Harbinger Of Glory

”I think I ate something wrong during dinner.”

”Who do you think gets into the starting 11?”

”Well, Carlo does, I think.”

These whisps of conversations flew about in the tactical room, just a room full of players waiting to know where they stood in the new manager’s order.

Marco stepped forward with the lineup sheet in his hand, gave the room a quick look, then started talking.

”England are strong in transition,” he said.

”They press aggressively when you lose the ball, and they like to overload the wings. So we’re setting up in a structure that lets us control the middle and protect the spaces they like to attack.”

The players in the room just nodded, while Marco continued.

”We’ll use a 3-1-4-2.”

He read the first name.

”Plizzari in goal.”

Plizzari nodded once, though there was a hint of a smile in his expression.

”Back line will be Caleb Okolo on the right, Scalvini in the middle and Parisi on the left, but the trio will ultimately just be the 3 back.”

The three of them shared small smiles, the kind that said they were expecting it but still appreciated hearing it confirmed.

Marco continued.

”So for this match, our single pivot is Leo, and I am sure most of you know why by now.”

A soft wave went through the room.

Not surprise, but more like in agreement.

Every time Leo had been put into a session, he’d made an impact one way or the other.

And that, with his ridiculous ability to get out of tight situations, it was always a given.

Leo, in the seats at the end, straightened a little and nodded, catching his name and enough context to know he was starting.

He caught one or two teammates giving him encouraging looks and returned them even if he couldn’t follow the full explanation.

”Now the four in front of him,” Marco said. ”Ricci and Miretti inside with Bove on the left and then Cambiaso on the right.”

Each one of them acknowledged it in their own way as Marco moved on, glancing at the players who now knew their positions in the squad.

”And the front two, this time will be,” Marco said. ”Cambiaghi and Regutti.”

Cambiaghi tapped his thigh once, while Carlo just turned towards Udogie on his side, with the latter rolling his eyes at his actions, while Carlo continued to rub it in.

Marco lowered the sheet slightly and looked around.

”That’s the starting eleven. These are the players we’re going with tomorrow.”

The room shifted with a few chair movements and some quiet exhaling, but no complaints.

It was a group that understood competition.

”This is my first match in charge,” he said, setting down the paper in his hand.

”I picked this lineup because I think it fits what we need to beat England, at least from what I have seen with you guys. If you’re not starting, it doesn’t mean you don’t matter. It means there’s someone else doing something better than you right now, or maybe the profile works better for this game, or maybe it’s just unlucky timing.”

He let that sit for a moment.

”But I’m not going to hesitate to make changes. If someone struggles, I’ll fix it. So the bench needs to be sharp and ready. If you come on, I expect you to lift the team, not blend in.”

There were nods all around the room as Marco turned towards the folder behind him.

”That’s all for tonight. Get your recovery done, get your rest, and be ready.”

Chairs flipped closed afterwards as the players began filing out in small groups.

A few exchanged comments about roles or matchups, and others headed straight for the door without talking.

Leo lingered for a moment, watching the board with his name at the base of the midfield four, before walking towards the exit of the meeting room.

He had barely stepped out of the meeting room and into the corridor when his phone buzzed.

He checked the caller ID, leaned against the wall, and picked up.

Noah Sarin’s voice came through before Leo could even say hello.

”How’s camp treating ya’,” Noah questioned while Leo just shrugged.

”It’s okay. Just working hard every day. I got into the lineups for our game against England U21S, by the way.”

Noah just snorted over the side.

”Well, it wasn’t really in doubt after your performance against Japan, but I’m glad the new coach is taking note of you. Congratulations, though. First, start with the U21S. This is how it begins, you know. Baby steps. Give it a few years, and you could end up an icon for Italy if you decide to stay with them.”

Leo huffed out a laugh as he made his way towards his room first.

”I’ll take the baby steps for now.”

”You should,” Sarin said.

”How are you seeing the squad so far?”

Leo shifted his shoulder as a few players walked past him toward the hallway.

”It’s alright. Everyone keeps to themselves a bit. I get it, though. I barely speak the language. I’ve learned a few words here and there, mostly stuff they use in training or tactics, so I’m not completely lost.”

”That’s normal,” Sarin said.

”If you want to work on it properly when you’re back, we can set up something. I’m fluent, so I can help. Or we get a proper tutor to drill it into your head.”

”Yeah. That’d be good,” Leo said quietly before Noah’s voice came through again.

”Alright,” Sarin said, his voice settling into something warm. ”Get some sleep. Sort of a big day tomorrow.”

Leo lowered the phone from his ear just as the call ended and the screen lit up in his hand.

A notification blinked across his feed.

Someone(Carlo) had tagged him in a photo taken outside, down on the pitches.

He opened it, and in it were the training fields at Coverciano, glowing under the night lights, the grass almost silver in the flooding brightness.

Leo stared at it for a moment, saved it to his gallery, and made the left towards his room, before coming right back out after a few minutes and then heading back down for dinner.

The next afternoon felt cooler than usual when Leo stepped out of the accommodation wing with a bag slung over his shoulder.

He made his way toward the team bus waiting outside the accommodation block, where a few of the boys were already in their seats, dozing or scrolling through their phones, the usual mood when it was matchday.

Leo found a spot near the middle, set his bag down, and glanced out the window.

Marco was the last to board.

He paused in the aisle, eyes moving from row to row as he checked if everyone was settled.

Once he seemed satisfied, he nodded to himself and took his seat near the front.

A moment later, the engine rumbled and the bus pulled away from the complex.

Rome drifted by in pieces.

Narrow streets, afternoon traffic, and people slowing for a better look as the coach rolled past with the FIGC crest printed along its side.

A few waved.

Some just stared, trying to see who was inside.

The drive didn’t take too long.

Soon, the curve of the Stadio Flaminio appeared between trees and old buildings, its wide bowl structure opening toward the road.

Even from the outside, it looked ready for noise.

Inside the gates, the atmosphere changed.

Staff moved in and out of the tunnel, and signs of England’s arrival were already being arranged.

Still, Italy’s bus pulled in first, and the players unloaded next.

Immediately they got to the dressing room, Marco made the players start changing.

Leo laced his boots, pulled on his warm-up kit, and followed the rest of the squad back outside onto the pitch, which stretched in front of them under the afternoon sun, the stands already holding a scattering of early fans.

Music drifted from the speakers as they went through passing drills and stretches, loosening muscles, getting their lungs working.

By the time they finished, the stadium was half full.

The players headed back inside into their dressing room, where Marco stood waiting near the door, hands clasped behind his back.

When the room settled, he spoke plainly.

”You’ve prepared well. You know what we want to do. No excuses today. Trust your roles and trust each other.”

The players nodded as their pre-game rituals came to an end.

Leo kept his eyes on the floor for a moment, steadying himself, then straightened when a staff member called for them to line up in the tunnel.

England’s squad, set and ready, filed in beside them in their line, their boots clicking across the concrete as stewards checked the last of their equipment.

The match officials soon followed, and when the signal came, the Italian players stepped forward.

Leo walked out with the others, the noise sweeping over them as the stadium filled even more.

”Welcome to the Stadio Flaminio,” the announcer roared as the players of both nations filed to a halt in front of the crowd.