Harbinger Of Glory

The dinner was still going when Leo slipped out.

The others were deep in conversation over glasses of wine and whatever else had been opened after Spalletti’s speech, and Leo, who had nothing to drink and hadn’t for the entire evening, caught the eye of one of the staff near the exit and ended up with a large paper cup of juice for the walk back.

He found his room, pressed the keycard against the panel and went in.

After taking his sneakers off, he dropped onto the bed, letting himself fall without support so much so that the bed creaked under his momentum.

He lay there for a while looking at the ceiling.

Then he sat up, drank the juice in five long pulls and picked up his phone.

Goodnight, he sent to Vittoria.

With nothing else to do after that, he fell back onto the bed and waited for sleep, but it didn’t come.

He stared at the ceiling some more and then muttered something about a shower and got up.

And it didn’t take long for sleep to take over him after his shower.

By the next morning, around seven, a heavy fog had settled over Coverciano, sitting low over the complex and the pitches, but through it all was a figure huffing and puffing.

Leo came around the far side of the main pitch at pace, earbuds in at the last stretch of his run, and when he realised that, he pushed through it before coming to a stop near the touchline.

While catching his breath, he began working through a set of warm-up exercises and stretches, and it felt so relieving for him that he spent almost half an hour doing so.

”This is really the best,” he muttered before picking himself off the fogged-up pitch and then making his way back into the accommodation complex.

On his way back inside, he passed two members of the grounds staff working near the entrance.

”Buongiorno,” Leo said as he went by.

Both men looked up, and one of them smiled immediately.

”Buongiorno.”

The other said something Leo only half caught, but the grin that followed made the meaning clear enough.

Leo returned it, exchanged a few words with them, and then continued inside.

A short while later, he was back in his room, showered and changed, sitting by the window with the morning still finding its feet.

Outside, most of the complex remained quiet as behind closed doors and drawn curtains, the majority of the squad were still asleep since by their standards, it was still early.

A couple of hours later, breakfast brought the complex back to life around ten as the players filtered toward the dining hall in various states from the previous night.

Leo walked down beside Carlo and Udogie, who were looking more and more like some eldritch horrors.

”You should have taken it easy,” Leo said as one of them groaned.

A moment later, they made the last turn into the dining hall, and despite the past night’s activities, most of the squad looked functional, which was better than Leo had expected.

Whatever the senior Italy players knew about pacing themselves at these dinners was apparently hard-won knowledge that Carlo and Udogie had not yet acquired.

Through the masses, Leo found an empty cluster of seats near the side and pointed, and the two of them followed without comment.

They lowered themselves into chairs before simultaneously setting their heads on the table.

Leo shook his head at the duo before going to get food.

He was in the buffet line, plate in hand, when a tap came on his shoulder, causing him to turn around.

”You must be Leo,” the man Leo immediately recognised as Sandro Tonali said in Italian.

Leo nodded and freed one hand to shake his. ”Yeah.”

Tonali looked at him with the assessing but friendly attention of a player taking stock of a new teammate.

”Good to meet you.”

After that, he switched to English.

”Your Italian needs work.”

Hearing that, Leo couldn’t help but smile.

”I try,” he said as Tonali laughed while the buffet line continued to move.

”I was lucky enough to watch your team’s game against Chelsea,” he continued as Leo picked some eggs onto his plate.

”If you can bring even half of that to this setup, we might be onto something.”

”I’ll try,” Leo said again, this time in English as Tonali nodded once, satisfied, and moved on.

While the duo had been locked in their conversation, a few ears had heard snippets of their dialogue, and Leo had come to notice after the conversation was done.

When he was done filling his plate, he took it back to his table, where Udogie and Carlo still had their heads on the table.

He’d sat down only for a moment when the door to the dining hall opened, and through it came three people.

The first was an older man with grey hair that Leo placed immediately, Thomasso Piatelli, Marco’s father and the reason he’d even made it to Coverciano the past year and beside him was Luciano Spalletti, while Marco followed right behind.

After slowing to a half, Spalletti looked across the room.

”Good morning,” he said, with the satisfaction of a man whose instructions from the previous evening appeared to have been followed.

His eyes moved to Leo’s table and found Carlo and Udogie, who were doing their best impression of people who were fine.

”Some,” Spalletti said, ”perhaps less so.”

A few players laughed, but it wasn’t that funny for Carlo and Udogie who were occupied with existing.

”We will have our first session this evening,” Spalletti continued. ”Until then, eat. Rest. You’ll need it.”

Leo was already on his feet by the time Spalletti finished, moving toward Thomasso.

The old man saw him coming and opened his arms before Leo had covered half the distance.

Thomasso pulled him into a firm embrace and held it for a second longer than courtesy required.

When he stepped back, his hands remained on Leo’s shoulders as he studied him, as though confirming for himself that the boy standing in front of him was the same one he’d first seen just under a year ago.

”You’re getting manlier by the day,” he said, and then looked up at Leo’s face, which was now considerably further from the ground than it had been when they last met.

”And where is this height coming from?” he continued with a laugh as Leo scratched his head.

After that, Thomasso turned to Spalletti beside him.

”Use him well,” he said as Spalletti smiled.

”I will be sure to do so.”

After that, Thomasso looked back at Leo, his eyes softening a bit.

”Lucio must be smiling in his grave,” he said, though his smile didn’t really reach his eyes.

Leo laughed wryly as he watched the old man shake something from his thoughts.

”Don’t let me disturb you. Get back to eating,” Thomasso said, and patted his arm once and turned and walked off with Marco and Spalletti.

Leo turned back to his table, and when he did, almost every player within eyeline was looking at him with varying degrees of curiosity.

He poised himself and walked back to his seat, where Carlo and Udogie were sprawled in their seats.

”What the hell,” he muttered, and picked up a piece of bread and reached for the butter.