The score was 2-0. Seventy minutes on the clock.
My heart was a drum, beating a frantic rhythm of panic and frustration.
The stadium, once a symphony of cheering, was now a low, nervous murmur.
Roma had taken control, their defense a red and yellow wall, their counter-attacks like lightning.
I could feel the montum slipping away, the weight of the world Barella had warned about settling back onto my shoulders.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside.
The Vision, which had been a clear, golden language just monts before, was now a chaotic blur of symbols and colors.
It was too much. I was trying to process every possible action, every potential move, and it was paralyzing . This wasn't how it was supposed to work. This wasn't the calm, focused feeling I'd had a week ago.
Then I rembered Barella's words.
"Your job isn't to understand it all at once. Your job is to trust it. Don't force it."
I closed my eyes for a split second, taking another deep breath. I pushed the chaos away, focused on the here and now.
The ball was at our defender, Francesco Acerbi's feet.
Roma was pressing hard, trying to keep us pinned in our own half. I looked up and saw Chris Smalling, Roma's rock-solid defender, his stats a calm, unmoving block of text: Potential 86, Current Ability 84. He was a master of positioning, rarely making a mistake.
I knew a direct run wouldn't work.
But then, a subtle, shimring symbol appeared near his left foot. It wasn't a running leg or a pass.
It was a new one, a small, stylized icon of a boot with a shield next to it. It ant a tackle, a block. He was anticipating a pass.
My Vision wasn't telling what I could do, but what he was going to do.
I moved. I didn't wait for the pass. I sprinted from my position on the left wing towards the center of the field, a move that went against every tactical instruction I'd ever received.
"What is Leon doing?" the comntator's voice echoed with confusion.
"He's left his position wide open!"
The move confused Roma's defense, too. They were focused on our striker, Lautaro Martínez, expecting a long ball.
But Acerbi, seeing my sudden movent and the space I had created, made a split-second decision and played a simple, direct pass to my feet. The ball arrived just as I reached the midfield line.
I took one touch, controlling the ball perfectly. Smalling, caught out of position for the first ti all match, sprinted to close down, his shield symbol flashing near his boot.
But I wasn't going to let him tackle . The Vision flashed again, a golden arrow appearing on the pitch, pointing to a tiny sliver of space to my left. It was a fake, a juke.
I faked a move to my right, drawing a lunge from the defender, then shifted to my left, the ball glued to my feet.
WISHHH!
The move was clean, the defender left grabbing at air. I was in open space, running at full speed towards the goal.
The crowd roared, a sudden, renewed burst of hope. I looked up.
The keeper, Rui Patrício, was positioned well, a wall of confidence. I could see the familiar leg and ball symbol next to him, showing that he was ready for a shot, but no weakness appeared, no golden shimr. He was a great keeper, a calm presence with a Potential of 85 and Current Ability of 83. He wouldn't be easy to beat.
But I wasn't just seeing the goalkeeper. I was seeing the entire field. The Vision expanded, and I saw a new symbol, a small, spinning star, appear on the ground just outside the penalty box, to my right. It wasn't a shot on goal. It was a shot that would change the ga.
I took one more touch, setting myself up. I didn't aim for the goal.
I aid for that spinning star. I struck the ball with the inside of my boot, a low, driven shot that went not towards the goal, but towards a Roma defender standing in the box.
It was a crazy, nonsensical move.
The comntator was baffled.
"What is he doing?! The shot is blocked!"
But the ball wasn't ant to go in. It was ant to hit the defender, rebound off him at a specific angle, and deflect directly to my teammate Julián Álvarez, who was making a perfectly tid run from the wing.
The defender, caught completely by surprise, tried to block the ball, but it was too quick.
BOOM! It ricocheted off his shin and landed perfectly at Álvarez's feet.
Álvarez didn't hesitate. He took one touch and blasted it past the stunned keeper.
GOOOALLL!
The San Siro exploded. The sound was a physical thing, a massive wave of thunder and screaming. Julián ran to , his face a mix of pure joy and utter disbelief.
He had no idea what had happened, he just knew he had scored.
The score was now 2-1 to Roma in the 75th minute.
The goal changed everything. The montum was back with us. We were fighting, pushing forward, our passes sharper, our runs more determined.
The Vision, no longer a blur, was a clear and powerful tool, showing not just the symbols of player intent, but the potential outcos of every action. I was playing not just the ga, but the possibilities within the ga.
We pressed, we fought, we clawed for every inch. And then, in the 89th minute, a mont of pure magic.
The ball fell to just inside Roma's half. The Vision flared, and I saw the most complex, beautiful sequence of events yet. It was a series of symbols, a perfectly choreographed dance of passes and runs.
I saw two pairs of running legs near Cole Palr and Federico Dimarco, both sprinting down the wings, pulling the Roma defense apart. I saw a boot with a dotted line pointing from to Palr, a pass I had to make right now.
I played a low, fast ball to Palr. He took a touch and drove down the right side, drawing a defender to him. Then, a new symbol appeared, a curving arrow from Palr, showing he was going to cross the ball back to the center of the box.
I wasn't even in the box. I was a good 20 yards away, and I saw the leg and ball symbol appear over my own head, not as a command, but as a possibility.
A goal.
I sprinted, my legs burning, knowing I had to be in that one perfect spot.
Palr, executed the cross with flawless precision.
The ball hung in the air, a beautiful, arcing thing. I arrived at the exact mont the ball did, eting it with a perfect leap.
"Palr delivers a fantastic ball…?! It's a header… this could be the equalizer!"
My mind was calm. The Vision showed the keeper's positioning, a slight leaning to his left. I saw the weakness, a small, empty space on the right side of the goal.
I flicked my head, guiding the ball with pinpoint accuracy.
GOOOOAALLL!
The ball swished into the back of the net. The San Siro erupted into a frenzy. The score was tied 2-2. We had done it. From a two-goal deficit, we had co back and tied the match. My teammates rushed to , lifting off the ground in a giant, joyous hug.
We were back in it. The ga was tied, but there was a deep, satisfying feeling in my heart.
This wasn't a lucky coback. This was a coback born from focus, from trust, and from a new understanding of the ga.
The referee blew his whistle.
The 90th minute was up. The match was not over yet. Extra ti was coming.
The battle for the Coppa Italia was about to get even more intense, and I had a feeling the Vision was just getting started.
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