Chapter 5 – A New City, A New Chance
The plane descended over Naples, the glittering sea stretching like liquid silver under the afternoon sun. Mount Vesuvius loomed in the distance, silent but commanding, as if watching over the city below.
David pressed his face against the window, taking it all in. Barcelona was gone now, a chapter closed before it ever truly began. He was eleven years old, just another academy boy sent abroad. To the coaches, he was a cast-off. To him, he was a storm waiting to be unleashed.
The Napoli scout who had flown with him gave a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
"Benvenuto a Napoli, ragazzo. Welcome. Here, you'll play."
The drive from the airport wound through narrow streets, scooters buzzing like angry hornets, laundry hanging across balconies, and children kicking battered footballs against cracked walls. David watched with wide eyes. The game was everywhere, woven into the soul of the city.
At the training ground, the smell of fresh turf hit him. Napoli's youth facilities weren't as polished as La Masia's pristine fields, but there was grit here, hunger. And hunger suited him just fine.
The youth coach, a broad-shouldered man named Mister Conti, greeted him with a skeptical look.
"So you're the boy from Barcelona. Hm. Let's see what you can do, eh?"
David nodded, silent.
That evening, during his first session, he joined a small-sided scrimmage. The ball zipped around, tackles flew in harder than in Spain, and the pace was fierce. He kept it simple, neat passes, tracking back, running hard. Average, as always.
But then it happened.
A stray clearance bounced awkwardly toward him, thirty yards from goal. Instinct overrode caution. He shifted the ball onto his weaker left foot and struck.
The connection was pure.
The sound—like a gunshot.
The ball screamed through the air, bending violently, smashing into the top corner of the net.
For a moment, the field froze. Teammates stared, jaws slack. The goalkeeper looked behind him, bewildered, as if the ball had teleported.
David's heart thudded. He hadn't meant to reveal it—not yet.
Coach Conti's eyes narrowed, his whistle dangling loosely from his lips.
"Do it again."
David swallowed, but nodded. Another ball was rolled his way. He steadied himself, this time on his right foot, and struck.
BOOM. The net shook again. Precision absolute. Power unstoppable.
A silence fell. Then whispers. Then a buzz that spread like wildfire.
"Madonna…" someone muttered.
"Did you see that?"
"Both feet…"
"Like Roberto Carlos… but worse."
David forced himself to look calm, but inside, adrenaline surged. He had been exposed, too early.
But then the coach smiled, slow and dangerous.
"Ajayi," Conti said, voice low with excitement, "Napoli may have found something special after all."
That night, lying in his dorm bed, David stared at the ceiling. His secret was out. At least, part of it.
La Masia had missed it. Barcelona had let him go.
But here in Napoli… the storm was beginning to break.