Overwhelming Talent #2
"The ball goes out of play — throw-in for Roma. The cameras keep finding Yohan Lee, don't they? He's the one who just rewrote Roma's records for youngest debut and youngest goal, sharing the spotlight with Milan's Grasso and Lazio's Vitale as the talk of the town."
"That's right. Lorenzo Lucca said it in an interview just a few days ago — called him Roma's brightest talent. And delivering a goal and an assist on debut? Truly sensational."
In the opening minutes of the first half, Haley sat listening to the composed voices of the two commentators and the caster while working her way through the snacks her friends had bought. Her eyes never left the screen.
He's not nervous today.
Just as the thought suggested, Yohan's expression looked fine. No — more than fine. He looked good. There was something almost mischievous about him, a glint of that troublemaker streak she knew so well. Was he about to pull something like last time? She hoped so.
Haley was still turning that over when Atalanta began cycling the ball with purpose, and she locked back into the match.
"Atalanta are causing chaos for Roma inside the box. And he shoots—!"
Thud—!
"Nathan with the block — and it's out for a goal kick. Corner for Atalanta."
"Atalanta are the ones applying the pressure right now. Given both managers' tactical styles, this kind of stretch was always likely."
"Exactly. Roma will be looking to hit on the counter. Though with Guidotti and Lucca not being the quickest, it might not come off cleanly."
"No — look at what Ferraro's done. He's dropped Ricci deep in the defensive phase to form a back three. The full-backs are covering the wide center-back roles, and he's pushed the pace merchants, Perez and Mackenzie, higher to operate like wingers. On the break, those two will surge up both flanks."
"And the middle will be Lee's job, then?"
"High probability. The pace he showed against Sassuolo was electric. Outstanding agility, excellent positioning — he's built for transition play."
Hmm...
The commentator's breakdown settled into her head surprisingly well. Even for Haley, who knew next to nothing about football, she could follow the shape of the match well enough.
Thwack—!
Ten minutes into the first half, Atalanta's striker buried the opener and the classroom atmosphere went cold in an instant.
Atalanta's defensive approach was built on ferocious man-to-man pressing. Solomon had been caught on the ball, stripped clean, and that turnover had become the chance that cost them the goal.
"Ah, damn it... Solomon's form still isn't back, is it?"
"Wasn't that on Basten just now? That was a saveable shot."
"Don't talk nonsense. That was all Solomon. He got dispossessed in a dangerous area."
The students launched into a heated debate. Their homeroom teacher surveyed them and said quietly,
"Kids. Watch the language, please? Or I turn the TV off."
Every mouth clamped shut at once. They had come all the way to school on a weekend just to watch the match — nothing would be more devastating than having that taken away. So they watched with carefully measured words.
"Are Italian commentators always like that?"
Haley asked, baffled by the caster's sky-high energy. Emma, sitting beside her and sipping water with prim composure, answered.
"It's mostly just that one caster. And he only gets worse. When something dramatic happens, he'll pile on every praise in the book. People either love him or hate him, but he's wildly popular for the passion."
"Well... it does pull you in."
"Since Gasco took over, Atalanta have held the edge in the head-to-head against Roma. Including cup ties, it's eight matches — four wins, two draws, two losses. Every one of those results came against Ferraro."
"That's right! But Atalanta never lock the door no matter how many they score. There's still plenty of time — Roma have every chance to turn this around!"
And that was true. Gasco was the kind of manager the public called entertaining. He committed to attacking football so thoroughly it could look almost naive — and against a strong side, that approach inevitably left holes at the back.
Slip— tap—.
"Oh, you son of a—"
The weakness of man-to-man marking was simple: peel one player free and the whole defensive structure collapsed at speed. The moment Lorenzo killed a ball with a gorgeous first touch, spun his marker, and found space, a dangerous sequence was born. And more often than not, those sequences ended in goals.
Thump—!
With his marker gone, Lorenzo slipped the Atalanta players for pace and threaded a pass out to Mackenzie, surging up the flank. It was a beautiful ball — never asking Mackenzie to break stride, landing perfectly on his toe.
Tap—!
Mackenzie collected it cleanly and laid it into the path of Yohan, who was already racing through the middle.
Crack—!
Yohan took the oncoming ball and switched it straight left to Miguel, then drove forward again himself.
The angle... doesn't look like it's there.
The center-back marking him had already dropped the instant Lorenzo freed a teammate. Even if Yohan recycled the ball and forced a shot, the odds of it being blocked were sky-high. Mackenzie or Miguel would have to finish it.
BOOM—!
Just as Yohan expected, Miguel arrived in the box in a flash and hammered a shot — but it flew well wide of the goal. Miguel raised a hand in apology toward Mackenzie, who was gesturing from the far side. Had Miguel only kept his composure and checked his options, it would have been at least a shot on target. From Atalanta's perspective, a genuine scare.
And still they pushed the line high, marking every man one-to-one. Watching them, Yohan thought they looked like berserkers — the kind of warriors who would charge into certain death without hesitation at their general's command.
This is fun...!
Facing teams with such distinct identities was so entertaining it nearly drove him mad. Everyone on this pitch felt like a protagonist. Something was boiling through the match — a feeling he had never tasted in the Primavera, not even in his debut.
His competitive fire roared. It felt like he had been dropped into a merciless battlefield. And in moments like this, only one thing came to mind. The words Haley always said.
You have to kill them.
Throughout the match, Yohan put on a superb display. With a football intelligence far beyond his years — a natural, seasoned reading of the game — he carved out chance after chance. And still, neither he nor Roma could convert any of them into a result.
But he didn't grow restless. The rest of the side were playing well too. And as if to repay that faith, the equalizer arrived right after the restart of the second half.
Solomon, with his rough-edged style, tore through Atalanta's disordered midfield with an unexpected dribble and unleashed a long-range strike that found the net. A magnificent equalizer — more than enough to erase his first-half mistake.
The game resumed. Fierce exchanges continued, substitutions were made, and the players kept stabbing and parrying at each other until regulation time in the second half ran out. Neither Roma nor Atalanta had gone to ground protecting their bodies, so stoppage time was a short two minutes.
Yohan, who had been outstanding throughout, renewed the vow he had made earlier. Even that berserker horde, who had seemed inexhaustible, were running on empty now. Their legs moved like waterlogged cotton. Their decision-making had gone cloudy. He had to finish them.
Of course, he was exhausted too. But unlike his debut, he had managed his stamina properly this time — he didn't feel like he was about to die the way he had then. And he was starting in his favorite position. If he couldn't produce something here, his pride wouldn't allow it.
Roma had a corner. Rossi normally took set pieces from both sides, but right now Lorenzo was standing over the ball — a managerial decision that Rossi would be far more useful inside the box on a set piece than a completely spent Lorenzo.
Lorenzo raised three fingers and waved them. The signal for a designated set-piece routine. Reading it, Yohan drifted left outside the box with his marker in tow.
Tweet—!
The referee's whistle sounded. Lorenzo drew a breath, took his run-up—
Thump—!
The ball left his foot with a beautiful spin and curled into the box. The target was Guidotti, standing tall as a lamppost.
"Hup...!"
"Move—!!"
Guidotti and the others leapt for the aerial duel. Despite every desperate wish to win the ball, it glanced off an Atalanta defender and Nathan's heads — then met Guidotti's forehead cleanly as he timed his jump to perfection.
Thock—!
The ball spun out of the box, rolling toward Solomon on the right side outside the area. The instant it left Guidotti's head, Yohan was already moving. This was the rehearsed play. Depending on where the headed clearance went, if it came toward Yohan, Solomon would make the run; if it went toward Solomon, Yohan would move.
"Hah... hup...!"
Yohan sprinted with every last drop of strength he had left. Solomon subtly blocked the path of both Yohan's marker and himself, and Yohan used him as a screen, spinning around him.
Tap—.
He touched the dying second ball with his left foot, nudged it a half-step clear, and before the startled Atalanta defenders could close him down, struck it with his right.
BOOOOM—!
And that shot of pure conviction slipped clean through the Atalanta defenders and rattled the left side of the net.
The caster's frenzied cries — so wild he barely pretended to hear the analyst — sent the classroom into rapture.
"YEAAAAAH!! He scored!!!"
"Gio scored!! It's a goal!!"
"Two games in a row! Is that kid a genius or what?"
They shook desks, pounded the blackboard, threw their arms around the teacher — every kind of wild celebration as they roared for Yohan's goal and the room dissolved into a festival.
Haley, meanwhile, sat with her mouth hanging open.
"What was that...? Did a holy war just break out...?"
"I told you. He's popular because of the passion."
"That's ridiculous."
"I actually like it. When he talks like that, I can almost see the pictures in my head."
"But why does he keep calling the other team a goddess? He did it earlier too."
"Goddess is one of Atalanta's nicknames."
"The team Turtle's playing against?"
"Yeah."
"Got it."
She was doing her best to play it cool, but Haley was completely captivated by the goal Yohan had scored. Moving like a shadow, using a teammate to cut off the lane, then striking with that beautiful technique. Process and result so elegant that anyone watching would have stars in their eyes.
Through the television, she watched Yohan — sweat-soaked hair flying — sprint toward Guidotti and leap into him, and she thought:
He's insane...
And it wasn't just the goal. Even to her untrained eye, Yohan's play had been extraordinary. To stand out that sharply among players who were clearly seasoned veterans...
It was, quite simply, overwhelming talent.
Anyone would have thought the same.