The drone of the plane's engines was a familiar lullaby, but tonight it felt different.

Leon leaned his head against the window, watching the patchwork of city lights blur far below.

The adrenaline from the match had long since faded, replaced by a deep, bone-weary exhaustion.

After the gut-wrenching defeat to Real Madrid, any result that wasn't a loss felt like a victory.

The icons were like a new language he was still learning to read, and in a match as intense as tonight's, he was only able to translate a few words, not a full sentence.

He was proud of the goal, of course, but it felt like a lucky guess, not a moment of mastery.

Still, the feeling of a new chapter had begun. A new kind of hope.

He drifted off, the hum of the engines eventually soothing him to sleep.

He woke up with a gentle nudge from the flight attendant, who was smiling at him.

"Welcome back to Italy, champ," she said, her voice soft.

He disembarked, the cool night air of the airport a sharp contrast to the heated intensity of the match.

He was an anonymous figure in a hoodie and baseball cap, but he could feel the eyes on him.

People pointed discreetly, whispering his name as he walked past. It was a new and strange feeling, this fame.

He felt like he was living two lives: the boy who just wanted to play football, and the star everyone was watching.

His driver, a friendly older man named Frank, was waiting for him at the curb.

"Another good one, son," Frank said with a warm smile as he opened the car door.

"That was a beauty of a strike."

"Thanks, Frank," Leon replied, sinking into the plush leather seat of the car.

He was so tired he could barely manage a full sentence. He closed his eyes and let the familiar sights of Italy pass by, a comforting blur of streetlights and distant traffic.

The car pulled up to the modest, two-story house he shared with his mother.

It was his anchor, the one place where nothing had changed.

The porch light was on, a beacon of welcome. He unlocked the door, the familiar scent of home washing over him.

His mom, was sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, a mug of herbal tea in her hands. She had been waiting up for him. Her face, a gentle map of concern and pride, lit up when she saw him.

"Leon," she said, her voice a soft melody. She got up and hugged him tightly, the embrace a balm for his weary soul.

"I watched the match. You were wonderful."

He melted into the hug, his head resting on her shoulder.

"I'm so tired, Mom."

"I know, baby. You should get some rest. Come, sit with me for a little bit."

He changed into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, shed the last vestiges of his professional life, and went back to the living room.

He collapsed onto the couch next to his mom, his feet up on the coffee table. She handed him a warm mug of tea, and he took a long, grateful sip.

The television was on, a gentle hum of a show about a baker, the kind of quiet, simple programming that always made him feel grounded.

"You're a star, you know," she said, her eyes fixed on the screen, but her hand resting on his arm.

He let out a small, tired laugh.

"I don't feel like a star. I feel like a student who just failed his biggest test. Real Madrid was... humbling."

"Hmph," she scoffed softly.

"That's how you learn, no? You get beaten by the best, and then you figure out how to beat them."

He smiled.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the gentle rhythm of the show and the warmth of his mother's presence a much-needed sanctuary.

After a while, he pulled out his phone. He had been avoiding it all night, but now curiosity got the better of him.

He decided to post it, a small moment of joy to share with the world. He wrote a simple caption:

"Hard-fought. We keep moving forward. Thanks for the support!"

He clicked post and watched the likes and comments flood in immediately.

He glanced at his follower count, and his eyes widened.

It had been a million two weeks ago. Now, it was a little over 3 million.

Three million people were watching him. Following his journey.

The number felt huge, impossible. A little bit of that old fear, the feeling of being overwhelmed, returned, but he pushed it down.

This wasn't Real Madrid. This was just a number. It was a good thing. It meant he had an impact.

He put his phone down and took another sip of his tea.

The quiet was lovely, but his mind, no matter how tired, was still buzzing.

He had a new goal now, a clear personal objective. He needed to master his new ability. He needed to understand the icons. He needed to be able to read the entire sentence, not just a few words.

He needed to become the player who could stand toe-to-toe with the best in the world, not just a student in their presence.

He felt the familiar itch to talk about it, to share this discovery with someone who would get it. He thought of his teammates, but they wouldn't understand the 'Vision.' He thought of Coach, but he was a coach. This was a player's problem, a player's secret.

There was only one person he felt he could really talk to about it. Nicolo Barella.

He knew exactly what Leon was going through. He was a great player himself, with a fiery passion for the game, and a knack for understanding things others didn't.

Leon had been meaning to call him. The timing felt right.

He found his number in his contacts and hit the call button.

The phone rang twice before a cheerful, slightly gruff voice answered.

"Leon! Hey, man, what's up?"

"Hey, Nic. Just got home. I was just wondering... are you in town tonight?" Leon asked, a plan already forming in his mind. "I was thinking, maybe we could go out. Grab some dinner, or something. We need to catch up."

A moment of silence on the other end, and then, a light laugh.

"You're asking me to go out?" Nicolo said, a smile evident in his voice.

"But you know what? I'm in town. I'm free. And I could use a night out."

Leon's heart felt a little lighter.

"Awesome. Great. I'll text you the address. Don't be late."

He hung up, a genuine smile on his face for the first time all night. He looked at his mom, who was watching him with a knowing grin.

"Nicolo's in town," he said simply.

She just nodded, a warm look in her eyes.

She knew he needed to talk to someone, and she trusted him to find the right people.

Leon felt a surge of energy, a new determination. The path to becoming the player he wanted to be was not just on the field, but also in the friendships he made and the relationships he built.