Rodrygo's legs tensed, a whirlwind of motion visible only to Leon's unique perception.

He could see the flash of a thought—a mental blueprint for an action.

The system's icons appeared above Rodrygo's head *a pair of legs and a ball*.

boooom!

The shot was an absolute rocket.

Our goalkeeper, was an amazing shot-stopper, but this… this was something else.

The ball flew with a terrifying speed and accuracy, a shimmering white blur against the backdrop of the cheering crowd.

He dove, a desperate, valiant lunge, but it was all for nothing.

The ball hit the back of the net with a thunderous BOOOOM!

The sound echoed in my chest like a hollow drum, each beat a painful reminder of our failure.

The scoreboard flipped, 2-1 to Real Madrid. The stadium, a sea of white, erupted in a deafening roar.

Silence fell over our side of the pitch.

My heart felt heavy, a stone in my chest.

The game was over. We had lost. It was so close, so, so close.

For a second, I could almost feel it, the sweet taste of victory. But it was a mirage, a cruel trick of the mind.

The final whistle blew, a sharp, piercing sound that cut through the noise of the celebratory fans. It was over. We were defeated.

I walked off the pitch, my head down, my boots feeling like lead weights.

Lautaro, our captain, put a hand on my shoulder.

His eyes, usually so full of fire, held a quiet, somber sadness.

"Hey, kid," he said, his voice low.

"You did good. Don't let this get to you."

I just nodded, unable to find the words.

What could I say? That I should've done better?

That I should've intercepted that pass? The guilt was a heavy blanket, suffocating me.

In the locker room, the silence was even heavier.

We were all sitting in our own little worlds of disappointment, the air thick with unspoken sorrow.

The Coach didn't yell or scream. He just stood there for a moment, his gaze sweeping over each of us.

"Look at me," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "This isn't the end. This is a beginning. We fought a great battle today. We lost, yes, but we learned something. We learned we can stand toe-to-toe with the best in the world. This is not a defeat. It is a lesson."

He then looked at me, his eyes holding a unique intensity.

"Leon, you saw something, didn't you? Something no one else did. You hesitated. Don't hesitate. Trust your instincts. Trust what you see."

His words struck a chord in me. He was right. I had seen it, the icons, the blueprint. I had seen that Rodrygo would shoot, and yet… I hadn't acted fast enough. It wasn't my system that was the problem. It was me. I needed to be faster. I needed to trust my abilities more.

After the speech, the older players came over to me. Lautaro, Palmer, and even Bastoni.

They all clapped my shoulder, offering words of comfort and encouragement.

"You're a talent" Bastoni said, a small smile on his face.

"This is a tough league. You'll get used to it."

I felt a little better after that. My teammates, my family, they had my back. This wasn't the end. It was, as Rossi had said, a beginning.

"..."

The next day, the news was dominated by the match. Headlines screamed about Rodrygo's late-game heroics and Real Madrid's triumph.

But there were also whispers about our team, about Inter. We had shown heart. We had shown promise. We had shown that we were not a team to be underestimated.

I was at the team training ground, sitting on a bench, scrolling through my phone. I saw a news article that showed the current Champions League standings.

UEFA Champions League – Matchday 2 Standings

Position - Team - Pts - W - D - L

1 Manchester City 6-2-0-0

2 Arsenal 6-2-0-0

3 Bayern Munich 6-2-0-0

4 Liverpool 6-2-0-0

5 Real Madrid 6-2-0-0

6 PSG 4-1-1-0

7 Barcelona 4-1-1-0

8 Chelsea 4-1-1-0

9 Borussia Dortmund 3-1-0-1

10 Atlético Madrid 3-1-0-1

... ... ... ... ... ...

13 Inter 3-1-0-1

... ... ... ... ... ...

There we were, 13th. One win, one loss. Not great, but not a disaster either.

We were in the middle of the pack, with everything still to play for.

My eyes lingered on the top ten, on the titans of football. Manchester City, Arsenal, Bayern Munich, Liverpool, Real Madrid...

My eyes then found my own name in a separate online article, an analysis of the game.

"Leon: The Silent Guardian Who Hesitated"

The title stung. The article praised my defensive abilities, my quick interceptions, and my uncanny positioning.

But it also pointed out my crucial mistake.

"With the game on the line, the young defender had a moment of indecision, a split second that cost his team a precious point."

They were right. And it was a mistake I would never make again.

I closed my eyes and focused on the icon that had appeared above Rodrygo.

It was still there in my mind, the twin legs and the ball.

I now understood it. I needed to decipher the rest, to understand the system fully. It wasn't just about seeing the numbers. It was about understanding the symbols.

I walked toward the training pitch, the sun warm on my face.

....

The hum of the team bus was a familiar, comforting sound, but tonight it felt different.

It was a somber melody of defeat. I sat by the window, the city lights of Madrid a blur against the night sky, my mind replaying the match for the hundredth time.

The loss to Real Madrid was a bitter pill, but the shame of my mistake, that split-second hesitation, was an even harder one to swallow.

Palmer sat across the aisle, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

He didn't say anything, but I could feel his silent support, a sense of shared responsibility.

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A/N: Hey everyone, I hope you enjoyed that! I decided to stick with Leon's POV for this chapter. Thanks so much for all your support