Chapter 193: The future could wait
Leon sat in the quiet café.
In front of him were two objects that represented two entirely different universes.
On one side, the business card, cool and elegant, a key to a future of Premier League glory, immense pressure, and unimaginable fame. On the other, his sad, cold, forgotten cheeseburger, a symbol of the simple, anonymous joy he had been chasing.
He looked at the card. He looked at the burger. He thought of the roaring crowd at Anfield. He thought of Sofia’s easy, brilliant laugh. He remembered his own decision at the pizza party, his refusal to choose between being a machine and being a man.
The system was trying to force his hand, to make him conform to its rigid logic.
A slow, defiant grin spread across his face. He picked up the business card.
He picked up his burger. He stood up, walked out of the café, and dropped the cold burger into a nearby bin.
Then, he got in his car, placed the Liverpool business card safely in his wallet, and pulled out his phone.
He wasn’t going to let a system, magical or otherwise, dictate his life. He was going to call his agent.
The phone was answered on the first ring by a voice that sounded like a volcano of enthusiasm erupting in a hurricane of espresso.
"LEO! MY GOLDEN GOOSE! MY SHINING STAR!" the voice boomed. It was Marco, his agent, a man who operated at a volume level somewhere between "rock concert" and "jet engine."
"Ciao, Marco," Leon said, laughing. "You sound calm today."
"CALM?! How can I be calm when the world is singing your name? ’Leondona!’ They are calling you Leondona! Do you know what this does for your brand recognition? My phone has not stopped ringing! We have offers for shampoo, for sports cars, for a very confusing Japanese energy drink that tastes like lightning! We are going to be rich, my boy! Richer!"
"That’s great, Marco," Leon said, steering the car towards the training ground. "Listen, I have some actual news for you."
He calmly recounted the meeting with David, the Liverpool scout.
As he spoke, he could practically hear Marco’s brain melting on the other end of the line.
There was a long, uncharacteristic silence.
"Marco? Are you still there? Did you faint?"
"Leo," Marco’s voice was a reverent, awe-struck whisper. "Liverpool. The Reds. They want you. This is it. This is the moment we have worked for. This is the mountaintop!" He suddenly roared back to life. "I will call them now! I will demand a transfer fee so large they will have to sell the city of Liverpool to afford you! We will ask for a private jet, a lifetime supply of tea, a personal friendship with the King!"
"Marco, hey, calm down," Leon said, laughing. "I’m not going anywhere. Not now."
"What?" The deflation in his agent’s voice was comical. "But... but it’s Liverpool!"
"And I am an Inter player," Leon said, his voice firm, clear, and confident. "We have a Scudetto to win. We have four games left. That is the only thing that matters right now. All of this," he said, tapping his wallet, "Liverpool, Real Madrid, the Japanese lightning drink... we will think about it after the season. After we have lifted that trophy. Not a second before."
There was another pause. When Marco spoke again, his voice was different. The cartoonish excitement was gone, replaced by a genuine, professional pride. "You’re right, Leo. Of course you are right. That is a champion’s mentality." He sighed dramatically.
"Okay. I will put the private jet and the friendship with the King on hold. For now. You just focus on your football. Make me even prouder."
"I will," Leon promised. "Talk to you soon, Marco."
He hung up, a profound sense of lightness washing over him.
The weight was gone. The future was a problem for future-Leon. Present-Leon had a training session to get to.
He arrived at Appiano Gentile to the familiar, beautiful symphony of chaos. The players were already on the pitch, warming up, their laughter echoing in the afternoon sun.
The Coppa Italia win and the dramatic draw with Juventus had forged an unbreakable, joyful confidence in the squad.
"He is here!" Julián Álvarez announced, jogging over as Leon was tying his boots. "The man of mystery! Tell me, if you miss a training session but then the team plays well, did you technically help the team by not being there?"
"Julián, if your brain was a pizza, it would be a Hawaiian," Lautaro called out from across the pitch. "Confusing and nobody asked for it."
The squad erupted in laughter. Julián just beamed. "Exactly! Unexpected!"
Leon just shook his head, grinning, and joined the warm-up. He felt at home.
The session was light but focused. Coach Chivu had them working on quick, one-touch passing drills, designed to break down a compact defense. It was all about movement, intelligence, and speed of thought.
"Good, Cole! That’s the pass!" Chivu yelled as Palmer played a clever reverse ball. "Lautaro, sharper! The defender is not going to invite you to shoot! You have to steal the space!"
The players were flying. The ball was a blur. A pass from Barella found Leon, who laid it off first-time to Dimarco. The cross came in, and Lautaro met it with a powerful header that was destined for the top corner, only to be denied by a brilliant, flying save from the backup keeper.
"Unlucky, Captain!" Bastoni yelled. "The crossbar is afraid of you!"
They moved on to shooting drills, the sound of leather on ball a constant, satisfying rhythm. Çalhanoğlu was blasting thunderbolts from distance.
Palmer was curling them into the top corner with effortless grace. Julián tried a rabona that went so high it nearly hit a passing bird, much to the amusement of the entire squad.
Leon felt a pure, uncomplicated joy. This was what mattered. The feel of the ball at his feet. The banter with his teammates. The shared goal.
The future could wait. He was exactly where he was supposed to be.
As the session wound down, the players were laughing, completely relaxed, but with the sharp edge of champions ready for the next battle. They had a five-point lead.
Four games to go. Torino and their ’Triangle’ were next. But they were ready.
That night, as he was getting ready for bed, the events of the day felt like a lifetime ago.
The meeting with the Liverpool scout, the call with his agent, the tactical conundrum of his own future. He had made his choice: to not choose.