In the northern part of Florence, less than two kiloters east of the Franchi Stadium, there's a low Tuscan-style building with red tiles and yellow walls, nestled near a three-way intersection. It sprawls over an area almost as large as half a football field. Its weathered exterior blends naturally with the surrounding residential area, giving it a tiless charm.
However, the football fields surrounding the building on three sides make it stand out sharply from its otherwise unassuming surroundings.
Locals know this as the beating heart of Italian football: the Coverciano training base.
With Serie A on pause, the national team has reconvened here to prepare for their European qualifiers for the South Africa World Cup. As a result, the area has sprung back to life with the usual buzz.
Reporters, fans, and tourists have descended en masse, making the northern part of Florence a hive of activity.
For locals, this is nothing new. It happens every ti the national team gathers. If anything, they're relieved that the U21 national team's training base is in Ro, otherwise, the commotion would be even worse.
Foreign visitors unfamiliar with the area often get lost, wandering in search of the training base's entrance. When they ask for directions, the nearby residents, filled with pride, are quick to correct them.
"You've co to the wrong spot. This is the coaching training base. That big building you see? That's the football museum. The national team training base is further north. You'll find the main entrance there."
"If you want to watch the national team, you won't be able to get in from here. Head north from the intersection west of here, and take a small path. You'll pass a large lawn and so woods at the entrance. Across from that is a Catholic church—it's easy to spot."
For the locals, this has beco a routine explanation every ti the national team is in town.
Oddly, though, today seed a little different.
While the national team continued their training in preparation for matches against Bulgaria and Montenegro, the southern part of the training base was unexpectedly crowded. Foreigners of all kinds appeared in large numbers.
Among them were two particularly conspicuous figures—both towering at nearly 1.9 ters. One of them, burly and scruffy with a face full of stubble, looked unmistakably German.
Only Germans, the locals thought, could be so tall and so ruggedly unkempt.
"You're on the wrong path," a local helpfully pointed out. "The national team training base is north of here. Take that intersection and detour around."
"What? You're not here for the national team?"
The resident was taken aback. These foreigners, struggling with Italian and broken English, had been presud to be fans of the national team.
"This is the coach training base and football museum not where the national team trains. Do you understand?"
"Yes," replied the thinner of the two Germans, his receding hairline accentuated under the sunlight. He smiled and added in fluent English, "We're here for the coaching training base."
The local resident was confused. "Don't you have coaching centers in Germany? Why co all the way to Italy?"
The German only smiled without answering. After thanking the resident, he turned to his companion and said sothing in German. The two then made their way toward the Football Museum's entrance.
The exchange left the Italian resident scratching his head.
Strange. Why skip the national team's training to visit the museum? Were they really just football history enthusiasts?
Soon, more people began arriving at Coverciano.
There were Germans, Spaniards, Argentinians, Portuguese, English, French and, of course, Italians—all speaking a cacophony of languages. Yet they weren't heading for the national team's training session. Like the Germans, they were all converging on the Football Museum.
This only deepened the locals' confusion.
The national team was training nearby—why would anyone miss that in favor of visiting a museum?
Having lived near the training base for years, the residents sensed sothing unusual was brewing. But there had been no news or announcents to explain it.
---
Accompanied by Zidane and Lucas, Gao Shen stepped out of the Florence Airport dressed in casual attire.
They were imdiately greeted by an escort, who ushered them into a car heading east.
"Are there a lot of people here today?" Lucas, seated in the front passenger seat, asked curiously.
The escort, a senior executive from Coverciano, nodded enthusiastically. "A lot. Honestly, we're worried about whether the auditorium can even hold everyone."
He smiled wryly as he spoke.
"Is it really that bad?" Gao Shen sounded skeptical.
"I'm not exaggerating," the executive assured him. "For starters, almost every trainee currently at Coverciano plans to attend, that's nearly a hundred people right there. On top of that, I've heard international nas like Lippi are coming to listen. And we've also got head coaches from across Italy showing up."
"Then there's UEFA. We sent them a notice last week, and within days, we started getting requests from football associations across Europe. Everyone wanted seats for their representatives. I honestly think the 300-seat lecture hall might be overrun."
Hearing this, Gao Shen glanced at Zidane, and the two exchanged a relieved smile.
Gao Shen had been invited by the Italian Football Association to deliver keynote speeches several tis before, but he'd always declined. This ti, however, Ulivieri himself had extended the invitation on behalf of the Italian Coaches Association. The gesture had left Gao Shen with no choice but to accept.
The opportunity was too valuable to pass up, not only as a ans to build his reputation within the football community but also as a chance to exchange ideas with so of the brightest minds in the sport.
Still, Gao Shen had been nervous about how many people would actually show up, so he'd asked Zidane and Lucas to accompany him. It's always easier to face potential embarrassnt with friends by your side.
Now, it seed his fears were unwarranted.
"By the way, are there many international attendees?" Zidane asked.
"Quite a few," the executive replied. "I saw the list earlier. We've got people coming from Germany, France, Spain, Portugal, the Netherlands, Argentina, Brazil, and more. Most are flying in just for this."
Gao Shen couldn't help but feel a swell of pride.
Years ago, he had read about people traveling to Scotland just to attend one of Ferguson's lectures. At the ti, he had admired Ferguson as the pinnacle of football coaching.
Never did he imagine that he would one day receive such treatnt himself.
Still, doubt lingered. "Could these people just be pretending to show interest?"
"Not at all," the executive laughed. "It's hard to believe soone as confident as you would worry about that."
Through the rearview mirror, Gao Shen caught a glimpse of himself. With his youthful looks and sharp features, he could easily be mistaken for a player rather than a coach. And that, he thought, was part of the problem.
He was too young, too inexperienced or at least, that's how others often saw him. This public speech was the first of his career, and he knew the audience would be filled with so of the sport's most prominent figures.
The pressure was imnse.
"The whole world knows how advanced your tactics are," the executive continued. "From Real Madrid's double championship to Napoli's back-to-back titles as a newly promoted team, your abilities aren't in question. People want to hear what you have to say."
Even Guardiola had credited Gao Shen's influence, openly admitting that his own football philosophy bore traces of Gao Shen's tactics.
"By the way," the driver added, "Mancini will be there too."
Gao Shen blinked in surprise. "Mancini? Really?"
That was unexpected. Mancini was notoriously arrogant, and his disdain for Gao Shen was no secret.
"He's been taking ti to reflect and improve recently," the executive explained.
Gao Shen nodded thoughtfully.
Inwardly, he felt grateful for the years he had spent relentlessly studying football tactics. Without that foundation, he doubted he would have the confidence to stand in front of such a distinguished audience.
Ti travel, he thought, might give you a head start, but knowledge is what truly matters.
---
When they arrived at Coverciano, Gao Shen's group bypassed the national team base and headed straight for the Football Museum.
A crowd of coaches had already gathered, eager to witness the event. As Gao Shen's car approached, the onlookers began to buzz with excitent, speculating about who might be inside.
When Gao Shen stepped out, a wave of applause broke out.
The unexpected gesture left him montarily stunned. He quickly recovered and began thanking those around him, though the warmth of the reception made him a little uncomfortable.
Then he noticed a few familiar faces in the crowd, faces he hadn't expected to see, including the two towering Germans from earlier.
Especially the scruffy one with the stubble.
Oh no, Gao Shen thought, his stomach sinking.
Why is he here? And… him too?
***
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