A Gem That Stands Out #3
Two days before the end of the first week.
By then, the coach who had been watching Yohan had already decided his opening-day assessment needed a serious upgrade. That was how brightly the boy shone.
This kid is going to explode.
At the very least a mid-tier breakthrough — and the coach had been certain of that since the day before. The AS Roma youth sides for ages eight through ten had played a casual friendly against the camp participants, and Yohan had put in a performance that was nothing short of excellent.
Technically, he was still as raw as the coach had first thought. Mentally, though, he was even more impressive than expected. Off-the-ball movement, vision, anticipation — the so-called football IQ that people talked about — all of it was outstanding. Group D had been thoroughly beaten, but Yohan alone had been good enough to deserve an award.
What the coach had watched most carefully was how he used the players around him. Even highly touted prospects already playing at senior level often failed to read the game around them. Yohan already had that quality dialed in at a high level.
On his form, Yohan had listed striker as his first-choice position. To the coach's eye, though, he looked far better suited to a central or attacking midfield role — a playmaker. That was assuming he kept up with the technical work, of course. But everything the coach had seen so far suggested even Yohan's attitude in training was good enough to make a man smile.
That's enough.
Five days was nowhere near long enough to map out a person's entire ability. But what he had already seen was more than enough to justify a signing — more than enough, and then some.
He had been a youth coach at Roma for six years. In that time he had seen a great many children, and none of them had possessed mental gifts like Yohan's. When he factored in the other coaches, who had been singing the boy's praises until their mouths went dry, the conversation was effectively over.
Tweet!
"That's enough. Stop there."
At the whistle, the children who had been working on their footwork in front of the assistant coaches froze in place. Because this was a camp built more around camaraderie than competition, the training load had been set deliberately low — just enough for a kid to think, Well, I broke a bit of a sweat. Yohan, though, was already past the point of camp work. It was time to put him through proper training designed for a real player.
One of the coaches had mentioned that Yohan had stood in the Roma trophy room for a long time, eyes shining. That made it likely the boy genuinely loved the club. Of course, almost every child who came to camp had some affection for the side — but if a local kid felt a real attachment to the club of his own city, that was always a good thing.
What a harvest of prospects.
Players who had come through trials, players the scouts had unearthed, and now Yohan, who had walked into camp on his own two feet. This year's youth intake could honestly be called a bumper crop. If they developed properly, Roma would be looking at a golden age.
The odds of that, of course, were vanishingly small. The same hopeful noise the club staff and the fans made every year was exactly what the coach was thinking now. All you could do was raise the kids with hope and see what came of it.
It cost roughly two million euros to take a single youth player and turn him into a proper senior professional — living expenses paid to the parents, signing fees, and wages once the boy was old enough to earn a weekly salary, all of it rolled together. In an era when a single player could easily cost more than twenty million euros, spending a tenth of that to try and unlock a talent was more than worth the investment. And a talent this bright? Two million euros was nothing.
"Don't gulp the water down. Hold a little in your mouth and swallow it slowly."
Still turning those thoughts over, the coach offered the advice to children already panting after what had been light work, and kept coaching. Morning training ended, they ate lunch, and a short break was given.
"It's Laurentino!"
At one little boy's shout, every head on the training pitch swung toward the direction he was pointing. Standing there was a giant of a man — enormous, by the children's standards, in both build and height.
Laurentino Melendez, the Spanish centre-back who had been a mainstay of Roma's defence for years and currently served as vice-captain. He had arrived at thirty, given five years of total commitment, and was known to be retiring at the end of this season. He grinned and offered a greeting.
"Hey there."
The children swarmed him at once. For a man with a face that could fairly be called terrifying, his popularity was the complete opposite. There was a reason for that: Laurentino's features might have been fearsome, but his play itself was full of fair play. And he was an excellent defender on top of it. Plenty of people loved that gap between the look of him and the way he actually performed. There were even fans who preferred him to the rather more hot-blooded club product, Sebastiano Ricci.
"Can I have your autograph?"
"Will you take a picture with me?"
Among the children pouring out every request they could think of stood Yohan as well, his face lit up from ear to ear. For him, it was a perfect day. He thought, with only a little exaggeration, that he could die right then and have no regrets at all.
When the first week of camp ended and the guardians arrived to collect their children, the coach spotted a woman in a nun's habit among them.
That'll be the boy's guardian.
Just as he thought, the young nun went straight to Yohan and pulled him into a tight embrace. It looked for all the world like a parent and child reuniting after a long separation. Even from the outside, the bond between the nun and Yohan was unmistakable.
He wanted to call her over at once, but showing any special treatment would be unfair to the other children. Better to wait until all the guardians had left, then quietly ask the nun for a word. Or better still — send her off with the rest and either phone her or go to see her in person.
With that settled, the coach and the other club staff worked through the children's checkout procedures.
While the coach's thoughts ran deep, Yohan was already out of the training ground, holding Sister Caterina's hand and chattering nonstop about everything that had happened at camp.
"There's a friend named Oscar, but I call him Guti. He's not a bad kid at all, but the way he talks makes it sound like he's looking down on people, so the others don't like him much."
"If our Yohan doesn't think he's a bad boy, then maybe he has a kind heart but just doesn't know how to show it? You'll have to help him a lot, then."
"Okay. And there's a friend named Massimo, too. Whenever he plays as a defender he says he's Sebastiano Ricci and keeps hitting long passes."
"Isn't Ricci a midfielder? Massimo must really love passing."
"He does. And he's incredibly accurate."
"Then he would have been fine as a midfielder."
"He said he originally wanted to play midfield. But there weren't many kids who wanted to play defence, so they keep rotating the positions in every group."
"Have you played as a defender too, Yohan?"
"I have. I wasn't very good at it. The coach said I try to defend with my body too much."
He had learned a new kind of football. He had made new friends. The other day he had done this or that on the pitch; the coach had praised him — Yohan talked without pause, and Sister Caterina did not let a single word of it go to waste. Her way of listening only made Yohan brighter and kinder still.
And the gentle light that came off him circled back to Sister Caterina and the other nuns in turn, creating a virtuous cycle that filled the convent with life every single day. The quiet dignity of the place itself remained, of course — but inside the people who lived there, something warm and lively was always moving.
"Oh, and Ciro called yesterday. He asked when you were coming back. When I said you'd be home for a little while today, he said he wanted to come over."
"To play football?"
"No. He said he wants to come with the others and do the holiday homework together."
A faintly awkward look crossed Yohan's face. He had already promised to do the holiday homework with Haley. Sister Caterina, who knew that perfectly well, gently stroked his shoulder as he fretted over what to do, and went on.
"You can't finish all the holiday homework in a single day anyway, so it'll be fine, won't it? What subjects is Haley weakest in?"
"Math and science."
"Then do those with Haley, and do the rest of the homework with your friends."
"That sounds good. Can we play football after we're done?"
"Aren't you tired from all the football at camp?"
"I'm not tired. I want to play even more."
"I see. You can play — but the girls are coming too, you know."
"They are? What do we do?"
"How about switching to dodgeball? We have a dodgeball, don't we?"
"Oh — that would work."
"Mm. Let's do that."
Back at the convent, Yohan greeted the nuns the way he greeted Sister Caterina — by wrapping them in a firm hug. After that he stood in his room and, as if giving a presentation, told the nuns every last thing that had happened at camp. When his friends arrived, they set a desk under the tree at the edge of the football pitch and did their homework together.
In the middle of all that peace, a visitor came to the convent.
Ordinarily almost no one came there except brothers and sisters from the Vatican and the postman. Outside, Sister Caterina was speaking with the coach, who had finished his business with the club and come to find her.
"Are you Sister Caterina Bellucci?"
"Yes, that's right. And you are…?"
Sister Caterina let the sentence trail off as she took in the training kit the coach was wearing — the deep red and yellow of the top, and the club crest stitched over the heart. She looked at it and asked,
"Are you from the club?"
"I am. My name is Salvatore Icardo. I coached the group Yohan was in."
"Hello. It's nice to meet you. Thank you for looking after him so well."
"Not at all. I only did what I was supposed to do. But — do you have a little time, by any chance?"
"Time?"
"Yes. There's something I'd like to discuss about Yohan's future. If you're busy, I can come another day."
Sister Caterina understood the situation at once. Talk of a child's "future" usually meant schoolwork or character. But this was not a school — it was a camp run by a professional football club. She knew how thoroughly good-hearted Yohan was, so it was hardly a matter of temperament either.
And the coach who had introduced himself as Salvatore Icardo sounded distinctly excited. He had even come all the way to the convent in person. Putting it all together, it was easy to conclude that Yohan's ability during camp had caught the coach's eye in a serious way.
Was he really that good?
She had always known he was the best footballer among his friends. She had never imagined he was good enough for a club official to take a personal interest.
"Today is a quiet day for us, so it's fine. Please come in. I'll make you some coffee."
"I'm happy to talk outside, if that's better."
A typical convent was off-limits to men. Some places opened their prayer rooms to the public, but from what he had looked up before coming, this one did not. Unless you were there on official business related to the faith, you did not enter. He had the uneasy feeling of committing some small sin simply by standing there — and the convent's long history only made the feeling stronger.
Sister Caterina, who understood perfectly well why Salvatore was hesitating, gave him a bright smile.
"It's all right. You can come in. Yohan's friends are here right now, too."
"Even so…"
"People from Yohan's school drop by from time to time, so please don't feel awkward about it."
"…All right. Then, if you'll excuse me."
Following Sister Caterina into the convent, Salvatore felt the curiosity that had been nagging at him grow even sharper. How was it that Yohan was living here at all? Had the Vatican granted some special permission?
The question rose up — and Salvatore quickly set it aside. That was not what mattered right now.