Harbinger Of Glory

D’Averna sat for another moment, looking at the pitch below, at the figure of Leo Calderon disappearing toward the tunnel mouth with his teammates.

A moment later, he got to his feet.

He turned to the large man standing a few paces behind him and began to speak, and then stopped himself halfway through the sentence.

”Actually,” he said. ”Stop. I will talk to her myself!”

He smoothed both hands down the front of his jacket, tugged lightly at one cuff, then turned toward the exit.

...

Beneath the stands, the post-match area was already alive.

Television crews shifted cameras into position while photographers hovered nearby, waiting for whichever player emerged next.

Staff members moved between them with familiarity, rolling cables aside and adjusting sponsor boards that had been assembled in a matter of minutes.

One after another, Italian players were intercepted on their walk back toward the dressing room.

Some stopped, others apologised and carried on, but Leo wasn’t given the choice.

”Leo!”

He turned as one of the team’s media officers caught up to him.

”Just two minutes.”

Leo glanced toward the dressing-room entrance before nodding.

”Ah, yes!”

A microphone was clipped neatly beneath the collar of the undershirt he was wearing after somehow giving his shirt away to a rare fan while another member of the crew adjusted the small transmitter at his waist.

After a while, one of the cameramen lifted a thumb.

”Perfect.”

Leo stepped in front of the backdrop, folding his hands loosely behind his back while the crew finished their final checks.

The stadium was still roaring somewhere above them, and it came through the concrete in long, muffled waves as the broadcast began.

”Ready?”

He nodded once, and as soon as he did, the red light came on.

The reporter smiled into the camera before turning toward him.

She began in rapid Italian.

The first few words registered, but the next sentence came much faster.

Leo listened until she finished, then smiled apologetically.

”I’m sorry,” he said in Italian, raising a hand slightly. ”I’m still learning.”

A few members of the crew chuckled as he went on.

”I understand most of it.”

He pinched two fingers together.

”But speaking...” He smiled. ”Speaking still fights me sometimes.”

The reporter laughed before nodding.

”Fair enough.”

She slowed her pace considerably.

”Let’s start with something simple.”

Leo nodded gratefully as the reporter looked at the camera slightly.

”For everyone watching at home who may not know you yet...”

She gestured toward the camera.

”...who is Leo Calderon?”

The question caught him off guard because he’d never really thought about how to answer it.

He looked into the lens for a second before the corner of his mouth lifted.

”Hello, Italy.”

His Italian wasn’t perfect.

Certain vowels still carried traces of Spanish after speaking it at home all these years, while the other sounded unmistakably English, the place where he’d lived his whole life.

”My name is Leo Calderon,” he said with a brief pause as he smiled a little wider.

”And... I hope we’ll get to know each other over the next few years.”

.....

The locker room had almost entirely emptied by the time Leo came back through the door.

It was just a few stragglers finishing up and the kit staff working through the last of the clearing.

He looked around for a bit before walking towards his locker.

After checking his phone slightly, he set it back into the locker before proceeding to take off the last remnants of what he had played the game with.

A moment later, he washed down the dirt from the game and changed into the fresh team tracksuit that had been laid out, taking his time with it, and then picked up his bag and headed for the bus.

By the time the team returned to Coverciano, the kitchen staff had improvised what dinner should have been hours earlier.

Plates of pasta, sandwiches, fruit, pastries and anything else that could be put together quickly covered the tables scattered around the dining hall.

Conversations helped pass the wait a bit as laughter broke out here.

The mood felt lighter than it had been at any point since the international break had begun.

That was some of the things winning tended to do.

Leo ended up sharing a table with Carlo and Udogie, with Barella joining them not long afterwards with a plate in one hand before dropping into the empty chair beside them.

None of them minded.

They had barely settled into conversation when another chair scraped across the floor.

Moise Kean appeared beside Leo, drink in hand and still wearing the smile of a striker who’d finally been rewarded for ninety minutes of work.

He looked at Leo before nodding in gratitude.

”You saved my life tonight.”

”I mean it,” Kean continued. ”If my goal didn’t go in...” He pointed vaguely toward the ceiling. ”...the manager might’ve buried me somewhere outside.”

Carlo laughed.

”You’d have deserved it after the first few misses.”

”I know,” Kean groaned. ”Don’t remind me.”

More laughter spread around the table as Kean shook his head before holding out the drink he’d brought over.

”For the assists.”

Leo looked at it and then at Kean.

Before he could answer, Carlo leaned across the table.

”I wouldn’t bother.”

Kean frowned as he glossed over Leo.

”Why?”

”He doesn’t drink. You might fare better giving him a juicebox or something!”

Kean blinked.

”Really?” he asked as Leo gave a small nod.

”Never?”

Another nod.

”Huh. You are old enough, right?” he said as Leo gave him a final nod.

Kean stared at the bottle for another second before shrugging.

”Fair enough.”

Without another word, he turned and disappeared.

The four remaining players watched him weave through the room before vanishing somewhere toward the catering tables.

”Where’s he going?” Barella asked, stuffing his mouth with a piece of bread and some meat.

”No idea,” Carlo replied, until a few minutes later, Kean returned.

He walked over with complete confidence before placing something carefully in front of Leo.

It was a small juice box, complete with the tiny paper straw taped to the side.

For a second, nobody said anything until Carlo completely lost it.

Udogie folded over the table, laughing while Barella covered his face with his free hand, shoulders shaking.

Leo looked down at the juice box and then back up at Kean, who simply folded his arms.

”There.”

Leo looked at it for another moment with all the seriousness in the world before peeling the straw from the side and pushing it neatly through the foil.

Only then did he look back at Kean.

”Thank you.”

Kean pointed at him.

”Keep assisting me...”

”...and I’ll keep buying those.”

Leo took a sip through the tiny straw.

”I’ll hold you to that.”

That only made the table laugh even harder at the transaction between the two.