Chapter 205: Effect
The San Siro dressing room was a sanctuary of joyous, exhausted relief.
The players, caked in mud and sweat, were draped over the benches, a beautiful, chaotic mess of blue and black.
"I am officially retiring from my career as a mosquito," Julián Álvarez announced to the room, peeling off his sweaty jersey. "My work is done. The enemy has been annoyed. I will now be accepting applications for my next tactical role. I am thinking of being a ’surprise high-five’ or perhaps a ’confusingly placed water bottle’."
"I’ll vote for the water bottle," Lautaro Martínez called out from the physio’s table, where he was getting his ankle wrapped in a mountain of ice.
He had a proud, pained grin on his face. "It’s definitely less annoying than you are."
"But is it as effective?" Julián shot back, and the room erupted in laughter.
Coach Chivu walked in, a single, satisfied nod on his face.
"Good work," he said, his voice a low, proud rumble. "You were smart. You were ruthless. You played like a team that deserves to be champions." He looked around the room, his gaze settling on each player. "One more. One more war to win. Rest. Recover. On Monday, we prepare for Lazio. Tonight... you have earned your peace."
He turned and left, leaving a room filled with a profound sense of unity. They were one game away.
The players began to filter out of the stadium an hour later, showered and changed, the adrenaline of the match replaced by a deep, contented weariness.
They walked to the players’ car park, a tight-knit group of brothers, their chatter and laughter echoing in the quiet night.
"My legs have turned to stone," Dimarco groaned, stretching theatrically.
"At least you have legs," Lautaro grumbled good-naturedly, leaning on a teammate for support as he limped towards his car. "Mine is currently a giant, angry ice cube."
Leon said his goodnights, a chorus of "See you Monday, Leo!" following him as he walked to his own car. He was exhausted, but his heart was full.
He thought of the two women he knew were waiting for him at home: his mother, with her victory lasagna, and Sofia, with her easy, brilliant smile. The thought made him walk a little faster.
He clicked the unlock button on his keys, and the car’s interior lights blinked on. He pulled open the driver’s side door and stopped dead, his heart doing a surprised little flip.
Sitting in his passenger seat, a patient, amused smile on her face, was Sofia.
"Hi, footballer," she said, her eyes sparkling in the dim light.
"Your security is terrible, by the way. You just left the car unlocked for me."
He just stared at her, a slow, ridiculously happy grin spreading across his face. "I... uh... I was hoping you’d be here," he stammered, which was a complete and utter lie, but it felt true.
"Of course I was here," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I couldn’t exactly leave with my dad, could I? That would be a little awkward. ’Great game, son-in-law-I-threatened-to-murder, now please pass the aux cord.’"
Leon burst out laughing, the last of his post-match tension melting away.
He slid into the driver’s seat, the car suddenly feeling less like a mode of transport and more like a private, perfect little world.
"You were incredible today," she said, her voice soft and sincere as he pulled out of the car park. "That last goal... it wasn’t just skill. It was... smart. Really smart."
"I had good motivation," he said, glancing at her. "I had to win so I could get home to see my mom. And you."
The moment they walked through the door of his apartment, they were enveloped in the warm, glorious smell of simmering ragu and a hug from an overjoyed Elena.
"Sofia! Benvenuta!" his mother exclaimed, pulling her into a warm embrace.
"I was watching! My heart! When that big clumsy boy made a mistake, I nearly fainted! But my Leon, he saved the day! And your Cole Palmer! So calm! Like an English gentleman!"
"It’s so lovely to see you again, Elena," Sofia said, laughing, completely at ease with the whirlwind of maternal energy.
"Go, go," Elena said, shooing Leon towards his room. "Go and wash. You smell like a dirty sock that has been running for ninety minutes. We will talk."
Leon grinned, happy to escape the impending flood of embarrassing childhood stories he was sure his mother was about to unleash.
He went to the bathroom, the sound of their easy, cheerful chatter a warm, comforting backdrop. He took a quick shower, the hot water washing away the last of the game’s aches and pains. He looked at himself in the mirror, at the ridiculous white hair that was now starting to feel like a part of him, and felt a profound sense of peace.
He pulled on a simple, comfortable black hoodie and a pair of gray sweatpants.
When he walked back out, he found his mother and Sofia sitting at the kitchen table, deep in conversation, a plate of fresh bruschetta between them.
They looked up as he entered, and they both had the exact same warm, happy, slightly mischievous smile on their faces.
"We were just discussing your technique for scoring goals," his mother said, her eyes twinkling.
"And I was saying," Sofia added, picking up a piece of bruschetta, "that it’s very similar to the High Renaissance technique of ’sfumato’, the blending of tones to create a soft, hazy effect."
Leon just stared at them. "You were... you were not talking about that at all, were you?"
"No," his mother said cheerfully. "We were talking about the time you tried to dye your hair blue with a marker pen. Now, sit. You must be starving. After you eat, we are celebrating."
"Celebrating?" he asked, confused. "Mom, we have the biggest game of our lives in a week."
"Exactly," she said, a determined look on her face.
"Tonight, we do not think about that. Tonight, we are a family. We are going to Giuseppe’s. We are going to eat pizza until we cannot move. It is a mother’s order."
An hour later, the three of them were squeezed into a booth at the back of the cozy, bustling pizzeria. It was a perfect, normal, happy evening.
They shared a giant pizza, they laughed at Elena’s stories, and for a few blissful hours, Leon completely forgot about the pressures of the Scudetto, of Liverpool, of Barcelona, of everything.
He was just a son, and a boy on a date with a girl he really, really liked.
As they were getting ready to leave, Sofia reached into her bag.
"I have something for you," she said, her expression a little shy. She pulled out a small, simple bracelet. It was made of braided black leather, with a single, small, silver bead in the center.
"It’s... it’s not much," she said, looking down.
"My dad, he’s very superstitious. Before a big game, he always has a lucky charm. It’s silly, I know, but... I thought you should have one too. For the final."
Leon was speechless. He took the bracelet.
It was simple, and it was perfect.
"Thank you, Sofia," he said, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. "I love it."
He slipped it onto his wrist. The leather was cool against his skin. A
s the simple silver bead settled into place, a new, unexpected notification flashed in his Vision, a line of text he had never seen before, glowing with a soft, warm, golden light.
[New Item Equipped: ’Sofia’s Charm’]
[Item Type: Personal Keepsake]
[Effect: Grants the passive skill ’Unshakeable Heart’. User is now immune to all negative mental status effects caused by in-game pressure (e.g., ’Anxiety’, ’Doubt’, ’Despair’).]