Coverciano – Italy's National Team Training Base
It felt different.
Not because the grass was greener, or the air crisper, or the locker room shinier — though all those things were true. It was the badge.
The Azzurri crest on his chest.
Enzo Sky Vito stood in front of the mirror in his room at the FIGC training complex, wearing the navy blue Italy U18 training kit for the first time.
No Milan badge.
Just Italy.
He took a slow breath and ran his fingers across the embroidered crest.
"Let's make history."
Arrival
The car had picked him up directly from Milanello. The federation didn't wait. Enzo had received the call-up only two weeks earlier, but the buzz around him hadn't cooled.
As he stepped out at Coverciano, several players already recognized him.
"Yo, that's Enzo Vito."
"The Milan kid, right?"
"Bro, he nutmegged Calhanoglu in the derby…"
They tried not to stare, but they stared.
Most of these boys were 17 or 18, many already playing in Primavera or Serie B. A few were from Juventus, Inter, Roma — confident, athletic, and serious. But no one had his glow.
The coaches knew it too.
Training Intensity
The first session was brutal. One-touch rondos, 7v7 tactical patterns, high-pressing simulations. No mercy. If you were out of position, you were called out. If you lost the ball, the whistle blew instantly.
But Enzo?
He thrived in the chaos.
Every touch had flair. Every pass had timing. The staff watched him thread a through-ball between three defenders in a half-pitch game, and the assistant coach just whistled quietly to himself.
"Fenomeno puro," he murmured.
Even the Juventus winger — loud and proud — stopped talking after Enzo sent him spinning with a no-look drag and chop combo.
The Night Before
Dinner was quiet. Everyone focused.
There was a match the next day:
Italy U18 vs. Czech Republic U18.
Enzo sat next to the Fiorentina midfielder, Matteo Rossi, who had captained Italy's U17s.
"You nervous?" Matteo asked, chewing.
"Excited," Enzo replied.
Matteo smirked. "You don't get nervous?"
"I do," Enzo said, smiling. "But not when I play."
"Fair."
Matteo looked him up and down. "You know everyone's watching you tomorrow, right? Nike. Puma. Even the U21 coach will be in the stands."
Enzo just nodded.
"I'm not here for them," he said calmly. "I'm here for the ball."
Match Day: Italy U18 vs. Czech Republic U18
The sun blazed over the national stadium at Coverciano. Stands filled with a few hundred scouts, officials, and families. Among them were Roberto Mancini's assistant and Nike's youth talent rep.
Enzo wore #19.
He didn't start.
Coach Romano was cautious — wanted him to feel the rhythm before throwing him into the fire. But the murmurs began by the 20th minute:
"Why isn't Vito playing?"
"This game needs something… special."
Italy went into halftime at 0–0. Frustrated.
Stiff. Predictable.
The Moment
60th minute. The board went up.
#10 OUT — #19 IN
The buzz was instant.
Enzo stepped on the field with his shirt slightly untucked, sleeves rolled just above the elbow. He touched the ball — and the crowd leaned in.
His first touch? A quick flick over an opponent's head.
Second? A turn, a burst, and a 20-yard outside-the-foot pass that split the midfield in two.
By the 70th minute, Italy scored — and it started with Enzo's feint, dribble, and through-ball from the half-space.
"CHI È QUESTO RAGAZZO?" someone shouted from the sidelines.
"ENZO SKY VITO!" came the answer from one of the younger players on the bench.
After the Match
Italy won 2–0.
Reporters rushed toward Coach Romano.
One asked bluntly: "Why didn't he start?"
The coach smiled. "Because I wanted him to finish."
Inside the locker room, teammates clapped him on the back.
Matteo Rossi grinned. "Okay, okay — that was insane. We need to get you the 10 next time."
Enzo just smiled and shook his head.
"I like 19."
Later That Night
A phone call came through.
Private. Direct. From a number Enzo didn't recognize.
He picked it up.
"Ciao, Enzo. This is Claudio Gori. I'm part of the Italy senior team scouting department.
Just wanted to say — we're watching.
Closely."
The line cut.
Enzo stared at the ceiling of his room in silence.
The shirt on his bed was still damp with sweat.
Azzurro blue.
And in that moment, beneath the moonlight streaming through the window, he whispered to himself:
"Not even the stars are out of reach."