Leon arrived at the AXA Training Centre, sprinting from his car to the gym, and burst through the doors, expecting to be the last one there.
Instead, the only other person in the room was a living legend, already in the middle of a grueling workout. Mohamed Salah.
"Ah, the new boy finally arrives," Salah said, not even breaking his rhythm on the pull-up bar.
"I was beginning to think the English rain had scared you away."
"Sorry," Leon gasped, trying to catch his breath. "Slept in." Salah dropped to the floor, a picture of effortless athleticism, and grabbed a towel.
"Don’t worry," he said with a grin.
"The secret to a long career is knowing when to work, and when to rest. Your body is your temple. And your bank account."
They laughed, the easy camaraderie between them now a comfortable, familiar thing.
As they began their warm-ups, Leon, emboldened by their new, secret ’Co-pilot’ alliance, decided to probe the mystery that had been bugging him.
"Mo," he began, trying to sound casual. "That goal I scored against Spurs... the one that... swerved."
"The witchcraft goal," Salah nodded, a look of awe still in his eyes. "I have seen the replay a hundred times. I still do not understand it." "Have you ever... done something like that?" Leon asked. "A moment on the pitch where you did something you couldn’t explain, something that felt... magical?"
Salah stopped stretching, a thoughtful, far-away look on his face.
"Many times," he said softly. "In the big moments, when the pressure is highest... sometimes, instinct takes over. You don’t think. You just... do. You see a path that isn’t there. You hit a shot that has no right to go in. It is not magic, my friend."
He looked at Leon, a profound, almost philosophical, wisdom in his eyes.
"It is the moment where your talent, your hard work, and your heart all decide to speak at the same time. It is a beautiful, rare thing. Do not be afraid of it."
Later that day, after a blistering training session, Leon was about to head home when he was intercepted by a smiling Alexis Mac Allister.
The Argentine World Cup winner had a reputation for being one of the most professional, media-savvy players at the club.
"Leo, got a minute?" he asked, his accent a pleasant, melodic hum. "The club’s media team has a mission for us."
"A mission?" Leon asked, intrigued. "A vital, top-secret operation," Mac Allister said with a dramatic whisper. "Operation: Look Cool on Facelook. The club’s new clothing sponsor wants some ’authentic lifestyle content’. They want us to go shopping."
An hour later, Leon and Mac Allister, in their best "we are definitely not world-famous footballers" disguises of caps and sunglasses, were in the middle of Liverpool One, the city’s massive, bustling shopping center. They were in a high-end fashion store, surrounded by racks of very expensive, very trendy clothes.
"Okay, what do you think?" Mac Allister asked, holding up a ridiculously flamboyant, brightly-patterned shirt.
"Does this say ’creative, World Cup-winning midfielder’ or ’man who has lost a fight with a flock of tropical birds’?"
"I think," Leon said, trying and failing to suppress a laugh, "it says both."
They were having the time of their lives, two young men on a company-sponsored shopping spree. But their flimsy disguises didn’t last long.
A sharp-eyed teenager spotted them, and within five minutes, a huge, excited, but very polite, crowd had formed around the store, their phones all out, a sea of flashing lights.
"Well," Mac Allister said, completely unfazed. "So much for authentic lifestyle content."
Leon’s social media had exploded since his move and his wonder-goal.
He was now at a staggering 15 million followers on "Facelook," a number that felt more like a country’s population than a personal account.
"Hey," Mac Allister said, a brilliant, mischievous idea dawning on him.
"Let’s give them a show." He pulled out his phone.
Before Leon could protest, they were live on Mac Allister’s account, the screen instantly filling with thousands of viewers and a frantic, scrolling wall of comments and heart emojis.
"Hello, Liverpool!" Mac Allister said to the camera, a charming, professional grin on his face.
"We are here on a top-secret mission. We are trying to find a shirt that is as beautiful as one of Leo’s goals. It is very difficult."
The comment section exploded.
They spent the next ten minutes just laughing, answering silly questions from fans, and generally causing a happy, chaotic scene in the middle of the high-end fashion store.
"Okay, last question, everyone," Mac Allister said, looking at the screen.
"Then we have to go before the manager fines us for having too much fun." He squinted, trying to read a question from the fast-moving feed. "This one’s for you, Leo. From... wait, is that a verified account?"
He angled the phone so Leon could see.
It was a comment, in the middle of their silly, happy, live Q&A, from a name he knew all too well.
A name that shouldn’t have been there. A name that belonged to his past, and his future.
[@Chivu_Official]: Looking good, boys. Especially the white hair, Leon. Reminds me of my playing days. You’re learning fast. See you in Naples.
The frantic, scrolling wall of fan comments instantly went berserk.
OMG CHIVU IS WATCHING! THE MASTER AND THE APPRENTICE!
Mind games! He’s playing mind games! Nᴇw ɴovel chaptᴇrs are published on 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩~𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖~𝙣𝙚𝙩
Alexis Mac Allister, a man born with ice water in his veins and a perfect media-trained smile, didn’t even flinch.
He just laughed, a smooth, charming sound.
"Look at that!" he said to the camera, his arm around a suddenly very stiff Leon.
"Even the great Cristian Chivu can’t resist a bit of Liverpool fashion advice! We’ve got viewers all over the world!"
He looked at the view counter, which was now skyrocketing past twenty thousand.
"I think we just broke the internet, Leo."
Leon, whose brain had just done a full system reboot, managed a slightly shaky but convincing grin. "
He always did appreciate a good, attacking formation," he said, trying to sound casual and not like his soul was trying to exit his body.