"Did you see that pass, Leo?" Julián Álvarez's face was alight with pure excitement. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, his grip firm.
"It was like you knew exactly where I was going before I did."
I just grinned, a bit embarrassed by the praise.
"I just saw the space," I said, trying to sound casual. "You were there, so I just… put it there."
Cole Palmer, who was busy scrolling through his phone, looked up with a knowing smile.
"Don't be humble, man. That was a moment of magic. We all felt it."
The three of us were in the Inter dressing room, the celebratory chaos of the win against Napoli still echoing in the air.
The other players were yelling, laughing, and blasting music. The atmosphere was a complete 180 from the tense, focused energy before the match. My heart was still thumping with the adrenaline of the victory, but now it was a happy rhythm, a victorious beat.
I glanced over at my two friends. Cole Palmer (Potential: 91, Current Ability: 85) and Julián Álvarez (Potential: 90, Current Ability: 87). The numbers were a constant, a little secret I kept to myself.
"Speaking of magic," Álvarez said, lowering his voice conspiratorially.
"Did you see Khvicha Kvaratskhelia's face after the first goal? He was fuming."
"He was," I agreed, a smile tugging at my lips. I remembered that moment, the look of shock and frustration on the face of a player who was usually so dominant.
We continued to talk and joke as we began the slow process of changing out of our sweaty kits. It was a comfortable, easy conversation, the kind that reminded me how lucky I was to be here, with these guys. They were more than teammates; they were becoming real friends.
After a long, satisfying shower, I put on a fresh hoodie and my favorite jeans.
The noise from the dressing room had started to die down as players headed out to meet their families or just go home. I said my goodbyes and headed toward the parking lot.
The moment I stepped outside, I was hit with a different kind of energy. A group of about ten fans, a mix of kids and teenagers, were waiting by the player exit. They weren't rowdy, just excited, and they started cheering the moment they saw me.
"Leon! Leon, can I have your autograph?" a young boy yelled, holding up a marker.
I walked over, feeling a little shy but also genuinely happy. It was an amazing feeling, to have people so happy to see you.
I signed the boy's jersey, then a few more. A girl with bright blue eyes and a shock of pink hair handed me a notepad and a pen. I signed it, and as she took it back, she quickly scribbled something on it, folded it, and pressed it into my hand.
"Good game!" she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes, before turning and running back to her friends, giggling.
I gave a small wave to the rest of the fans, my face beaming, before heading to my car. As I started the engine, I unfolded the piece of paper. Scrawled in neat handwriting was a phone number and a name.
A small, surprised laugh escaped my lips. This was a first. A blush crept up my neck as I thought about it.
Should I call? What would I even say? The thought was a little overwhelming, and I decided to table it for later. I slid the paper into my pocket, the warmth of it a strange but pleasant sensation.
The drive home was calm. The late-night streets of Milan were quiet, a complete contrast to the stadium just an hour ago. I turned on the radio, but the music faded into the background as my mind wandered. I thought about the match, about the Vision. It felt… clearer. Not a flood of information, but a focused, helpful guide.
The conversation with Barella had truly unlocked something for me. I was starting to understand that it wasn't a burden, but a superpower.
Arriving at my apartment, I changed into comfortable clothes and collapsed onto my couch.
I grabbed my phone, and before I could decide what to do with the little piece of paper in my pocket, I saw a news notification pop up.
"Alex Turner scores winning goal for Chelsea in 1-0 victory over West Ham!"
A wide smile spread across my face. Alex!
I immediately went to my contacts and called him. He picked up on the third ring, his voice slightly out of breath but full of joy.
"Hey, man!" he said. "Just got home. Still buzzing from the win."
"I saw the news! You absolute legend," I said, my own excitement bubbling up again.
"Unbelievable, dude. You know how it is. Last minute, in front of the home crowd… it was pure magic. I've been trying to get a starting spot, and this is exactly what I needed. Mauricio Pochettino looked so happy."
"That's amazing," I said, genuinely thrilled for him.
"You deserve it, Alex. You've been working so hard."
"Yeah, but you're not doing too badly yourself," he shot back. "I saw your highlights from the Napoli game. That pass to Julián? Are you kidding me? Everyone's talking about it here. My teammates are asking me if I know you. It's a bit surreal."
I laughed. "It was just a good pass. You know, right place, right time."
"Stop with the humble act," Alex said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.
"I know that look. The one you get when you see something nobody else can. You're using it, aren't you?"
My heart skipped a beat. Alex was the only one who knew about the Vision.
He called it "Leon's cheat code." He always believed in me, even when I didn't.
"I am," I admitted softly. "It's… different now. It's clearer."
"I knew it," he said triumphantly.
"Listen, I've got to go. Mom's making me dinner. But call me later this week, okay? And keep an eye on the news, man. I got a long way to go to catch up with you. We'll be playing against each other in the Champions League final one day, I promise you."
"You got it," I said, a wave of warmth spreading through me. "And I'll be there to crush you."
We both laughed, a shared, joyful sound that bridged the thousands of miles between us. Hanging up the phone, I felt a profound sense of peace. The stress and anxiety from a week ago felt like a distant memory.