Christmas Happiness
"Hey, Turtle."
"Yeah?"
"Come out. Let's get ice cream."
"I can't."
"What? You don't want any?"
"No. I want some. But I can't have any."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Yohan looked at Haley, whose brows had drawn inward, and answered in a mournful voice.
"The club put me on a personal meal plan. I have to stick to it. Snacks only in moderation."
"Why do you have to do that?"
"To keep my body healthy, they said."
"A little kid like you can eat whatever he wants."
"You're a kid too."
"Dummy, I'm emotionally mature. So — are you eating or not?"
"Could you buy me one in two days instead?"
"I could buy you one today and one in two days."
"I really can't today..."
"Oh, for crying out loud... Fine. Then I'll eat with Emma."
"But you'll buy me one in two days, right?"
"No."
At Haley's flat refusal, Yohan's shoulders slumped.
He looked so pitiful that Haley — who'd only been joking — felt a twinge of guilt and quickly added,
"I'll buy you one, so wipe that look off your face."
"Okay."
"Ugh... How would you even survive without me?"
"I'd manage just fine."
"You little—! You're supposed to say you couldn't, even if it's a lie!"
"Oh, so that's how it works. Ask me again. I'll answer properly this time."
"Forget it...! Talking to you just ticks me off."
"Why? I like talking with you."
"Well, I don't."
"That hurts."
"Then change your face when you say it. You don't look hurt at all. You're weirdly good at lying at times like this..."
"I'm not lying..."
"Just stop talking back."
"Okay."
Haley wanted nothing more than to thump him once on the head for refusing to lose a single exchange. With that thought, she took Emma and headed for the snack stand.
Meanwhile, Yohan was reading the news on Ciro's phone.
The articles covered yesterday's match — another loss that stretched Roma's skid to three straight after an already dismal opening three-game stretch.
Unlike the thriving Pulcini side, the atmosphere around the First Team had grown as cold and bleak as the weather itself. More than half the first half of the season was gone, and they had scraped together only ten points — a mere three clear of the relegation zone. Local papers tore into the club for the catastrophic form.
Fans, sick of watching their eyes rot through match after match, grew more disappointed by the week. Player morale sank with every passing day. The vicious cycle ground on. Desperate for a reset, Roma fired the manager and installed a replacement.
"You sure you didn't put a curse on them the day you signed?"
Ciro's teasing remark, tossed out while they read the news, twisted Yohan's face into a grimace.
"Is that... actually true?"
"I'm kidding. You take jokes way too seriously. But for real — what now? How's the club mood?"
"Our team's okay-ish... but there's definitely less laughing around than before."
"The new signings are just terrible. They play so stiff, and there's no communication."
"I don't think communication is the real problem."
"Then what is?"
"When you bring in a lot of new players, you need to stick with one main system so the chemistry can build, right? But the manager they just fired ran really complicated tactics. The setup shifted a little every single match, and he piled on so many detailed instructions that the players got confused."
"Whoa..."
Ciro let out a genuine sound of admiration. Once he heard it laid out, the logic was hard to argue with.
In truth, Yohan had nailed Roma's problem. Experts and fans alike had been saying the manager's tactical philosophy was far too complex, and the new signings — unable to adapt to a system that changed every week — had dragged results into freefall. For a child who mostly watched the game through the simple lens of the ball itself, spotting that was no small feat.
"You've only been here five minutes and you're already talking like an analyst. Next time we watch a match together, teach me more of this stuff. It's fun."
Yohan was nowhere near an expert, of course — but his vision and analytical sense were sharpening with every passing day. The eye for the big picture was growing on him naturally. It was one of the reasons coaches and managers rated him so highly.
Thwump—!
The ball rocketed off his foot and rattled the net. A long-range strike from outside the box had found the top corner cleanly, and Yohan clenched one fist tight.
"Well done."
"Thank you, sir."
As he brushed past the touchline and caught the manager's praise, Yohan high-fived his teammates and jogged back into position. The manager, for his part, was still smiling at the shot he'd just witnessed.
Yohan had read the keeper's slight lean to one side and, without hesitation, driven the ball toward the far post. Defenders and midfielders had been closing hard, the moment tightening by the second — and still he'd finished it with superb vision and anticipation.
At first, the manager had written Yohan off as timid. Coach Mauro had thought the same. Now both of them had no choice but to take it back. Behind that gentle face, Yohan carried a fierce heart. He trusted his own judgment and made bold decisions — exactly the quality a forward needed.
Beyond that, his spirit was enormous, and so was his competitive fire. Yet that hunger never tipped into recklessness. Mentally, he was outstanding. It was a major strength.
The one soft spot was sudden, chaotic moments — he tensed a little too hard. He recovered his composure quickly enough, but in a match where the picture flipped in an instant, that tendency was as good as a weakness.
But even that is getting better, bit by bit.
In the manager's own estimation, Yohan was the real deal. Not just a big prospect — a generational one. The more he coached him, the more new gifts he uncovered, and the higher his expectations climbed. Stretch the truth a little and you could say there was no ceiling in sight. The boy absorbed everything like a sponge.
By now the club itself was fully aware of Yohan's presence — though he had no idea, and simply poured himself into ordinary days. Playing with friends, training hard, competing in matches... On birthdays and other special occasions he gathered Haley and the other kids and celebrated. And that time slipped by so quickly that Christmas was already upon them.
After the managerial change, Roma had clawed their way back through excellent teamwork and now sat seventh with one round left in the first half of the season. The club's once-sullen atmosphere had lifted on its own, and a little breathing room had returned.
The Pulcini team, meanwhile, was still undefeated. Fifteen matches: twelve wins, three draws. They were sailing through central Italy with outstanding results. Team chemistry kept climbing, match quality improved week by week, and the kids simply enjoyed football every single day.
All of them, that is — except Yohan. Or at least, not right now.
The boy who usually wore a smile on every corner of his face was currently living through the greatest tension of his life.
"Hoo... hoo..."
"Hi there. So you're Yohan?"
Because standing right in front of him was his idol — the club's one-club man and captain, Lorenzo Lucca.
"I hear the other kids call you Gio. Mind if I do the same?"
".... Hah... hah... Yes...? Sorry, what did you say...?"
"I asked if I could call you Gio."
Yohan could not believe his own eyes. His idol — someone who had always felt close and yet impossibly distant — was standing right there in front of him. The youth academy and the first-team training grounds were separate, so he had never gotten a look at the senior players. But it was Christmas Eve, and it felt as though God Himself had dropped a gift into his lap.
"Could you give me an answer?"
Lucca's slightly awkward follow-up snapped Yohan back to earth. He nodded so hard his head nearly came off.
"Ah — yes...! Of course!"
"Thanks. I hear your team's doing well. Makes me happy to know you're playing strong."
"I'll — I'll work even harder...!"
"Good. Is debuting for Roma your dream?"
"Yes...! I want to win every competition with Roma, and I want to play alongside you!"
The bold declaration drew a big, hearty laugh from Lorenzo. He already knew the boy had enormous talent — the club staff had briefed him before he came. Even so, even for a player people called a genius, the average age of a first-team debut, assuming he survived all the way to the senior threshold, sat somewhere between seventeen and nineteen. Later was common enough.
This little one was nine. If he kept standing out and debuted at seventeen, Lorenzo himself would be thirty-five — an age where retiring on declining form would surprise no one. And as a second-line player, even if he hadn't hung up his boots, he might well be off the squad list or warming the bench. Before that, a transfer to another club or an injury couldn't be ruled out either. In short, nothing in this game was ever set in stone.
And still the boy said something so full of hope. It was funny — and endearing.
"I see. I'll be rooting for you."
"Thank you!"
"I like that energy. I've got a little time — want to kick a ball around?"
"F-for real?"
"Not for long."
Yohan's heart hammered. Strength flooded every muscle. Just seeing his idol was enough to make him feel like he could fly — and now they were going to play one-on-one? He could have died happy on the spot.
Yohan decided then and there that he would be grateful for the rest of his life to Coach Salvatore, who had called him over saying there was someone he needed to meet.
Yohan skipped the club bus and waited at the entrance of the training center. Before long, a sleek white sedan pulled up and stopped in front of him.
"Hello, Aunt Carrie."
He was spending the night at Haley's house — the nuns had decided that, rather than sitting through the long Christmas Mass at the convent, he would have more fun with a friend. Caroline adored Yohan as well, and the thought of Haley spending Christmas alone with only her mother had been enough to make her volunteer to pick him up. Every condition both sides wanted had lined up perfectly.
"Hi there. Did you have fun at football?"
"Yes! May I get in?"
"Of course. Hop in the back."
"Yes, ma'am."
When he opened the rear door, Haley was sitting with her arms crossed. Yohan settled in beside her sulky face and asked,
"Did you not go to the bathroom?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Your face looks a little off."
"Do you want to die?"
"No."
"I'm hungry, that's all. Why are you grinning like that anyway? Something good happen?"
"Yeah."
"What?"
"I met Lorenzo Lucca."
"And who's that supposed to be?"
Yohan's mouth fell open.
"He's our club captain! I've explained that to you how many times...!"
"If you don't care about football, you can forget, okay...!"
"Hmm..."
"Are you looking down on me!? You were about to call me out for having a bad memory, weren't you!?"
"No. I was reflecting — I think I've been too stuck in my own head. You might be right. You really don't care about football at all..."
"Right? Good. Reflect properly."
"But I am a little sad that you forgot something I told you."
"What? So now I have to reflect too?"
"I didn't say that."
Through the rearview mirror, Caroline watched Haley fussing and Yohan taking it all with easy patience — and drove on with a warm smile. She remembered how her daughter, looking lonely, had told her with a stiff face to go ahead and invite him... and how hard she'd worked to hide how pleased she actually was. Looking back on that little performance, Caroline couldn't help but find it funny.