Reincarnated As A Wonderkid

For a long, terrifying moment, Leon's brain simply ceased to function.

He just stood there, outside the restaurant, the happy sounds of his celebrating teammates a distant echo from another universe.

The only reality was the cold, quiet, and utterly sincere threat that had just been delivered by his coach, his manager, and, most terrifyingly, his potential future father-in-law.

You break her heart, I break your legs.

Leon swallowed hard, his throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara.

He tried to formulate a response, to say something, anything, that wouldn't result in a "tragic training ground accident."

He looked Coach Chivu directly in the eye, and with a sincerity born of pure, undiluted terror, he said, "Coach, I... I would never dream of hurting her. She's... she's incredible. And even if you weren't you, I would still be terrified of her, because she is way, way smarter than I am."

The stone-faced mask of Cristian Chivu remained for a second longer

. Then, something incredible happened. A corner of his mouth twitched. It was a tiny, almost imperceptible movement, but it was there.

Then, a low, rumbling sound started deep in his chest.

It was a sound Leon had never heard before, a sound he didn't think was in the coach's repertoire.

It was a chuckle.

"Good answer," Chivu said, the fearsome intensity in his eyes finally receding, replaced by a look of grudging respect. "And you are right to be scared of her. Her mother is even scarier than I am. If you hurt Sofia, my wife would make sure any 'training ground accident' I arranged would look like a gentle massage."

The tension in Leon's body deflated so fast he felt light-headed. He let out a shaky laugh, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief. "So... we are clear, then?" he asked tentatively.

"We are clear," Chivu confirmed, and then he did something even more shocking. He smiled. A real, genuine smile that completely changed his face. "She likes you, Leon. That's... rare. She usually thinks all footballers are arrogant idiots."

"I try my best to be the exception," Leon grinned, his confidence flooding back.

"See that you do," Chivu said, his expression turning serious again, but without the earlier menace. "Now, get on the bus. We still have a league to win."

As Chivu turned and walked towards the bus, Leon was immediately swarmed by his teammates, who had been watching the intense-looking conversation from a safe distance.

"What was that about?!" Lautaro demanded, his eyes wide with curiosity. "I've never seen the coach talk to a player like that after a win. It looked like you were being sentenced for a crime!"

Julián Álvarez, his eyes shining with a thousand crazy theories, grabbed Leon's arm. "I knew it! It was about your secret mission! Did he give you a new target? Are you now a double agent? Is our next match against a team of rogue spies who communicate through elaborate corner kick routines?"

"He was probably just giving him a telling-off for wearing that hat indoors the other day," Cole Palmer said with a completely straight face, not looking up from his phone. "The gaffer has very high standards for indoor etiquette."

Leon just laughed, shaking his head. "It was nothing," he said, trying to sound casual. "Just... tactics for the next game."

The answer was so boring and unbelievable that his teammates just groaned and let it go, though they continued to give him suspicious, curious glances all the way to the bus.

The bus ride back to the training complex was a rolling party.

The Coppa Italia trophy had been strapped into a seat of its own, like a VIP passenger. The players were singing, their voices a terrible but joyous choir, a mix of Italian pop songs and classic football chants.

"We won the cup! We won the cup! And Julián thinks a pizza is a hat!" they sang, a new, custom verse that made the Argentine beam with pride.

The mood was light, a perfect release after the emotional rollercoaster of the final. They were champions. They had a medal around their necks and a trophy in their hands. They felt invincible.

As the bus pulled into the training ground, the players began to gather their things, their voices a happy, tired buzz.

They were already talking about the next match, the focus that Chivu had instilled in them already returning. They had a five-point lead with four games to go. The Scudetto was within their grasp.

Leon said his goodnights, still smiling, and walked to his car. The drive home was a peaceful, contented cruise. The city was asleep, but he had never felt more awake.

He let himself into his apartment, expecting it to be dark and quiet. Instead, the lights were on, and his mother was sitting at the kitchen table, a half-empty cup of chamomile tea in front of her. She had waited up for him.

"Mamá," he said, a wave of affection washing over him. "You didn't have to."

She stood up, her face breaking into a radiant smile as she saw the winner's medal still hanging around his neck. She rushed over and pulled him into a fierce hug. "My champion," she whispered into his shoulder. "I watched the whole thing. My heart almost stopped a thousand times. But I knew you would do it. I am so, so proud of you."

He hugged her back tightly, the simple, unconditional love a perfect anchor after the madness of the past few hours.

"I have something for you," she said, pulling away and going to the counter. She came back with a small, beautifully wrapped box.

"What's this?" he asked, surprised.

"For after you won," she said simply. "I made it this afternoon. I had a good feeling."

He opened the box. Inside was his absolute favorite dessert, a small, perfect tiramisu, rich with the smell of coffee and cocoa. It was a piece of home, a taste of love.

"Thanks, Mom," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

They sat at the table for a while longer, just talking. He told her about the crazy match, about Bastoni's redemption, about Julián's ridiculous Panenka. He told her how it felt to lift the trophy.

"And the girl?" she asked, her eyes twinkling. "The nice one who studies art?"

Leon grinned. "I'm... I'm seeing her again tomorrow."

His mother clapped her hands together, her smile wider than ever. "This is even better than the cup!" she declared.

He finally went to his room, his heart full, his body exhausted, his mind at peace. He had a trophy. He had a date. He had survived a "break your legs" threat from his coach. Life was good.

He collapsed into bed, the last of his energy gone.