CHAPTER 169: UEFA CHAMPIONS LEAGUE (4)

The laughter in the restaurant died in an instant.

The celebratory atmosphere from the Champions League matches evaporated.

Lautaro’s phone was passed from hand to hand, each player reading the headline, their expressions shifting from disbelief to grim reality.

Federico Chiesa was back.

"No way," Alessandro Bastoni said, shaking his head. "Impossible. His injury was supposed to be a six-month recovery. Minimum."

"It’s an official statement," Lautaro said, his captain’s voice low and serious. "It’s real."

"Great," Federico Dimarco groaned, slumping in his chair. "Just what we needed. As if playing Juventus wasn’t hard enough."

For a moment, the weight of the news was a physical presence in the room.

Chiesa wasn’t just any player. He was a force of nature, a winger with explosive pace and a deadly shot. He was the kind of player who could win a match all by himself.

Then, Nicolò Barella slammed his fist on the table, not in anger, but in defiance.

"So what?" he snarled, a competitive fire igniting in his eyes. "He has two legs, just like us. We will mark him. We will tackle him. We will make him wish he’d taken another week off!"

The aggressive energy was infectious. The shock began to recede, replaced by the familiar steel of professional determination.

"Barella is right," Stefan de Vrij said, his voice calm and steady. "He is one man. They are eleven."

Julián Álvarez, who had been staring at the phone with wide eyes, finally spoke. "Okay, new question," he said, and the entire table turned to him. "If a player comes back from injury early, does he still have his full-season warranty, or is it voided?"

The absurdity was so perfect, so purely Julián, that the tension shattered.

A few players chuckled, then a few more, until the whole room was shaking with laughter.

They weren’t laughing because the threat was gone. They were laughing because they remembered who they were: a team that had faced impossible odds before and come out on top.

"We need a plan," Lautaro said, the laughter subsiding. "It’s not just about Chiesa. They have Vlahović." He looked at Bastoni and de Vrij. "He’s big, physical. He’ll be a nightmare on set pieces."

"Dušan Vlahović is a monster," Bastoni agreed, his game face on. "But he’s not the most mobile. We can’t let him pin us in the box. We have to deny him the service."

"Which brings us back to their midfield," Hakan Çalhanoğlu chimed in, swirling the last of his espresso in his cup. "Locatelli and Rabiot. They are the engine. They’ll try to control the tempo and feed the wingers. The battle starts with us, in the middle of the park."

"And don’t forget their defense," Lautaro added. "Bremer is a rock. I’ve played against him. He reads the game well and he’s strong in the tackle. It will be a fight to get any space."

Leon had been listening quietly, processing it all.

His teammates were brilliant tactical minds in their own right. They saw the pieces on the board.

But his Vision allowed him to see how those pieces were coded to move.

The ’Big Game Player’ trait on Chiesa was a dangerous variable they couldn’t account for.

"They are a great team," Leon said, speaking for the first time since the news broke. His voice was calm, cutting through the chatter. "But so are we."

He looked around the table, at the faces of his friends, his family. "They have Chiesa. We have Lautaro. They have Vlahović. We have Barella running for two. They have Bremer. We have Palmer’s magic passes." He grinned.

"And they have a normal midfield. We have a Julián who might break their brains with a single question before kickoff."

The mood lifted completely. The fear was gone, replaced by a hungry, eager anticipation.

This was why they were here. For these fights. For these challenges.

Julián puffed out his chest. "That is a valid strategy. Psychological warfare."

"Okay, enough tactics for one night," Lautaro declared, signaling for the bill. "My head is full. All I know is, on Saturday, we go to war."

They all walked out of the restaurant and into the cool Milan night, the energy buzzing between them. They stood in the car park under the orange glow of the streetlights, still laughing and joking.

"So who is paying?" Dimarco asked with a mischievous grin. "The Man of the Match from the last game, or the captain who makes the big money?"

"The Man of the Match, obviously!" Lautaro shot back, pointing at Leon. "It’s the rule!"

"No, no, the captain pays!" Julián argued. "It shows leadership! And it means I can order the lobster next time!"

Leon just laughed, pulling out his wallet. "I’ve got it, I’ve got it. My treat."

A chorus of cheers went up. They said their goodnights with handshakes and back-pats, the bond between them stronger than ever.

They got into their respective cars, the sound of roaring engines briefly filling the quiet street, before they all went their separate ways.

Leon drove home, the windows down, the city lights a comforting blur.

He felt a deep sense of peace.

The challenge of Juventus was immense, but he wasn’t facing it alone. He was part of a machine, a family, a team that was ready for anything.

He let himself into his apartment. It was late, well past midnight.

The lights were off, and the only sound was the gentle hum of the refrigerator. He peeked into his mother’s room. She was fast asleep, a peaceful smile on her face.

He quietly closed her door, a wave of affection washing over him.

He trudged to his own room, his body heavy with exhaustion.

Training was in the morning. He needed to sleep. He collapsed onto his bed, but his mind was still racing, buzzing with tactics and possibilities. Juventus. Chiesa. Vlahović.

Just as he was about to drift off, a thought struck him.

He sat up, his weariness forgotten. He closed his eyes and activated his Vision, focusing his intent.

Show me the threat.

He wasn’t just passively receiving information anymore; he was actively seeking it out, using his system like a supercomputer.

He pulled up Juventus’s likely formation, the players appearing in his mind’s eye like holographic chess pieces.

He focused on the two main threats: Chiesa on the wing, Vlahović in the center.

He analyzed their individual stats, their tendencies, their heat maps from previous games.

And then he saw it. A thin, almost invisible golden line connecting the two players. It was a symbol he had never seen before.

He focused on it, and a new piece of information materialized in his vision, a chilling revelation that made the hair on his arms stand up.

[Synergy Link Detected: ’Predator & Jackal’. When Chiesa and Vlahović are on the pitch together, their individual ’Chance Creation’ and ’Finishing’ attributes receive a coordinated boost.]