Alex Walker woke up to a dull throb behind his eyes and a mouth that tasted like cardboard.
He lay there in bed for a few seconds, just breathing and staring up at the ceiling. The early morning light crept in through the half-closed blinds, too bright and too harsh for how he felt. His body didn't want to move yet. Everything felt slow and heavy. His head pulsed softly, like someone tapping the inside of his skull with a rubber mallet.
"Christ," he muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.
He checked the time on his phone. 8:12 a.m.
Not terrible. But definitely not great either.
"Thank god it's recovery day."
He swung his legs out of bed and sat there on the edge for a moment, trying to summon the willpower to stand. It hadn't even been that wild a night. A couple of beers, maybe a whiskey or two, at that dimly lit bar tucked away near His apartment. Nothing he hadn't done before in his playing days. But his body wasn't bouncing back the way it used to. No quick recoveries anymore. No fresh starts with just a splash of cold water and a strong cup of coffee.
He made his way to the kitchen slowly, bare feet padding across the wooden floor. He filled the kettle and flicked it on, then rummaged through a cabinet until he found a box of teabags. Coffee was out of the question this morning. His stomach already felt like it had been scrubbing itself with steel wool.
He dropped the teabag into his chipped mug, poured the boiling water over it, and leaned against the counter, watching the steam rise. Everything was quiet. No emails, no calls. Just silence.
By the time he reached the training ground, the worst of the headache had simmered down to a dull buzz. Manageable. He stepped out of his car in sunglasses and a hoodie, trying to shield himself from the sun. The place was already alive with low chatter and movement. Players were filtering in, heading to the physio rooms or toward the recovery area.
Isabella stood near the entrance, tablet in one hand, coffee in the other. She raised an eyebrow as Alex walked past her.
"Late night?" she asked, arching a brow.
This bi--
"Recovery day," he croaked. "Let me recover."
She smirked and turned back to whatever she was reading.
Inside, the energy was different from a matchday. Everything was slower, calmer. There was laughter here and there, some groans from guys dealing with post-match tightness, but overall it was peaceful. They'd earned that peace. A hard-fought win against Fiorentina didn't come easy.
Alex found his office, tossed his bag in the corner, and sank into his chair. He stared blankly at the wall for a moment, his mind still fuzzy. Then instinct kicked in. He reached for his phone and scrolled down his contacts until he landed on the name he wanted.
Giuseppe Maldera.
He hit the call button.
The line rang once before a familiar voice answered.
"Alex?"
"Morning, Pep," Alex said, voice still a little hoarse. "Is Luca Ferretti in today?"
"Yeah, of course. Why?"
"I want him to train with the first team."
There was a small pause on the other end.
"You're sure?"
"I watched him last week, remember?" Alex replied. "He's ready."
"Alright," Maldera said after a moment. "I'll send him over. Give me ten minutes."
Alex hung up and set the phone down. He drummed his fingers on the desk, mind already turning. He could still see the flashes from that youth session in his head. Luca had stood out. Not because he was flashy, but because he was composed. Confident in the right way. He didn't waste touches, didn't panic under pressure, and he had a good frame too. Physically ready. Mentally sharp.
It was time.
Around twenty minutes later, Alex made his way to the indoor pitch where most of the squad had gathered. Some were on stationary bikes, others rolling out tight muscles, a few sprawled on mats chatting between stretches.
Alex clapped his hands once, loud and clear.
"Alright, lads. Listen up."
The heads turned toward him. Some curious, some distracted, some just listening because he was the boss.
He gestured behind him.
Standing there, shoulders a little tense, was Luca Ferretti. The kid wore the senior team's red and yellow training top. His usual academy look was replaced with something more serious. He didn't look nervous, but Alex noticed the way his fingers twitched at his sides. That tiny give-away most people wouldn't catch.
"This is Luca," Alex said. "Some of you already know him, some maybe don't. He's from the under-18s. I watched him train last week. He impressed me."
Someone near the back murmured something, probably remembering a youth drill. Someone else chuckled.
Alex ignored it. He looked at Luca, then back at the team.
"He'll be training with us from now on. Not shadowing. Not just observing. He's in. So treat him like you'd treat any other teammate."
He didn't say anything more. Didn't need to. He gave Luca a pat on the back and stepped away, letting the kid sink or swim.
He didn't have to worry long.
Ylber Ramadani stepped forward first. He slapped Luca on the shoulder and said something fast in Albanian. Luca blinked, clearly not understanding a word, but he grinned anyway. Alexis Blin nodded at him, and Lameck Banda shouted something about "Welcome to hell, kid," which made a few of the guys laugh.
But it was Federico Baschirotto who sealed the deal.
The big center-back strolled over slowly, arms folded, beard looking as sharp as ever. He stared Luca down for a long second, squinting slightly like he was judging the kid's soul.
"You've got the look of a baller in your eyes," he finally said, deep voice rumbling.
A few of the nearby players chuckled.
Luca didn't back down. He looked Baschirotto in the eye and said, "I'll try not to disappoint, boss."
Baschirotto smirked.
"Just don't get Megged your first day."
That did it. The tension melted. Luca was in. Not with a bang or some dramatic speech, but with casual jokes and nods of approval. That was how football worked. Not about words, but about acceptance.
Alex stood back, watching. Arms folded across his chest, face unreadable. But deep down, he was pleased.
Later, he wandered into the staff lounge, where Andrea, one of the physios, sat sipping a protein shake.
"Ferretti settling in alright?" Andrea asked.
Alex nodded. "Yeah. Baschirotto's already giving him the treatment."
Andrea smiled. "That's a good sign. The kid's sharp. Got that bite. We could use more of that."
They talked briefly about the recovery schedule for the day. Light stuff. Pool work, stretching, some video review for the starters. Nothing too intense. Just enough to keep them loose.
Alex nodded along, but in the back of his mind, things were already shifting.
Frosinone.
Their next match.
He made his way back to his office, sat down at his desk, and pulled up the last three matches Frosinone had played. He started taking notes while watching clips on his laptop. The way they pressed, how they transitioned from defense to attack. Patterns began to emerge. Weaknesses too.
Luca probably wouldn't make the matchday squad. Maybe he'd be on the bench. But that wasn't the point. This was about planting seeds. About setting a tone.
At around noon, Alex popped his head into the recovery room. Luca was there on a mat doing mobility drills with Pontus Almqvist nearby, chatting between reps.
"Luca," Alex said. "Come see me in my office when you're done."
The kid looked up and nodded. His face was calm, but Alex could see it again, that flicker of nerves. He remembered that feeling all too well.
When Luca arrived at the office a short while later, Alex was scribbling something into a notepad. He looked up as the door clicked shut behind the kid.
"You alright?" he asked.
Luca nodded. "Yeah. Just a lot to take in."
Alex closed the notepad and leaned back in his chair.
"You did good out there," he said. "Held your own."
"Thanks, coach."
"You're not here for decoration, alright? No mascot roles. You're here to train. You earn your place just like everyone else."
Luca stood a little straighter. "I want to earn it."
Alex studied him for a moment.
"You know, I was seventeen when I got my first senior invite at Carrington. I was terrified. Tried to act cool. Got skinned by Wayne Rooney three times in five minutes."
That pulled a real smile out of Luca.
"Point is," Alex said, "you're going to mess up. That's fine. Just don't hide. That's the only rule."
"I won't," Luca said.
"Good," Alex nodded. "Go eat. Rest. We've got a long week."
Luca gave a small smile, nodded again, and slipped out of the room.
The door clicked shut.
Alex leaned back, closed his eyes, and let out a long breath. The headache was gone now, replaced with something new. A kind of pressure that came from knowing he had something worth building. A reason to keep pushing.
One step at a time.
If a seventeen-year-old could walk into that dressing room and hold his ground, maybe this project wasn't all uphill.
No magic syst- ahem... no shortcuts.
Just work.
And a bit of belief.