Jersey Exchange
"Perfect. Ah, and also…"
Cradling Chiesa's jersey with care, I held out the Torino kit I'd brought with me.
"I didn't really have anything worth giving you, so… this, at least…"
Chiesa looked at the jersey in my hands and let out a small laugh.
"Ah, haha. Sure."
He took it from me without ceremony.
"Yeah, swapping's better anyway. I'll take good care of it."
That was when it happened.
"What the hell? Isn't this the kid who ran his mouth in that interview?"
The man walking over was Juventus's vice-captain, Cuadrado.
"Chiesa. Just because he sucked up to you a little, you're hanging around with a guy like this?"
"What?"
Chiesa looked lost — he clearly hadn't seen the interview.
Cuadrado scowled and closed in on me.
"Hey. Brat. You've got some nerve showing your face here."
Uh… well…
I was still holding Chiesa's jersey behind my back, which made figuring out what to say a little complicated.
"I, uh… came to swap jerseys."
"Ha! You shoot your mouth off in an interview and then stroll over like nothing happened to pick up a jersey?"
"…"
Great. He was properly furious.
Had the interview really blown up that much?
"Hey! Say something."
Watching Cuadrado press in on me, I sighed inwardly.
The interview was already out there. You couldn't unsay what had been said.
Which meant there was no point playing nice now.
Ah, screw it.
I'd swing hard and figure out the landing later.
I opened my mouth with a perfectly calm expression.
"Ah. But this is for a school friend who's a Juventus fan — a Chiesa fan, specifically. He asked me to get it. So if you could think of this as me coming for a Juventus supporter rather than for myself, would that be a problem?"
My brazen attitude drew a hollow laugh out of Cuadrado.
"A guy who hates Juventus that much wants a jersey? You're a weird one."
I tilted my head at once.
"No? What are you talking about?"
And I said it with a face of genuine confusion.
"Why would I hate Juventus?"
It was a lie.
Honestly, I didn't like Juventus all that much.
Among Italian clubs, they were probably somewhere near the top of my most-disliked list.
Of course, Torino came right after them.
But this was a moment that called for a convenient lie, so I started pouring out whatever came to mind — and it worked. Cuadrado was briefly at a loss for words.
"…What kind of nonsense is that? A Torino FC player who doesn't hate Juventus?"
"Yes."
"Don't you dare try to walk it back after that interview."
I cast my mind back over what I'd said. Thinking about it, maybe it hadn't been quite as damning as everyone seemed to think.
"No. That wasn't because I hate Juventus — I just stated the facts a little forcefully. Did I say anything wrong? I bet even Juventus fans would agree with me."
A brief silence settled over us.
"Well? If there's something I got wrong, go ahead and tell me."
As my voice rose, Chiesa hurriedly stepped in.
"Teo. You seem a little rattled and you're just saying whatever comes out. Calm down."
Not knowing what the interview had actually contained, Chiesa's eyes darted around as he tried to defuse the situation. But I shook my head.
No — if I back down here, it's going to look even weirder…
I needed to push harder.
"No. I'm not rattled. I'm trying to clear up a misunderstanding."
Then I turned back to Cuadrado.
"No, listen. Juventus didn't play well today."
"…"
"Last time you beat Torino 4–2 at home. Today it was 1–1. That's two points dropped — that's a big deal."
I shrugged.
"Tough away fixture? Sure, maybe. But given the gap in quality…"
I paused.
"…it shouldn't have been that hard."
Chiesa cleared his throat.
"Ahem…"
"That… well… it's not exactly wrong, but…"
I waved a hand immediately.
"Chiesa. You're not the problem."
Then I pointed a finger straight at Cuadrado.
"It's all the right side. Honestly, Juventus's entire game today was carried by the left. Am I wrong? I'm not wrong."
Cuadrado was starting to boil. Chiesa glanced at him and pointedly looked off into the distance.
"So I still don't get it. Cuadrado. How you're walking around looking this unbothered."
Cuadrado's face went rigid.
"What the hell did this kid just say?"
But I didn't stop for a second.
"No, seriously — what did you even do on the right? One decent corner kick? Fine. That was a good delivery."
Clap. Clap.
I deliberately applauded twice.
"You earned two claps for that. But other than that? That's it. You played that badly and you're still strutting around like this?"
I took a breath, then delivered the finishing blow.
"I thought Coach Allegri was some kind of saint. Shouldn't he be in the dressing room right now running the hairdryer on at least medium? Does this make any sense?"
Cuadrado's face flushed deep red. Hit with a barrage of cold, itemized facts, he looked like his brain had short-circuited.
"Hey."
Unable to take any more, Cuadrado took a step toward me, ready to put some force behind it. The atmosphere was about to turn ugly in an instant.
"Cuadrado!"
Chiesa shot between us. He raised a hand, calming Cuadrado down.
"What are you doing to this kid? This is the kind of thing you can just let slide."
"This?"
"Just hear me out."
Then he turned to me.
"Teo. From where I'm standing, you like Torino, right?"
Torino? Ah…? Wait.
The way Chiesa asked it, he didn't mean Torino FC so much as the city itself.
I answered right away.
"Yes. I go to school here, and I'm thinking about university around here too."
Chiesa grinned.
"So ideally you'd want to play for a team in Torino?"
"Yes. That would be best."
"Then what if Juventus made you an offer?"
I thought for a moment.
In the past, I would have said absolutely not.
But things were different now.
To break the curse of the 27 Club — the one that would kill me at twenty-seven — I needed titles. And if a team could win the league, I had no choice but to go wherever that was.
"I'd go. I keep telling you, I don't hate Juventus that much."
Chiesa immediately looked at Cuadrado.
You get it now?
That was the look. Cuadrado still wore a dazed expression as Chiesa spoke with a smile.
"Not just anyone can say something like that, you know. If you think of it as him speaking out of concern for Juventus, it's not that hard to understand."
Silence hung for a moment.
Cuadrado stared at me for a long time without a word, then finally let out a sigh.
"…Fine."
He gave a reluctant nod, turned on his heel, and walked straight into the locker room.
I watched his back and exhaled in relief.
Whew…. That was close.
But then —
The air in front of me suddenly began to crackle.
Space seemed to warp faintly, and something like tiny electric sparks jumped in the empty air.
I flinched and looked around.
"…Just now."
I turned to Chiesa.
"Did you see anything? Or hear something?"
Chiesa tilted his head.
"No? It was quiet."
What was that? Am I imagining things…?
I was still wearing a puzzled look when a voice came from behind me.
"Why's it so loud over here? Something going on?"
A man walked over — a Juventus beat reporter with a camera around his neck. Chiesa waved at him cheerfully.
"Ah, perfect timing. Gianluca. Can you help me out for a second?"
"Hm?"
"I just swapped jerseys with this guy."
Chiesa said it with a grin.
"Could you take one photo and send it to me?"
Gianluca looked at me, then at Chiesa.
"With this kid?"
He looked a little surprised.
Probably because of the interview.
"You never know."
Chiesa laughed playfully.
"He might be a future Juventus player."
Gianluca looked flustered, but he lifted his camera anyway.
"Ah… alright then. Both of you get a little closer — this is a good camera, so it'll come out sharp."
Chiesa and I held up the jerseys we'd exchanged. He held the Torino kit; I held his Juventus jersey with the handwritten signature. We stood side by side.
Click.
The flash went off.
"One more."
Click.
"That's it."
Once the photos were done, a faint unease settled over me.
This…. isn't going to get immortalized later, is it?
But the pictures had already been taken.
"Alright, you'd better head off. Everyone'll be waiting."
"Yes. I should."
I went straight back to Torino FC's home locker room.
And then it was the next day.
I rode my scooter to school like always. There was only one thought in my head.
How am I going to mess with Mateo today?
Give him the Juventus jersey?
Absolutely not.
I was even prepared to tear it up or burn it in front of him as a final flourish — but after the goodwill Chiesa had shown me, I decided not to go that far.
Still, just imagining Mateo's face freezing over was enough to make a little laugh slip out.
But the moment I arrived at school, every expectation went out the window.
The second I pulled up on the scooter, stares poured in from every direction at once.
Uh… what's this?
A little tense, I parked the scooter and started toward the building — only for a cluster of students to come swarming over.
"Teo! I watched the match yesterday! You were incredible!"
A guy I'd never seen before spoke first, and then girls who clearly followed football piled in right behind him.
"No way! How are you that good?"
"My dad said you were amazing!"
"Can I get your autograph later? Better to get it early, right?"
A few of them grabbed my arm in a friendly way or pressed in close enough to almost hug me.
I had no idea what to do with myself. People kept flooding in until my path into school was completely blocked.
The building was right there and I couldn't even get inside.
Ah…. this was not the plan.
I'd come to school thinking only about messing with Mateo, and instead of messing with anyone I was stuck just trying to handle the situation in front of me.
"Hang on, I've actually got to get to class? Hey! Stop touching me."
A few of the girls were messing around.
Arms were fine, but when a hand drifted near my thigh I couldn't help getting flustered.
"I'm really sorry, but I need to head in."
"Yeah, go on."
I quickly backed up, put some distance between us, and circled around into the school.
"Whoa! Soccer players really do have crazy solid thighs!"
"People are going to get the wrong idea. Don't say stuff like that with your hand down there."
"Oh! Is that bad?"
"I never noticed before, but he's kind of cute. Look, he's going a little red."