Monday Morning – The Call
The sun barely crept through the Milan fog when Enzo walked into the academy locker room. Still a bit sleepy from a long weekend of matches, he was the last to arrive — and the first to be called into the office by Coach Ferretti.
His heart sank.
Had he done something wrong?
Inside, Ferretti sat with a letter in his hand.
He looked up, smiling.
"How do you feel about blue, ragazzo?"
Enzo blinked. "Blue?"
Coach handed him the envelope. The official seal of the Federazione Italiana Giuoco Calcio — the Italian Football Federation — glared up at him.
"You've been called to the U15 National Team Training Camp in Coverciano."
For a few seconds, the room fell away. His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
He had dreamt about this moment ever since he saw old clips of Totti and Del Piero in blue.
But now that it was here… it felt surreal.
"You earned it, Sky," Ferretti said, using his middle name as only he did. "Don't let the stars on that shirt scare you."
Family Celebration
That evening, the Vito household came alive like never before.
Luca burst in with a cake that had "Azzurri" written in blue icing.
His mother teared up silently. "Your nonno would've been proud," she whispered, remembering her father who once dreamed of wearing the same colors.
His father raised a glass. "From Milanello to Coverciano — and beyond."
Even their usually stoic family dog, Nero, wore a blue scarf.
But Enzo — though smiling — had that familiar flutter in his stomach.
That whisper of doubt.
What if I'm not good enough?
Coverciano – A Whole New World
The national team training center in Coverciano felt like sacred ground.
Statues of legends lined the entrance.
He stood among the best 2007-born players in Italy. Kids from Juventus, Roma, Inter, Atalanta — many taller, more muscular, and with national caps already at U14 level.
Some stared when he walked in.
"That's the Milan kid. The flashy one."
"The Instagram baller."
On the pitch, the pace was faster. Tackles came harder. Coaches barked louder.
And for the first time in months, Enzo felt like just another player — not the golden boy. Not the next Ronaldo.
Day Two – The Silence
He struggled.
During a small-sided game, his flick went astray. Another dribble lost the ball. His usual magic looked… forced.
Coach Zaccarelli pulled him aside.
"You don't need to impress us. You're already here."
"Just be Enzo."
He nodded, but it didn't help the sinking feeling.
That night, back at the dorm, he called Luca.
"I don't know if I belong here."
Luca's voice came calm and steady.
"You don't belong anywhere yet. You're writing your story. And maybe your first chapter here isn't perfect. But it's yours."
The Turnaround
Day three. Match simulation.
Enzo started on the bench.
He watched quietly as the other boys ran and played with intensity.
At halftime, his chance came. Twenty minutes.
He didn't dribble the first time he touched the ball. He just passed — simple, sharp.
Then space opened up.
And he felt it. That freedom. That moment.
He dragged the ball, dropped his shoulder, exploded past two defenders, then played a no-look reverse ball into the path of the striker — goal.
The bench erupted. The coach clapped.
And someone muttered from the sideline:
"That's why they called him."
After the Game – The Shirt
After the session, they handed each player a training jersey with the Azzurri crest.
Enzo stared at his number.
17.
He ran his fingers over the fabric — smooth, light, yet heavy with meaning.
I'm wearing blue now. But I'm still that same boy from Milanello.
In his notebook that night, he wrote:
"Italy. Azzurri. Not the end. Just the beginning."