Overwhelming Talent
Round 37. Roma's opponent was Atalanta BC, a club based in the north whose nickname matched the goddess on their crest.
For years they had languished in the lower half of the table, frequently mentioned among the relegation candidates — a genuine weak side. But a few seasons ago an experienced veteran manager had taken the helm, and under him the club had surged into the upper ranks, transforming into a genuine powerhouse.
Atalanta currently sat fourth. With the Champions League place already secured after Round 36 and the title itself out of reach, rotation was widely expected.
For Roma, that was good news.
Still, the scrap for Europa League places in Roma's own bracket was ferocious. One slip and European competition would be gone for the year, so from Coach Ferraro's perspective the match had to be played with the strongest available side.
In that climate, the question everyone was watching was whether Yohan would feature.
The impact of his debut, his excellent training habits, and the frankly desperate quality of every striker not named Guidotti all pointed toward a starting berth. The only real question was where Ferraro would slot him into the 4-3-1-2.
Yohan was a utility piece who could operate anywhere from the first line to the third.
Alessandro Rossi and Aldrey Solomon had both returned from injury. Richie, Rossi, and Solomon formed a third-line trio that ranked among the best in the league; inserting Yohan there, no matter how brilliant his debut, was simply not realistic. The gap between a long-established unit and a prospect was too wide.
Next came the second line — Lorenzo. His form had dipped noticeably of late, but he still possessed the one moment that could flip a match, and with no real replacement available, that spot was essentially locked.
Up front, Raffaello Di Guidotti was slow of foot but tall and excellent in combination play; he was an automatic selection. That left Guidotti's partner. The current occupant had been colorless and odorless in recent performances, so most people expected that if Yohan started, it would be there.
"You have to manage your energy properly. Your stamina's good, but if you run the way you did last match you'll completely empty the tank. You can't get through a game on grit alone. Got it?"
And Yohan, as usual, was listening to Miguel's lecture.
"Yes. I'll train hard."
"You're already training hard, you idiot. You know your own body — just manage the energy."
"Understood."
"Drink mate. It's basically a cure-all."
"Doesn't seem to be helping the bruises, though…?"
"Then drink harder. It'll clear up."
"Ah. Right."
Fans are endlessly curious about players' daily lives. The recent flood of club training videos existed precisely to feed that appetite. The footage also closed the psychological distance between squad and supporters, which is why most football clubs upload not only training cams but quiz sessions with a few players, surprise house visits, and other fan-service content to their platforms.
Roma was no exception. Every bizarre everyday conversation between Yohan and Miguel that threatened to short-circuit the brain was being captured on camera.
"Miguel! Stop scamming Gio and come be a free-kick wall!"
Rossi, back from injury, called out. Miguel flung both hands outward in exaggerated injustice.
"We've got training mannequins for that. Why do I have to do it?"
"Because it only feels good to hit when you're standing there."
"Why are you hitting me?"
"I'm not hitting you — I'm hitting the shot."
"Ah. Fair enough. Gio, you come too."
There was nothing remotely convincing about the logic, yet Miguel accepted it completely and turned to Yohan. Yohan paused mid-sip of mate and looked at him with genuine confusion.
"Why me?"
"You're doing wall duty too. I give you mate every day."
"Ah. I see. I should repay the favor, then."
Fans adored it whenever Miguel and Yohan appeared on camera — opposite personalities, identical antics. Watching their Dumb-and-Dumber routine never produced full-blown laughter, but it always drew a quiet, helpless smile.
Days like that slipped past, and before long the Round 37 away fixture was upon them.
The distance between the clubs meant a flight. Once they reached the hotel in Bergamo, Atalanta's home city, Yohan found himself rooming with Miguel.
That much was fine. Miguel was fun and a good person.
But the moment Miguel peeled off his socks, Yohan flinched.
Right…
He had completely forgotten how catastrophic Miguel's foot odor could be.
He gave no sign of it. The thought of wounding Miguel's feelings kept him silent. Humans are adaptable creatures, he told himself; even that smell would eventually become background noise. With that resolve, Yohan pulled out a book, face carefully blank.
"What are you doing? Reading?"
"Yes."
"Spanish, huh? You look at that so often — so that's why your Spanish is good?"
"I wouldn't say good. It's just close enough to Italian that it's easier to pick up than other languages."
"If you hit something you don't know, ask."
"I will."
Miguel knew perfectly well how bad his feet smelled. That Yohan could clearly be inhaling the full toxic cloud and still show nothing struck him as genuinely endearing.
And Yohan's consideration was not limited to Miguel. The other players knew it. The staff knew it. That easy, warm way of treating people had, without Yohan himself realizing it, already carried him deep into the heart of Roma — into the place that, if the club were a body, would sit right beside the heart.
Meanwhile, at the press conference, Coach Ferraro sat with a face ground down by fatigue and fielded questions from the reporters.
"What's the current injury situation?"
"Rossi and Solomon are back and available. McKenzie reported some discomfort last match, but it's nothing serious. The remaining injured players are still out."
"Atalanta's manager said he plans to field squad players who haven't seen much minutes. Is that good news for Roma?"
"I don't see it that way. Every Atalanta player is excellent — and has been for a long time. Coach Gasco has completely rebuilt that side. If we lose focus, we're the ones who get punished."
Gasco favored a brand of football that simply battered the opponent into submission. His aggressive leanings were best illustrated by the fact that Atalanta currently led Serie A in goals scored.
The problem was that, for a side sitting so high in the table, they also conceded a lot. The high line and constant attacking left them vulnerable to late reverse results even in matches they had seemed to control.
Even so, the sheer force of an attack that could punch clean through any shield remained intact. Under Gasco, Atalanta had gone eight wins and three draws in their last eleven and were currently dismantling the league.
Fans therefore expected the Roma–Atalanta match to be thoroughly entertaining. Ferraro's defensive line sat relatively deep; Gasco's sat extremely high. The natural shape of the game would be Roma absorbing pressure and looking for counters — plenty of open, high-tempo moments.
"With Rossi and Solomon back, the third line is fully operational again. Is there no place for Lee?"
"I won't discuss the starting eleven here. All I can say is that Gio's original position is as a forward."
"Lee's performance last match was enormous. Are you prepared to guarantee him consistent minutes?"
"Gio's training attitude is excellent and his results are excellent. He proved it on the pitch. Players with that mentality deserve to be used."
"There's a lot of talk about the intensity of the tactical load. What plans do you have for next season?"
"I'm focused on the present."
"With roughly a year left on your contract, Chelsea in England have reportedly made an approach. Will you leave when the season ends?"
It was true. Ferraro had received a love call from Chelsea. The current Chelsea manager was widely expected to be dismissed after a mediocre campaign, and Chelsea had marked Ferraro as the preferred replacement. He was already regarded as a coach who would deliver strong results given a deep enough squad. The Premier League's vastly superior finances — and Chelsea's status as one of its wealthiest clubs — made him a natural fit, so speculation about his future was constant.
"I have nothing to say about the future. Right now I am Roma's manager, and I will conduct myself accordingly."
The bland answer produced a bland headline. The starting eleven Ferraro had already settled on was released an hour before kickoff the following day.
And Yohan was in it.
Guidotti on the right of the front line, Yohan on the left. Exactly the lineup fans and pundits had predicted.
Ferraro's instruction to Yohan was simple: when the chance appeared, go. In settled possession he would function as a second striker supporting Guidotti and Lorenzo; in transition he was given a far more aggressive role.
Making his first start, Yohan checked himself over.
Good. Good.
He was nowhere near as nervous as he had been for that first substitute appearance. His body felt light. The bruises from the Sassuolo match had not fully faded, but he could honestly claim his condition was at its absolute peak.
Moments later he emerged from the tunnel and lined up with the rest of the squad near the touchline, resting a friendly hand on the shoulder of the escort kid in front of him. He shook hands with the Atalanta players, then walked deep onto the pitch and took his place.
The coin toss gave Roma first possession.
Yohan bounced lightly on his toes as he moved toward the center circle. From every corner of the stands the Atalanta fans' boos rolled down, and he grinned.
Why did that make him stronger?
It was even enjoyable.
He wanted to silence them. He wanted to leave them in despair.
The feeling rose like smoke and settled into every muscle.
The whistle cut the air. Guidotti rolled the ball to Yohan. Yohan laid it back to Lorenzo deeper in their own half, and the match was properly underway.
And roughly five hundred kilometers from Bergamo, in a high school classroom in Trigoria—
"Let's go!!"
"Get another one!"
—Yohan's classmates had gathered around a television with their teacher to watch the game.
"Tsk. Kids…"
Hailey was among them.
It was the weekend, and in a rural area there was simply nothing to do; she had come with Emma and a few other friends to watch. The boredom was only half the truth. Hailey had wanted to see Yohan play. Watching alone at home never quite captured the atmosphere, so she had come here instead.