Harbinger Of Glory

Standing at the back of the huddle, Leo listened and watched, and after a few names, he began to understand the shape of it.

The established players, the ones who had been here for several cycles, went to the green bibs.

Names like Jorginho, Bastoni and Donnarumma.

Players who had earned their standing in this squad over time and in tournaments.

But it wasn’t really consistent, and the reason for that was that the red bibs went to players a step below that, and in that, Bonnuci, a player of major standing in Italian football, could be found, as well as other players like Barella, Zaniolo and Raspadori.

”Must be the importance of the player to him,” Leo muttered to himself as Spalletti moved onto the next category, which was the white ones.

In that, Leo heard his name and went to the bin and took a white bib and found himself standing with Carlo, Udogie, Gnonto, Pessina, a cluster of players who were either new to the senior setup or returning after time away from it.

After that, Spalletti looked at the three groups and then began addressing them again.

”What you are wearing, if you haven’t already noticed, are the colours of your nation,” he said.

”They also tell you where you stand right now in this squad. Green is the standard we’re working toward. Red is close. White means you’re on your way.”

He spoke as he looked along the white bibs specifically.

”Your performances in each session determine whether that changes, but it won’t end after you leave the camp.

This means that each performance outside this camp will be watched by us, and graded on what colour to give you when you return the next time or whether there will even be a next time for you.”

After seeing his words go through, he told them to break off with the positional coaches, and immediately, the huddle dissolved.

Leo, who still had his bib in hand, was pulling it on when he heard a stretch of Italian words go by his ear, forcing him to put it on quickly to see who that was.

”Thought they were giving you a green one, president’s son,” were the Italian words, said quietly.

And the way it was said was such that it seemed aimed at Leo without quite being at him, the coward’s angle of someone who wants to be heard without being accountable for being heard.

When Leo pulled his bib down, Vivana Perlotta was already walking away.

Still, Leo caught about half of it, enough for the body language to fill in the rest, and turned to Carlo, who had caught all of it.

”What did he say?” Leo said in English.

Carlo, who had heard it and currently had his gaze on Perlotta, told Leo what the former had said.

After that, Leo couldn’t help but glance once again in Pessina’s direction for a moment.

”Who hurt him?” he said, turned and walked toward the coaches.

Unlike what the players expected, there was no work with the ball in the session.

It seemed like all the balls in their nets were just a front as the whole session was fitness, pure and undecorated.

It was the sort of session that exposed players.

The intensity never really dropped, and neither did the demands, but Leo pushed through it without much trouble.

The work he’d done over the past year showed.

From Thompson’s conditioning sessions to Dawson’s double days and the long stretches of football with barely any rest between them.

When the pace stayed high and the legs started getting heavy, he was still moving comfortably and looking like he could go for at least an hour more without breaking a sweat.

A while later, the whistle came, bringing the session to a halt as Spalletti looked at his players, or the ones that were sprawled across the pitch.

”I’ve seen enough to know there’s quality here,” Spalletti said.

”There’s talent in this group, and I guess that is why you are here, but for what’s to come, that alone might not be enough.

”So don’t get comfortable. I want you to recover as much as you can tonight and enjoy your dinner.”

”Tomorrow morning, we are all going on another run.”

After saying that, he could see the looks of groans, more than the sounds of them, but nobody voiced out anything.

Spalletti then turned and headed toward the tunnel, his staff falling in behind him while the players remained where they were, catching their breath and quietly turning over what had just been said.

It didn’t take too long for that spell to break as conversations started up again.

One by one, they drifted off the pitch and toward the tunnel for what the evening was going to bring.

...

Leo was getting fed up when Jake’s voice burst through the phone again.

”I’m telling you, that second goal was ridiculous.”

Despite setting it some distance away, he could still hear the former like he was right up in his ears.

”You were six yards out, and it was a tap-in.”

”No, I am talking about the movement leading up to that. God, I looked good in that run.”

”It was elite movement. You should’ve seen their centre-back after the game. He looked traumatised.”

Leo could practically hear the grin through the phone.

”I think Dawson finally understands what he has on his hands with me.”

Before Jake could gloat again, a knock came on Leo’s door.

Leo stood up and went to unlock it as Carlo stepped inside, already changed for dinner.

”Who’s that?” a voice Carlo recognised as Jake’s said from Leo’s phone as Carlo walked forward.

”Good to meet you too,” Carlo said as Jake switched the call from a voice call to a video chat.

”Bruh, did you watch the game yesterday?” Jake started before Carlo shook his head and tossed the phone onto Leo’s bed.

”Hello!”

”Anyone? You people are just jealous,” Jake’s voice from the phone muffled under the covers before it went silent a while later.

”I am afraid to even pick up the phone,” Leo said as he did just that and slid the phone into his pocket, right as Udogie appeared at the door they hadn’t closed.

”Ready to go, lovebirds,” he said as he met the same weirded-out expression from Leo and Carlo, before the two went past him with Leo shutting the door behind him.