The day after the Derby was a strange, beautiful blur.
The city of Milan was buzzing, painted in equal parts the triumphant blue and black of Inter and the sullen red and black of Milan.
Newspapers had run out of superlatives.
"Miracle," "Legendary," "The Coming of Leondona." For Leon, the noise was overwhelming.
He found his sanctuary in the one place the football world couldn't touch: his mother's kitchen.
The aroma of simmering tomato sauce and fresh basil filled the air, a scent that was more comforting than any stadium chant.
Leon sat at the small wooden table, watching his mother, Elena, move with a familiar, loving grace.
"You are too thin," she said for the third time, placing a mountain of homemade pasta in front of him. "All this running around. You need to eat. How can you score goals if you are just skin and bones?"
Leon laughed, the sound easy and relaxed. "Mom, the club has nutritionists. They weigh me every day. I'm fine, I promise."
"Nutritionists," she scoffed, waving a wooden spoon at him. "What do they know? Do they know my secret ingredient?"
"Is it love?" Leon asked, playing along.
"No," she said with a completely straight face. "It is extra parmesan. Now, eat."
He dug into the pasta, the taste of home chasing away the last dregs of exhaustion from the match. They talked for over an hour, not about tactics or upcoming fixtures, but about life. She told him about his aunt's new puppy, about the leaky faucet his father was pretending he knew how to fix, and about how proud she was, not just of the goals, but of the way he carried himself.
"I saw your face on the television after the game," she said, her voice soft. "You looked so tired, Leo. Remember, this football is your job, it is your dream. But it is not all you are. Don't forget to be happy."
He looked at her, the sincerity in her eyes a powerful anchor in his whirlwind life. "I am happy, Mom. Especially right now."
Later that afternoon, back in his quiet apartment, Leon video-called his best friend, Byon. The screen lit up to show Byon's grinning face, sitting in what looked like a university library.
"There he is! The man, the myth, the legend himself! Leondona!" Byon whisper-shouted, mindful of his surroundings. "Dude, I almost got kicked out of here yesterday.
I was streaming the game on my phone, and when you scored that first goal, I screamed so loud the librarian looked at me like I had summoned a demon."
Leon chuckled, leaning back on his sofa. "You're going to get expelled because of me."
"Worth it! Absolutely worth it," Biyon said, his eyes wide with excitement. "Seriously, man, what was that? Did you download a cheat code into your brain? You went through their whole team! I've been watching the replay all morning. It doesn't make any sense!"
"I just saw a path and started running," Leon said, the understatement making Byon laugh.
"A 'path'? Bro, Moses saw a path through the Red Sea, you saw a path through an entire professional football team! It's not the same!" They laughed together, the easy, familiar banter a welcome dose of normality. They talked for a while longer, about Byon's exams, about a new video game they both wanted to play, about everything and nothing. It was a conversation that had nothing to do with potential ratings or Champions League opponents, and it was exactly what Leon needed.
"Alright, I gotta go before they throw me out for real," Byon said finally. "Hey, Leo?"
"Don't let all this 'Leondona' stuff go to your head," his friend said, his tone turning serious for a moment. "You're still the same clumsy guy who tripped over his own feet in the school championship."
Leon grinned. "Thanks for keeping me humble."
"Anytime, superstar. Talk soon."
The next day at training, the atmosphere was electric. The players were still riding the high of the Derby win, their steps lighter, the jokes flying faster.
The victory had forged a new level of belief within the squad. They felt invincible.
They jogged onto the pitch, expecting a light session, a recovery day. Instead, they found Coach Cristian Chivu standing in the center circle, his expression unreadable.
He waited until every player was gathered around him, the playful chatter slowly dying down.
"Yesterday, you were heroes," Chivu began, his voice quiet but carrying an immense weight. "You won the Derby. You made the city proud. You created a memory that will last a lifetime. Enjoy it. Savor it."
He paused, letting them absorb the praise.
"Now, forget it," he said, his tone shifting, becoming as sharp and cold as steel. The players straightened up, the smiles vanishing from their faces.
"That win gave us three points," Chivu continued, his voice rising with intensity. "The same three points we got for beating Cagliari. The same three points we will fight for against Empoli. The Derby is about pride. It is about passion. But it is not the trophy."
He started to pace slowly around the inside of the circle, his eyes locking onto his players.
"For years, this club has been good. We have been respected. We have challenged. But we have not been champions of Italy. We have watched other teams lift that trophy. We have seen them celebrate while we go home with nothing but 'what ifs'."
A shiver went through the squad. This wasn't about the Derby anymore.
"Look around you," Chivu commanded. "Look at the man next to you. He is a fighter. We proved that. But are you champions? A champion isn't made in one miraculous comeback. A champion is made on a cold Tuesday training session when your legs are heavy. A champion is made through relentless, monotonous, painful consistency!"
His voice was a roar now, filled with a passion that was almost terrifying.
"I don't want a team of heroes who show up for one game! I want a team of champions who show up for thirty-eight! I want the Scudetto! I want it so badly it keeps me awake at night! I want to see our colors on that trophy! And I will not let anyone in this circle be the reason we fail!"
Goosebumps erupted on Leon's arms. He looked at Lautaro, at Barella, at Palmer.
He saw the same look in their eyes: a stunned, awe-struck focus. The high of the Derby felt like a distant memory, replaced by a new, burning ambition.
He stopped pacing and stood in the center, his chest heaving slightly. The silence was absolute.
"Now," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "Let's get to work."