The Club's Secret Plan
The fundamentals of the U-11 players were on a far higher level than those of the Pulcini.
So while Yohan had struggled with the technical side at first, he made up for it with an enormous volume of practice, and by the time the league kicked off he was no longer being outclassed in the slightest.
As for mental ability — there had never been anyone to compare him with, so that was beside the point.
He adapted quickly to the 9v9 matches that came with two extra players on each side, showed his full quality, and tore through the league alongside Bianchi.
The one area where Yohan still fell short in this league was physical duels. Age-related differences in build were something he simply could not overcome.
Even so, that never stopped him from playing his game, and the U-11 manager, the coaches, and his teammates watched his dazzling day-by-day progress with growing certainty that he would soon skip a grade.
Still getting along well with Hailey and the rest of his school friends, Yohan settled perfectly into his new routine.
He played the opening match, stacked win after win, grew closer to his club teammates and staff — and then, one ordinary day, it happened.
Walking into the training ground with Bianchi, Yohan noticed the sour expressions on the faces of the U-13 team training on the neighboring pitch.
"Why do they look like that?"
"They got thrashed, that's why."
"Thrashed?"
"They played yesterday. Against Milan. Lost eight–two."
"Eight–two…?"
"That monster I told you about — the one who plays for Milan. He wiped the floor with them. Let's just stay clear. No point catching the fallout."
"Yeah."
Milan was a powerhouse club. Everyone acknowledged that.
But so was Roma. The club that represented central Italy. In trophies they lagged well behind Milan, yet in ordinary match quality and sheer grit Yohan was convinced they ranked among the best in the world.
And Roma's youth players were excellent. He had seen it for himself on the pitch — his teammates' level was very high.
Yet those same high-level players had been utterly dismantled by Milan one step up, in the Esordienti.
Looking at their faces, even their morale seemed to have collapsed.
Milan's player must have been truly exceptional — good enough to tear through anyone in his age group.
Neither in the Pulcini nor in the U-11 had Yohan yet faced an opponent that overwhelming. Bianchi, who had come up with him, still struck him as the best player he had seen at U-11 so far.
Bianchi was outstanding, of course — but Yohan had been quietly hoping for a chance to go up against one of those so-called monsters, and the lack of one left him a little disappointed.
"Lee. Come over here a second."
Worried, as Bianchi had said, that some of that frustration might splash his way, Yohan had been training without so much as a glance at the U-13 players. At the manager's call he stopped the ball at once and sprinted over.
"Yes, Coach. You called for me?"
"I did. It's about your position."
"Go ahead."
"Vinko is leaving the team."
Vinko was a U-11 teammate who moved between central midfield and attacking midfield. He had a problem, though — his attitude. He trained half-heartedly, sometimes skipped sessions on a whim, and clashed often with his teammates.
He had butted heads with Yohan a few times as well. Yohan, mild by nature, had simply let it go, so nothing had ever escalated into a real incident — but with the other players, arguments were frequent.
Releasing a youth player was never done lightly.
First the club gave feedback on the player's issues to both the player and the parents, then monitored for long enough to see whether anything improved. Only when there was no improvement — or no realistic path of development — did they carefully call the parents in and deliver the release notice.
If the player still wanted to keep playing football, the club would put together a clear list of points to work on and help him find another club, or write a recommendation letter.
Even if a boy simply wasn't good enough — even if he was genuinely terrible on the ball — a youth player was almost never released for ability alone.
Attitude was different. Anything that could poison team chemistry, if it still hadn't been fixed after time had been given, forced the club to make a decision.
Vinko had talent. His attitude had not been good enough. So he was leaving.
"Vinko's going? I heard he was heading back to Spain?"
"No. Different issue. He's moving to another club."
"Ah…"
"The important part isn't that — it's your position. We've still got some time before the tryouts. Can you play in Vinko's spot until then?"
"Was I not doing well enough as a striker? I am a bit behind physically…"
Seeing Yohan's face start to sink, the manager shook his head.
"It's not that. You're doing more than well enough up front. The physical side will sort itself out with hard muscle work and time — I'm not worried about it."
"Oh. Is that what this is?"
"Yes. I've talked it over with the Pulcini manager, and after analyzing every match you've played so far, we've decided you can handle the middle of the second and third lines just fine. For a while I want you moving between those two. How does that sound?"
"Just for a while?"
"Just for a while."
"Then that's fine."
"Good. Get back to training."
"Yes, sir."
Yohan dipped his head and slipped back among his teammates to resume the session.
Watching him go, the U-11 manager let out a quiet breath of relief.
In his mind, he had just fastened the first button of a plan the club was carrying out in secret.
Barely a year and a half into his time at the club, Yohan was already one of AS Roma's most promising prospects.
Talent, work rate, attitude — all of it was there. If he kept growing like this, the expectation that he would become one of Roma's great pillars ran high.
The problem, if it could be called one, was that Yohan insisted on playing as a striker.
The position that suited him best was the center of the second and third lines. As a pure striker, his greatest weapons — vision and orchestration — were largely sealed away, and in practice his best performances came from the second line.
He was good as a striker too, but given the pace of his growth, the club judged that the physical demands of the front line would put him at a relative disadvantage. Changing his position had become their top priority.
They had no intention of forcing it, though. So the club decided to work a different angle.
Interest. That was the plan.
Give him a playmaker role where he would receive the ball constantly between the second and third lines. From time to time, hand him the exact role of the man he idolized — Lorenzo Lucca — and let him fall in love with it.
Praise him often when he played those positions, keep feeding his motivation, and gradually shift how he felt about it.
As a secondary option they had also settled on giving him the second-striker role — still an attacking position, but one that supported the man furthest forward — or even deploying him as a false nine, easing him deeper step by step. All of it was already in motion at the club, without Yohan knowing a thing.
Of course, internal or external factors could still see him become a great success as a pure striker. And shuttling a player through too many positions risked turning him into a jack of all trades and master of none — so for now they had also decided not to neglect the training he was already doing.
And if, after every approach, Yohan still insisted on the absolute front line?
Roma would pour everything into developing him as a striker.
Either way, the club had made up its mind: a talent with no ceiling in sight like Yohan's would not be allowed to slip away.
"They're saying Christmas this year is going to be freezing. Might even drop below zero."
Hailey, eyes on her phone. Yohan answered as if it were nothing.
"A thick blanket and you're fine."
"Ugh… There you go again, making the world sound so easy. When are you going to grow up? Like me."
"Hmm."
"You want to die?"
"What?"
"You were pretending to think because you didn't want to answer! That doesn't work on me anymore, you know."
"Then I'll try a different method next time."
"Why would you say that to my face? Do you want to get hit?"
"I think a real adult should also know how to hold back rough language."
"Wow… Getting a little bigger and now you're full of yourself?"
"I'm not full of myself. I was being sincere."
"So your sincerity is just making people mad?"
"It's not."
"We're almost into Year Two of the Newman calendar, so I'll let it slide."
"Hmm."
"You said you were changing methods."
"Oh. Right."
"You really do want to die, don't you?"
On the wide sofa, Yohan absorbed Hailey's grumbling while eating the snacks Caroline had set out.
He had already packed dinner away until he was bursting, and diet management did not exist anywhere in his head. In front of food that made your mouth water just looking at it, something as minor as a meal plan simply did not matter.
"Haaah…"
Finished with the snacks, Yohan rubbed his stomach and yawned. His T-shirt rode up a little — and Hailey, catching an unintended glimpse of his midriff, snapped.
"Why are you flashing bare skin all of a sudden…!"
"What now. You see bare skin all the time."
"What bare skin do I see all the time?"
"Arms and legs are bare skin. Your face is bare skin too…"
"Oh my god… I mean your stomach!"
"Don't you see that sometimes too?"
"I used to…! Don't just do that now."
"Okay. But I didn't mean to. It was an accident."
"Whatever. Just don't."
"Yeah."
At an age when puberty was starting to set in, Hailey had grown a little more careful than before. Careful was the wrong word, really — she had matured early. Her sharp tongue, though, had only gotten sharper than it used to be.
Yohan, on the other hand, seemed the same as ever. Outwardly, nothing about his personality had changed.
That was only how it looked. The truth was that Yohan already knew exactly what he had to do and was running hard down that path, so he barely felt any confusion at all — and he had already entered the period of secondary sexual characteristics.
The proof was in the development of his frame, and you could see it whenever he played. Being able to hold his own against older, bigger opponents meant muscle was packing on.
He was also thinking more, and more complexly, during matches than he used to — evidence that his reasoning itself was developing.
And so he kept growing, steadily, absorbing every good thing that came his way, drawing closer and closer to his first dream: a professional debut.