of the commentators shouted as the Japanese number nine sprinted onto the ball.

Caprile rushed off his line, arms spread, eyes locked on Hosoya, but the striker’s touch was delicate and too calm for someone sprinting at that speed.

Just as Caprile was poised to react to whatever shot he thought was coming, Hosoya lifted the ball, a subtle chip that floated over the keeper’s fingertips.

Caprile got the faintest touch, enough to slow it, but not to save it as the ball spun awkwardly toward the goal.

Scalvini, chasing back hard, lunged desperately, stretching every inch of his frame, but the ball kissed the inside of the post and rolled over the line.

And then immediately, the far side of the stands erupted with around two hundred Japanese fans, waving flags and pounding drums, their chants cutting through the stunned silence that hung over the Italian section.

”Brilliant counterattack by Japan!” the lead commentator exclaimed as the replay rolled.

”From defence to goal in four passes! Look at that precision, the throw from Sasaki, the vision from Fujita, and the finish from Hosoya, textbook transition football.”

On the pitch, the Japanese players sprinted toward the corner flag, sliding to the ground in a cluster of blue and white while Sasaki, still at his box, pumped both fists in the air before joining the celebration from afar.

Leo leaned back on the bench, exhaling through his nose, while the rest of the substitutes stayed quiet, eyes fixed on the pitch.

The stadium noise swelled again as the replay showed Caprile’s fingertips grazing the ball.

One-nil to Japan.

And it had only taken a blink.

”Oh, Baldini, who prides himself on his good defensive structure, will not like how easily Italy have conceded.”

The man in question stood at the edge of his technical area, arms crossed tight against his chest as the Japanese players jogged back to their half, still laughing and patting each other on the back.

His jaw tensed, eyes darting over his backline first, Pirola, Scalvini, then Viti, with all three looking uneasy, heads down as they walked toward the halfway line.

Baldini took a few steps forward, cupping his hands around his mouth and then shouting a set of instructions towards Bellanova, from who’s side the goal had come from.

He turned next toward Rovella and Fagioli, who were already talking between themselves.

”Control the rhythm!” he shouted again, stabbing a finger toward the midfield.

”We are not Spanish but you have got to keep the ball better than that.”

The fourth official glanced at him with a half-smile, but Baldini ignored it and stayed on his feet for another few seconds before exhaling and stepping back toward the dugout, dropping down onto his seat, elbows on his knees, eyes still glued to the pitch.

Out on the field, the referee’s whistle pierced the air again. Italy had placed the ball on the centre spot, with Colombo standing over it and Carlo Regutti a few feet to his left, both waiting for the signal.

The rest of the Japanese players had already settled deep into their half, compact and disciplined, ready to defend.

Carlo adjusted his socks, glancing sideways at Colombo, who gave a small nod before the referee pointed toward the Japanese end and then blew his whistle.

”Avanti!” Baldini called again, clapping his hands sharply once from the bench as the ball was rolled backwards to restart the game.