The roar of the San Siro was a physical force, a wave of sound that washed over Leon as his teammates carried him on their shoulders.
Seventy-thousand voices chanted in unison, a thunderous, two-part chorus that shook the very foundations of the stadium.
"INTER! INTER! INTER!"
Then, seamlessly, it shifted.
"LEON! LEON! LEON!"
He looked out at the sea of blue and black scarves, the ecstatic faces, the arms raised in triumph.
A grin was plastered on his face, so wide it made his cheeks ache. Julián Álvarez was on his left, laughing and patting his back, while Lautaro Martínez held his leg steady on the right, shouting sothing that was lost in the beautiful noise.
Cole Palr was right there with them, his usual cool expression replaced by one of pure, unadulterated joy.
The energy followed them off the pitch and into the dressing room, where the celebration exploded.
Music blared from a speaker in the corner, a driving beat that vibrated through the floor.
Water and sports drinks were sprayed in every direction, and the shouts of victory echoed off the tiled walls.
"I still don’t believe that bicycle kick," Lautaro yelled over the music, slinging a friendly arm around Leon’s shoulders. "My friend, that was not normal! And the pass for my goal? Mamma mia! I thought for sure you were going to shoot for your hat-trick!"
Leon laughed, wiping a stray splash of water from his face. "A goal for the captain is more important. We finish the ga strong."
Lautaro bead, his captain’s pride evident. "This is the ntality! This is Inter!"
Cole Palr, leaning against a locker, gave Leon a nod of deep respect. "That connection we had on the left... it felt like we’ve been playing together for years. Your passes were exactly where I wanted them to be before I even knew I wanted them there."
"You make the runs easy to see," Leon replied honestly. Their on-field chemistry had felt instantaneous, a natural harmony that had unlocked Napoli’s defense.
Julián Álvarez, ever the cheerful one, ca over and playfully put Leon in a headlock. "Don’t get too comfortable, superstar! You still have to do the dirty work in training tomorrow. No slacking just because you scored a goal from the heavens."
"Wouldn’t dream of it," Leon gasped, laughing as he tried to squirm free.
The door to the room swung open, and the music was abruptly turned down.
Coach Cristian Chivu stood in the doorway.
The wild celebration imdiately cald to a respectful buzz. Chivu’s face, usually a mask of intense focus, was relaxed, and the corners of his mouth were turned up in a rare, genuine smile.
He walked into the center of the room, his eyes scanning the faces of his victorious players.
"Tonight," he began, his voice calm but filled with a powerful pride, "tonight you showed everything. When we were down, you showed heart. When we were struggling, you showed fight." His gaze settled on Leon. "And when we needed a leader, one stepped up. Leon, your performance was exceptional. But it was exceptional because you made everyone around you better."
He looked back at the whole team. "This is the standard now. This intensity, this belief in each other. This is our identity. Celebrate tonight. You’ve earned it. But tomorrow, we get back to work. We have a long season ahead."
He gave a final, firm nod and walked out, leaving a room filled with a renewed sense of purpose. The music ca back on, but the wildness was replaced by a deep, shared satisfaction.
An hour later, the dressing room was quiet. The scent of linint and hard work hung in the air. Players, showered and dressed in their own clothes, began to filter out, heading towards the players’ car park.
Leon sat at his locker, tying the laces on his sneakers.
The cheers of the crowd had faded, replaced by the quiet hum of his own thoughts.
"Ready to go, Leo?" Lautaro’s voice broke his trance. He was standing with Julián, car keys dangling from his finger.
"Yeah, just finished," Leon said, standing up and grabbing his bag.
The three of them walked out into the cool Milan night. The stadium was quiet now, a sleeping giant under the stars. They made their way through the car park, the conversation easy and light.
"My wife is making milanesa to celebrate," Lautaro said with a happy sigh. "The best in Italy."
"Save so for !" Julián joked.
They reached their cars, parked side-by-side. "Drive safe, Leo," Lautaro said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Incredible ga today. Truly."
"You too, Captain."
Leon got into his own car, the engine humming to life. He watched his two teammates drive off before pulling out himself, joining the flow of late-night traffic.
The city lights of Milan blurred past his window, a beautiful, glittering tapestry. He drove with the windows down, letting the night air clear his head.
His rating had jumped from 85 to 88 in ninety minutes. It was a staggering leap, proof that his potential was rapidly turning into real, world-class ability.
He was so lost in thought that he almost missed the buzz from his phone in the center console. He glanced down. It was a notification from the team’s official app.
[Fixture Update: The League - Matchday 31]
He felt a familiar tingle as his Vision automatically activated, pulling data related to the notification. His eyes widened as the details appeared in his mind, overlaid on the road ahead.
[Opponent: Ac Milan.]
Then, a list of nas and numbers began to scroll past his vision, a terrifying display of footballing power.
The list went on and on. It was a lineup of monsters.
The thrill of his victory against Napoli instantly vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp spike of adrenaline.
His system flashed a final, daunting ssage in bright red letters.
[Warning: Opponent team rating is significantly higher. Probability of victory: 18%.]
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A/N: Thank you for sticking with and with this story. Also, I’ve been hitting the gym more lately and can finally feel myself getting stronger.....feels a lot like how our main character feels on the field. See you in the next Chapter!
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