The referee's whistle pierced the morning air, and immediately the difference in pace was obvious. Where yesterday's match had built gradually, the Under-20s imposed their tempo from the first touch. Their passing was crisper, their movement more purposeful, their pressing more coordinated. Within thirty seconds, they'd won the ball back twice and forced the Under-18s into hurried clearances.
Luca touched the ball for the first time in the third minute, receiving a pass from right-back Davide Conti under immediate pressure from the Under-20s left midfielder. The player was older, stronger, more experienced, but as he approached, Luca noticed the slight overconfidence in his body language—the assumption that a simple shoulder barge would dispossess the academy player.
Instead of trying to shield the ball or play it safe, Luca used the defender's momentum against him. A subtle shift of weight, a perfectly timed drag-back, and suddenly the older player was stumbling past while Luca accelerated into the space he'd vacated. The move wasn't spectacular, but it was effective, drawing applause from watching coaches and a curse of frustration from his opponent.
"Lucky," the Under-20s player muttered as they jogged back into position.
Luca said nothing, but filed the reaction away. Confidence was fragile, even in experienced players. Especially in experienced players who weren't used to being embarrassed by younger opponents.
The Under-20s' first real attack came in the eighth minute, a flowing move down their right flank that showcased everything the Under-18s lacked. The ball moved through five players without touching the ground, each pass weighted perfectly, each movement precisely timed. When the cross came in, Salvatore Esposito had ghosted into the penalty area unmarked, his header powerful and accurate.
Only a brilliant save from goalkeeper Pietro Marchetti kept the score level, the ball tipping over the crossbar with fingertips that seemed to stretch impossibly far. The Under-20s applauded their captain's effort, but Luca had seen something else—the moment of hesitation before Esposito committed to his run, the slight telegraphing of his intentions.
[Pattern Recognition Active. Target: Esposito timing patterns. Confidence Level: 73%]
The Under-18s' response came twelve minutes later, but it wasn't the flowing football they'd shown in training. Instead, they were forced into long balls and hopeful crosses, their usual passing patterns disrupted by the relentless pressing of opponents who seemed to anticipate every move. Alessandro, normally so composed on the ball, was struggling to find space between the lines. The Under-20s' defensive midfielder shadowed him everywhere, a constant presence that turned every touch into a battle.
Luca watched the frustration building in his teammates' faces and recognized the moment when the match could slip away entirely. The Under-20s were doing exactly what experienced teams did to younger opponents—making them feel small, rushed, overwhelmed. But Luca had learned in a different school than most footballers. He'd learned that sometimes the only way to beat a stronger opponent was to make them play your game instead of theirs.
The opportunity came in the eighteenth minute when Verratti won the ball back in midfield with a perfectly timed tackle. Instead of the quick pass everyone expected, Luca dropped deep, calling for the ball while pointing toward the touchline. It looked like he was asking for a simple sideways pass to relieve pressure.
Instead, when the ball came to his feet, Luca turned into the center of the pitch, directly toward three Under-20s players who immediately converged on him. The move looked suicidal—exactly the kind of mistake an inexperienced player would make under pressure. The watching coaches shook their heads, Alessandro threw his hands up in frustration, and the Under-20s players smiled as they closed the trap.
But Luca had counted on their reactions. As the first defender committed to the tackle, Luca dragged the ball backward with his left foot while simultaneously spinning away from the challenge. The defender, expecting to win the ball easily, overcommitted and stumbled. The second player, seeing his teammate beaten, rushed in to cover, but Luca was already moving the other direction, using a simple stepover to create just enough space.
The third defender was the most experienced, hanging back to cut off the obvious passing lanes while staying balanced to react to whatever Luca attempted. But experience had taught him to expect logical decisions from opposing players. What Luca did next wasn't logical at all.
From thirty yards out, surrounded by opponents, with easier passing options available, Luca struck the ball with the outside of his right foot. Not a shot—the angle was impossible. Instead, it was a curling pass that bent around the three defenders and dropped perfectly into the path of Marco Santoro, who'd continued his run toward goal even when it seemed impossible that the ball would reach him.
Santoro's first touch was magnificent, bringing the ball down on his chest while holding off the center-back's challenge. His second touch was even better, a delicate lob over the advancing goalkeeper that seemed to hang in the air forever before nestling into the far corner of the net.
The silence that followed was deafening. Even the Under-20s stood motionless for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Then the Under-18s erupted, screaming celebrations that echoed across the training ground. But Luca didn't celebrate. He was already jogging back to position, studying the faces of the opposing players, cataloging their reactions.
[Exceptional Assist Recorded. Creativity +2. Team Morale Boost Applied. Opposition Confidence -15.]
The Under-20s' captain gathered his team in a quick huddle, his voice sharp with authority. "Wake up! These kids just made us look like amateurs. They score again and we're all running extra laps until Christmas."
The threat had its intended effect. When play resumed, the Under-20s' approach changed completely. The casual confidence was gone, replaced by grim determination. Their tackles became harder, their pressing more aggressive, their verbal exchanges more pointed. What had begun as a training exercise was rapidly becoming something more serious.
Luca felt the change immediately when he next received the ball. The left-back who'd been content to jockey him toward the touchline now came in with a sliding tackle that was perfectly timed but carried clear intent—this wouldn't be comfortable anymore. The message was delivered through studs on ankle rather than words, but it was unmistakable: no more easy moments.
"Welcome to real football, little boy," the defender muttered as they untangled themselves.
Luca smiled as he got to his feet. "Thanks for the warning."
The next twenty minutes were a masterclass in game management from the Under-20s. They slowed the tempo when they had possession, speeding it up when the Under-18s tried to build attacks. They used their physical advantages ruthlessly, backing into challenges, holding players just long enough to disrupt timing, making every battle for the ball a test of strength as much as skill.
Alessandro began to wilt under the pressure. His usual arrogance was replaced by increasingly desperate attempts to prove himself, trying killer passes that weren't there, shots from impossible angles, dribbles into cul-de-sacs. With each failure, his frustration grew more visible, his body language screaming his displeasure to anyone watching.
But the Under-20s' focus on containing Alessandro had created space elsewhere, and Luca was beginning to exploit it. He started drifting inside more frequently, picking up the ball in positions where the opposition's rigid marking system couldn't account for him. Not spectacular positions—just little pockets of space between their midfield and defense where he could receive the ball facing forward.
In the thirty-eighth minute, Luca found himself in one of these spaces when Verratti slipped him a simple pass. The ball came to his feet with two Under-20s players closing fast, but instead of the immediate pressure he'd faced earlier, there was a half-second of time to breathe, to think, to see.
What he saw was Santoro making a curved run toward the near post, dragging his marker with him, while Alessandro had finally found space on the edge of the penalty area. The obvious pass was to Alessandro—he was in a better position, calling loudly for the ball, clearly expecting to receive it.
Instead, Luca waited one beat longer, watching Santoro's run develop, seeing the moment when the striker's movement would create the opening. Then, using the same technique he'd employed for the assist, Luca bent a pass around the covering defender, finding Santoro just as he peeled away from his marker.
This time, the finish was simpler but no less effective. Santoro's shot was low and hard, giving the goalkeeper no chance. Two-nil.
Alessandro wheeled away in disgust, his hands raised toward the sky in a gesture that needed no translation. He'd been in the perfect position, had made the correct run, had done everything right according to tactical textbooks. But the ball hadn't come to him, and now someone else was celebrating while he stood ignored and frustrated.
The Under-20s' reaction was immediate and brutal. Their next attack came with the fury of players whose reputations were on the line. They carved through the Under-18s' defense with contemptuous ease, their passing sharp and decisive, their movement perfectly coordinated. When the cross came in from the left wing, Esposito was there again, and this time his header found the net with authority.
The celebration was muted but pointed. No wild emotions, just the grim satisfaction of professionals doing their job. The message was clear: this was what real football looked like.
The remainder of the first half became an increasingly physical affair. Every tackle carried extra force, every challenge lasted a fraction longer than necessary, every verbal exchange became more heated. The Under-20s were no longer treating this as a gentle exercise against academy children. They were treating it as a threat to their status that needed to be eliminated.
When the halftime whistle blew with the score at 2-1, both teams trudged off the pitch with the weariness of soldiers after a battle. The Under-18s had proven they could compete, but the cost was becoming apparent. Several players nursed minor knocks, and the mental strain of facing older, stronger opponents was showing in drooped shoulders and labored breathing.
Coach Marotta gathered his team in a tight circle on the sideline, his expression unreadable. "Forty-five minutes," he said simply. "Forty-five minutes to show me you're ready for the Primavera. Ready for Roma. Ready for real football."
His eyes found Luca's. "Some of you are already showing that readiness. Others..." He let the sentence hang, but his glance toward Alessandro made the meaning clear.
As the teams prepared for the second half, Luca felt the familiar surge of system analysis, but this time it was different. The patterns he was seeing weren't just about this match anymore. They were about the season ahead, the challenges that would come, the choices that would define not just his football career but his entire future.
[Leadership Opportunity Detected. Team requires stabilizing influence. Accept role? Warning: Leadership brings responsibility and scrutiny.]
Looking around at his teammates—some confident, others doubting, all wondering if they were good enough—Luca knew his answer. He'd spent his first life following others down dark paths. This time, he would lead from the light.
The second half was about to begin, and with it, the real test of who Luca Moretti had chosen to become.