One month. That was how long it had been since the win against Fiorentina.
The buzz around Lecce hadn't died down since that day. Fans had started to believe. Local journalists were calling it a "miracle run." The board wasn't calling him anymore, probably afraid to jinx whatever strange thing was happening. And for once, Alex Walker was allowing himself to enjoy the silence.
Well, relative silence.
Right now, he was seated in his cramped, dimly lit office, eyes fixed on the laptop screen in front of him. The words "Inter Milan – Tactical Breakdown" flickered in the corner of the video. The opposition's press. The overlapping fullbacks. Lautaro's movements in the final third. It was a test, a real one. The kind that would show just how far they'd come. Lecce versus a European giant. In the San Siro, no less.
Alex let the video play in the background, muted, and leaned back in his chair.
But before that… it was worth looking back. A whole month of football. Six games. And somehow, Lecce were still standing.
Still undefeated in the league.
Mostly.
The first test had come against Frosinone.
Lecce 2 – Frosinone 1
It had all gone to hell in the second half.
Frosinone, despite being low on the table, played with a kind of desperation that made them dangerous. Their goal came in the 52nd minute, an ugly, scrappy thing. A corner whipped in, chaos in the box, and Gendrey had tried to clear it but ended up heading it straight into the feet of Walid Cheddira, who made no mistake from five yards out.
For the next thirty-five minutes, Lecce looked toothless. Sluggish, even.
Then came the 90th minute.
It started with a driving run from Dorgu down the left. He powered past his marker and floated in a cross. It wasn't meant for anyone in particular, but Krstović made it his. He rose above two defenders and buried the header. 1–1.
Frosinone barely had time to process the equalizer when Lecce pressed high again. This time, it was Oudin who intercepted a loose pass, drove into space, and laid it off to Banda on the edge of the box.
One touch. Curl. Net.
90+2 minutes. 2–1.
It felt like theft. Beautiful, last-minute theft.
Next came Torino. Coppa Italia. Round of 32.
Lecce 3 – Torino 2 (After Extra Time)
Alex had rotated a bit too much, and he knew it.
Torino dominated the first half, scoring twice in the opening 25 minutes. Lecce looked like tourists. Confused. Passive.
Halftime came with a few harsh words.
The second half saw a spark. Krstović scored in the 58th minute after a flowing move involving Oudin and Gallo. Then, out of nowhere, Baschirotto, yes, the centre-back, powered home a header from a corner in the 85th. 2–2.
Extra time made him very nervous
But Krstovic made no mistake when Berisha slipped him a cute pass through the Torino center back, and they had progressed to the round of sixteen
Lecce 2 – Verona 2
The away match against Verona was madness.
Lucioni, the former Lecce captain now playing for Verona, opened the scoring with a header in the 14th. It felt like betrayal. Gallo equalized minutes later with a thunderbolt from outside the box, his first goal in over a year.
Then Lecce took the lead through Berisha in the 70th after a quick one-two with Banda.
But they couldn't hold on. Verona equalized with a counterattack in the 86th. 2–2. A draw that felt like a loss.
Lecce 3 – Como 3
Back at home. And again, chaos.
Krstović bagged a brace, one in the 7th minute, another in the 29th. Lecce were cruising at 2–0. Then Como reminded them that comfort was a lie.
Two goals before halftime. Another in the 62nd.
Suddenly 2–3.
It was Banda who saved the day again, jinking past two defenders in the 81st and lashing home a left-footed shot. 3–3. The crowd roared like it was a winner. It wasn't. But it kept the streak alive.
Then came Venezia.
Lecce 6 – Venezia 0
Alex didn't quite know what happened that day. Everything just clicked.
Oudin scored the opener in the 3rd minute. Then came Krstović. Then Strefezza. Then Banda.
By halftime, it was 4–0. Venezia looked like they wanted to go home.
The fifth came in the 68th, another from Krstović, making it his hat-trick.
And then… came the debut.
Luca Ferretti. Sixteen years old. Called up on a hunch. The kid had looked sharp in training, but nothing could've prepared Alex for what he did.
In the 89th minute, Luca received the ball in midfield, feinted past a man, and slipped a through ball to Banda so effortlessly that even the away fans clapped. Banda didn't waste the chance. 6–0.
Luca didn't celebrate. Just smiled. Shrugged. Like it was normal.
Alex had nearly thrown his clipboard in joy.
And finally… Bologna.
Lecce 0 – Bologna 0
It was a grind. Ugly. Tactical warfare.
The kind of match purists hated. But Alex loved it. Because Lecce had no business keeping a clean sheet against a side like Bologna. They parked the bus, played narrow, and cut off every lane.
"Haram Ball," the fans called it now. A joke, born from frustration, but also admiration.
Lecce had mastered the art of suffering. And for once, it paid off.
One point. One clean sheet. And a climb to 11th in the table.
Now, sitting in his office with the hum of the laptop fan in his ear, Alex leaned forward again and paused the Inter Milan tape.
The image on the screen showed Lautaro Martínez, hands raised after scoring. A sea of blue and black behind him. San Siro. 80,000 fans.
That was next.
Lecce were no longer invisible. They had clawed their way into relevance. From relegation candidates to mid-table fighters. From the laughingstock to the team nobody wanted to face on a bad day.
Still, this… this was Inter.
"They'll press the hell out of us," Alex muttered, rubbing his temples. "If we play like we did against Como, we'll be five down by halftime."
He glanced at the whiteboard behind him. It was cluttered with arrows, names, ideas. Ferretti's name was written in small print near the bottom. He'd been training with the first team all week. The kid had the touch. The composure. The right arrogance. But the San Siro? It might be too soon.
Then again… when had anything about this season gone to plan?
Alex sat back, stared at the ceiling for a moment, then sighed.
"Alright," he muttered. "Time to improve the Haram Ball techniques."
He opened a fresh tactics sheet on his laptop and began typing.
Because no matter how far they'd come, the next match would show exactly where they stood.
And Alex Walker had never been the type to flinch from a storm.