A Welcome Guest
"Good morning. Have a nice day."
"Hey. Morning."
"Hello. Beautiful weather today, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Not too hot — just right."
"Hello? Can I help you with something?"
"Uh…? Nah, I'm good."
"Hi! What are you eating?"
"Hmm? Just some bread…"
From staff hurrying off somewhere, to employees sitting down for a quick coffee, all the way to the janitor setting out trash bins — for the past few days, Yohan had greeted every single person he met at the club with genuine warmth.
It was the courtesy Sister Caterina had taught him, put into practice.
If it had been empty politeness, people would have brushed it off. But Yohan's greetings carried real feeling, sincerity that rose straight from the heart. Because of that, the club staff looked after him with surprising care, even though he had only just joined.
While training with Mauro and the other coaches, Yohan also met a few teammates who had come in for individual sessions. They approached him first, treated him kindly, and left him with a thoroughly good impression. He wanted nothing more than to join the team properly — the only regret was that his skills still fell short.
"Let me ask you something. Sit down and take it easy."
Mauro, who had rotated in to train him that day, said it casually. Yohan caught his breath fully before answering.
"Go ahead."
"Your preferred position is striker. What would you do if the manager told you to play somewhere else?"
"Uh… I haven't really thought about that… But if the manager said so, I'd have to follow, right?"
"Not just for one match. Every game. All season. The next season too — always in that other position."
"Hmm… I think I'd hate that a little."
"Even if striker wasn't actually the best position for you?"
"The place I enjoy most, and the place I'm most confident, is striker. Attacking midfielder is fine too. And… I could put up with central midfield or the wing for a while. I think I could still play the way I want there. But I don't think I could do it for long."
"Defender?"
"No."
"That so?"
"Yes."
Mauro nodded slowly and asked again.
"Say you're a striker with no talent for it. But on defense, you're so good people call you a genius. Would you switch positions then?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I want to be a striker."
"Seba — who plays in the third line now — wanted to be a defender back in the youth academy. But he had a gift for playmaking, so we recommended the third line, and it suited him so well he switched."
Seba was the nickname for Sebastiano Ricci. Learning that piece of his past, Yohan's eyes went round.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Even if you change positions based on potential, you can still make it big. Still won't switch?"
"No."
"Seba did."
"Ugh… I just… mmm…! I don't think I could. And I'm not criticizing Sebastiano, okay? That question depends on each person's personality. The answer's different for everyone."
"You're right about that."
"Right? I'm confident I can do well as a striker, and playing there is what makes me keep going with football. When I'm just messing around with friends, I don't mind switching positions. But in a real match, I want to play up front."
Mauro found Yohan's answer thoroughly satisfying. It was clear the boy had thought it through more carefully than most kids his age.
Saying he could accept anything up through the second line suggested his ego wasn't overwhelmingly strong — yet the stubborn streak about being a striker showed he had one, at just the right level. Not excessive. Exactly right.
Of course his thinking might change as he grew, but Yohan's mindset itself was the kind Mauro had hoped for.
Ego was a double-edged sword. Players with a strong one often excelled at football — and just as often caused trouble. Absolute confidence in their role, a stubborn insistence on their own style of play, could clash with a manager's philosophy and create real problems.
Mauro took a neutral stance on ego. What he wanted was flexibility — the ability to follow your own instincts sometimes and the manager's instructions at others. In short, the capacity for harmony and compromise.
In truth, most players in the professional leagues already had that flexibility. If every player clung to a one-sided philosophy, matches simply wouldn't function.
The real reason Mauro had asked a question whose answer varied so much from person to person was simple: he wanted to poke at Yohan's thinking and see what came out.
"All right."
"Um…? May I ask why you asked that just now?"
"I just wanted to hear what you thought. I respect your opinion. But in modern football, you have to be good at everything. So apply yourself to every kind of training. You've still got a long way to go."
"Yes, Coach."
Everyone taught differently. Some kids responded to the carrot; others to the stick. In Yohan's case, a crack of the whip only stoked his competitive fire higher. He already knew where he fell short, and Mauro judged that the boy would improve dramatically in short order — his learning speed, built on a high level of understanding, was remarkably fast.
Still, overconfidence is dangerous.
Italy, England, Germany, Spain — the so-called Big Four leagues. Even the underperforming players in those top divisions, the ones people called low-IQ footballers, had been prodigies as children, dominating their age groups. Among the countless youth players worldwide, the odds of becoming a consistent first-team regular in one of Europe's Big Four sat well below one percent. According to the various national football associations, it hovered around 0.015 percent. Only talent that had been sifted and sifted again ever set foot on that glorious stage.
Plenty of kids shone young and then faded into mediocrity as adults. To keep that from happening, Yohan's mind and body both needed careful nurturing.
Even so, Mauro believed Yohan would do well. He couldn't afford the overconfidence he'd just warned himself against — but if the boy kept this attitude, Mauro thought he could hold a fair measure of certainty.
"Gio, the pride of our school!"
"The future Roma player has arrived!"
"Get his autograph! Everybody pull out some paper!"
Watching his friends make such a fuss, Yohan's face flushed red. Whenever they teased him like this, he couldn't help feeling embarrassed for no good reason.
"Look at him! He's blushing!"
"Should we take a picture? If we snap one now, we can brag about it when he grows up."
Back at the convent, Yohan briefly wondered whether he should have kept his signing with Roma a secret. But he shook his head almost at once. There had been no real reason to hide it. Keeping quiet would only have left him feeling guilty, and if it came out later his friends might have been hurt that he hadn't told them.
"Let's do homework."
"He's changing the subject!"
"…Please. Let's just do homework."
The kids snickered at Yohan's flustered reaction, then each pulled out a backpack. Sitting on the bench beside the pitch, with a breeze cool for summer drifting past, they chatted idly and put their heads together over their assignments.
In truth, they could barely call it homework — progress was glacial. Yohan's signing with Roma kept pulling every conversation back to the same topic. Even the girls who didn't care much about football were pricking up their ears.
"So Gio, you're playing for Roma as a youth player?"
"Yeah."
"Starting when?"
"My category, Pulcini, starts in September."
"Does that mean you can't come to school from September?"
"No? There are a lot of kids like me, so they say the matches are in the evening."
"What do you mean, kids like you?"
"Kids who don't live in the dorms — who commute and go to regular school."
"Oh, okay. But if you're a Roma player, doesn't that mean you can't play football with the boys anymore?"
"No, it's fine. They said short sessions are okay, as long as I don't overdo it."
"You guys kick a ball around forever every day."
"From now on we'll keep it short."
The boys listening to Yohan let out grumbling complaints. The time they could play together was shrinking, and it left them feeling a little forlorn. It hurt, but there was nothing to be done about it. Yohan soothed his friends as best he could, settled into his new routine, and followed Mauro's teaching faithfully.
Thanks to that, he was able to join the team sooner than Mauro had expected — not because his fundamentals were fully polished, but because he had reached a level where he could train alongside the others.
It was still peak holiday season, so few players were around the club. He couldn't meet any new faces on the team; he had already gotten acquainted with the teammates who had dropped by during individual training. They weren't close, exactly, but they exchanged friendly greetings at least.
This was the day that marked exactly three weeks since Yohan had joined the club.
And that day, Hailey came back from America.
"Where have you been?"
Yohan had just returned to the convent when Hailey stepped out of a luxury car, arms folded, and fired the question at him. His eyes went wide.
"Hailey! You're back!"
The pure delight on his face was unmistakable. Hailey snorted.
"Getting this excited after a few weeks… Ugh. You really can't live without me, can you?"
"Hmm? I think I'd manage just fine…"
"What did you just say!? Even if I died!?"
"No… I wasn't thinking anything like that. Don't say scary stuff. But when did you get in?"
"Today."
"Aren't you tired?"
"I slept plenty on the plane."
"Yeah? Guess you must've missed me a lot."
"You little…! What kind of nonsense are you spouting…!"
Watching Hailey glare and seethe was somehow entertaining. And he was glad to see her — even though it had only been three weeks. He wanted to play with her right away, but there was something he had to do first.
"Hello, Aunt Caroline."
He offered a greeting to Caroline. She glanced sideways at her daughter, who was hopping up and down beside Yohan, complaining that he was ignoring her, then answered warmly.
"Hi there. Sister Caterina told me the news. You joined a football club, right? Congratulations."
Yohan grinned.
"Thank you. Has everything been all right?"
"Of course. Would it be okay if I left Hailey with you for just two hours? I have a quick errand in the city."
"Leave her to me."
"Oh, and Hailey says she has something for you — make sure you get it later."
"Something for me?"
"A present, apparently. See you in two hours. Sorry for springing this on you."
"Not at all. Have a good trip."
"You're reliable. Take care of her."
With that, Caroline left at once.
"Who's leaving who with whom!"
Hailey snapped, glaring at the receding rear of the car. Yohan calmed her down, then held out his hand.
"What's that hand for?"
"Give me the present."
"So greedy… Come inside."
"Huh…?"
"What."
"Shouldn't I be the one saying come in? This is my house…"
"Dummy. I already got permission from Sister and came in before you even got here. You just finished playing football outside, so of course I'm the one who gets to tell you to come in."
"Is that how it works?"
"Ugh… You're already exhausting. Don't you want your present?"
"I do."
"Then stop arguing and come inside."
"Okay."