The information from his Vision was so absurd, so completely out of left field, that Leon's brain simply refused to process it.

He just stood there on the training pitch, frozen, watching the young, lightning-fast winger—Marco Esposito, Potential: 91, brother of Sofia, son of his terrifying coach—dribble past another U18 defender.

It was a statistical and social impossibility. The odds of finding two future superstars in the same youth team were astronomical. The odds of one of them being the son of the head coach were ridiculous. The odds of Leon, the team's new star, currently dating the coach's daughter, were... well, that was a statistical anomaly that probably required a whole new branch of mathematics to calculate.

"Leo? You okay? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

Leon's trance was broken by the voice of Hakan Çalhanoğlu.

"A ghost?" Leon mumbled, his eyes still wide. "No, I've seen something much, much weirder."

Julián Álvarez, who had been trying to teach the U18s his "tactical hug" maneuver, jogged over. "Was it a ghost with a good passing range? We could probably sign him. Do ghosts have agents?"

The final whistle of the practice match blew, a mercy that saved Leon from having to answer.

The two teams shook hands, the senior players giving encouraging pats on the back to the youngsters.

Leon watched as Marco Esposito walked off the pitch, his head held high, looking every bit the future star. Leon knew he had to say something.

He felt a strange, new sense of responsibility. He jogged over, his heart doing a little nervous dance.

"Hey, Marco," he said, trying to sound casual.

The kid turned, his eyes widening in surprise as he realized who was talking to him.

"Leon! Hey. Good game."

"You too," Leon said, a genuine smile on his face.

"That run you made in the first half, the one where you beat your man on the outside? That was electric. You have real pace."

A flush of pride crept up Marco's neck. A compliment from one of the team's biggest stars was clearly a huge deal.

"Thanks," he mumbled, looking down at his boots.

"Your dad is... pretty intense, huh?" Leon asked, testing the waters.

Marco let out a short, knowing laugh.

"You have no idea," he said, finally looking up and meeting Leon's gaze. "Try having him as a coach for your entire life. If I forget to take out the trash, he analyzes my 'lack of defensive responsibility' for twenty minutes."

Leon burst out laughing, a sound of pure relief.

"Okay, that's hilarious."

"So," Marco said, a mischievous, protective glint appearing in his eye that was incredibly similar to his sister's. "You're the one taking my sister out for pasta."

"Guilty as charged," Leon said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

"And for the record, your sister is great."

"Yeah, she is," Marco agreed, his expression softening.

He looked at Leon, a serious, man-to-man look that was slightly comical on his seventeen-year-old face.

"You better be nice to her. My dad might break your legs, but I'm faster. I'll just steal your boots before every match."

Leon just stared at him for a second before breaking into another round of laughter.

He clapped the kid on the shoulder.

"Deal. You keep training like you did today, and I'll keep your sister happy. And maybe, in a few years, we'll be the ones connecting for a goal right here," he said, gesturing to the San Siro that loomed over them.

Marco's eyes lit up with a brilliant, hopeful fire.

"Yeah," he said, his voice filled with a powerful dream. "Yeah, I'd like that."

The final training session was over. The players walked off the pitch, their minds now completely focused on the final battle to come. They were ready.

Leon drove home, a light, happy feeling in his chest. The world felt full of strange, wonderful, and slightly terrifying connections.

He walked into his apartment to find his mother, Elena, lighting a small candle in the living room.

"Mom? What's this?"

"It is for good luck," she said, her face serene.

"One for you, one for your team, and one for that nice Swiss boy who plays in your goal, because he will need it." She turned and pulled him into a warm hug. "I am already so proud of you, my son. No matter what happens tomorrow. You know that, right?"

"I know, Mom," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

He went to his room, his heart full.

Tomorrow was the biggest day of his professional life.

The culmination of everything.

He was about to put his phone on silent when it buzzed with an incoming video call.

It was Byon. He answered, a wide grin on his face.

Byon's face appeared, and he was screaming with pure, unadulterated joy, jumping up and down in what looked like a very messy university dorm room.

"WE DID IT! WE'RE IN THE FINAL! WE ACTUALLY DID IT!" Byon yelled, his voice a happy, distorted mess.

"WE BEAT BARCELONA! I'm still not sure how! I think I spent most of the second half just chasing that little alien, Yamal, in circles!"

"I saw! You were brilliant!" Leon laughed, genuinely thrilled for his friend.

"So it's you and Liverpool in the final?"

"No! Even better!" Byon roared

. "Liverpool lost! It's us... against PSG! Me and Haaland against Lamine Yamal! It is the final boss battle of all final boss battles! It is the 'unstoppable force' versus the 'unbuyable-oh-wait-he-was-buyable' object!"

They laughed together, two friends at the absolute peak of their worlds, sharing in each other's success.

"So," Byon said, his voice calming down, a serious, focused look in his eyes. "I have my final. And tomorrow, you have yours. The Scudetto. It all comes down to this, huh?"

"It all comes down to this," Leon agreed, a familiar, thrilling knot of anticipation tightening in his stomach.

"Just... win, Leo," Byon said, his voice filled with a simple, powerful sincerity. "Go and win your league. You've earned it."

"You go and win your Champions League," Leon shot back, a grin on his face. "And try not to let the little alien break your ankles."

They said their goodbyes, promising to talk after their respective battles.

Leon ended the call and stood up, walking over to his window.

He looked out at the sleeping city of Milan, the city that had become his home.

The bracelet from Sofia was a cool, comfortable weight on his wrist. His 'Unshakeable Heart' was in place. He thought of his team, his brothers. He thought of his mother's unwavering love. He thought of his coach, the terrifying, brilliant man who had become his mentor. He thought of the two wonderkids in the academy, the future of the club.

He had a title to win. He had a family to win it for. He was exactly where he was supposed to be.

He closed his eyes, and with a final, quiet sense of purpose, he activated his 'Manager Mode'. He didn't need to check stats or analyze tactics. He just needed to see one thing. He opened the 'Squad Analysis' folder, and looked at the 'Team Morale' indicator.

The needle was pushed as far as it could go, the words next to it glowing with a fierce, golden light.

[Team Morale: UNBREAKABLE.]

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