Reincarnated As A Wonderkid

Leon woke up feeling like a new man.

He swung his legs out of bed and walked into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. He looked up into the mirror and did a full-blown, comical double-take, nearly jumping out of his own skin. He'd completely forgotten.

Two days ago, in a fit of post-Coppa Italia, "we-are-invincible" madness, he had gone to a high-end salon with Julián Álvarez (who was trying to see if they could dye his hair to be "the color of a good philosophical question").

Leon had sat in the chair and, feeling bold, had simply said, "Do something different. Something cool."

The result was now staring back at him. His normally short hair was gone. In its place was a longer, artfully messy style, dyed a stark, brilliant white. It was dramatic. It was audacious. It was... actually, it was pretty cool. It made his eyes look darker, his features sharper. It was the hair of a rockstar, not a footballer.

"Okay," he said to his reflection, a slow, confident grin spreading across his face. "We can work with this."

He walked into the kitchen, and his mother, who was placing a plate of cornetti on the table, stopped dead in her tracks, her hand frozen in mid-air.

She just stared at him, her eyes wide.

"Mamma mia," she whispered, her voice a mixture of shock and awe. "Leon... what happened to your hair?"

"It's my new look," he said, striking a ridiculous pose. "The 'Leondona' era requires a bold statement, no?"

Elena circled him, inspecting his head from all angles like it was a strange, alien sculpture. She poked a strand of the white hair gently. "It's... very... white," she said finally. "Like a beautiful swan. Or a very fancy old man."

Leon burst out laughing. "I'll take the swan, thanks."

"Well," she said, a smile finally breaking through her shock. "The girls will probably love it. Just make sure your head doesn't get cold."

He ate breakfast, the new hair a constant, amusing presence in his peripheral vision.

His mind, however, was on the 'Protector's Gambit' synergy he now shared with his coach.

It was a bizarre, unprecedented development.

His power was no longer just his own; it was now linked to his relationship with the scariest man he had ever met.

The better their trust, the stronger they both became in moments of crisis. It was a symbiotic relationship built on a foundation of mutual respect and a healthy dose of Leon's mortal terror.

After breakfast, he got ready for his date. He changed his outfit three times, a process he usually reserved for deciding which boots to wear for a final.

He eventually settled on a simple, dark green sweater and black jeans—an understated look designed to let the ridiculously loud hair do all the talking.

He met Sofia at a small, charming bistro tucked away on a quiet side street, a place with terracotta pots full of blooming geraniums and the cozy smell of fresh bread.

She was already there, sitting at an outside table, sketching in a small notebook and looking effortlessly beautiful in the afternoon sun.

He walked up, his heart doing that now-familiar nervous flutter. "I hope I'm not late," he said.

She looked up, and her eyes widened, the pencil in her hand stopping mid-stroke.

Her gaze went from his face, to his hair, and back to his face.

A slow, wonderful, irrepressible smile spread across her lips.

"Wow," she said, a laugh in her voice. "The footballer has entered his rebellious artist phase."

"Is it too much?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious, running a hand through the white locks.

"No," she said, still smiling. "It's... a statement. I like it. It's very dramatic. Very Caravaggio."

He relaxed instantly, sliding into the chair opposite her. "See? I'm basically a walking piece of art history."

Their conversation flowed as easily as it had the first time, a comfortable, witty back-and-forth.

She told him about her latest project, a deep dive into the use of perspective in early Renaissance painting, explaining it with such passion that he found himself completely fascinated.

"It's all about creating an illusion of depth on a flat surface," she said, using the salt and pepper shakers to demonstrate. "You guide the viewer's eye, make them believe in a world that isn't really there. It's a kind of magic, really."

"That sounds a lot like what a good midfielder does," Leon said, the connection clicking in his mind. "You have to create the illusion of space where there is none. You draw a defender one way to open up a passing lane somewhere else. You're trying to trick eleven people into seeing the game the way you want them to see it."

She looked at him, her head tilted, a look of genuine appreciation in her eyes. "I never thought of it like that. The footballer has a surprisingly poetic soul."

He grinned. "Don't tell my teammates. They'll never let me live it down."

He then told her about the Coppa Italia final, describing Julián's 'haunted breadstick' theories and the sheer, beautiful chaos of the dressing room celebration.

He even told her about his coach's 'break your legs' threat.

Sofia groaned, burying her face in her hands, though he could see she was laughing. "Oh, no. He actually said that? I am so, so sorry. That's his go-to 'scary dad' line. He's been using it since I was sixteen. I didn't think he'd actually use it on one of his players!"

"It was... effective," Leon admitted, shuddering theatrically. "I think my soul left my body for a few seconds."

"I'll have a word with him," she said, shaking her head. "He needs new material."

They laughed together, the sound easy and warm, a comfortable bubble in the middle of the bustling city.

For a few hours, he wasn't Leondona, the superstar. He was just Leon, a guy with a ridiculous haircut, laughing with a smart, beautiful girl. It was perfect.

As they were finishing their coffee, her expression turned a little more serious. "You know," she said, "I think he's more stressed than I've ever seen him. My dad."

"The title race?" Leon guessed.

"That," she nodded, "and the next match. Torino. He was up half the night, just pacing around the living room with his little tactics board. He kept muttering, 'The Triangle. The damn Triangle.'"

Leon sat up a little straighter. "The Triangle?"

"Yeah," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. "Apparently, Torino's three central defenders—Bremer's old team—they have this defensive system, a triangle, that's almost impossible to break down. They're not the most talented team, but they are incredibly organized. He said it's like trying to punch a hole in a brick wall that keeps moving."

Leon's mind started racing. He activated his 'Manager Mode', his Vision focusing not on Sofia, but on a holographic football pitch that had just appeared in his mind's eye.

He pulled up Torino's profile, their defensive stats, their formation. He saw it instantly.

A perfect, interlocking triangle of defenders, their synergy links glowing with a stubborn, defensive light. It was a fortress.

"...he said he's tried every attacking pattern he can think of, but the simulation keeps showing a 0-0 draw or a 1-0 loss on a random counter-attack," Sofia was saying, oblivious to the tactical supercomputer running in Leon's brain. "He's worried. Really worried. A draw right now would feel like a loss."

Leon looked at the tactical map in his head. He saw the problem.

Chivu was trying to go through the triangle, to overpower it.

But as Sofia had said, it was like punching a moving brick wall.

But what if you didn't punch it?

A new, radical, and completely insane idea began to form in his mind.

An idea born from his own False 9 experience, from Palmer's intelligent runs, from Julián's chaotic energy.

You don't break the triangle. You make the triangle break itself.

He looked up at Sofia, a slow, brilliant, and slightly terrifying smile spreading across his face.

"What is it?" she asked, a little unnerved by his sudden, intense expression. "You have that look on your face. The same look you probably had right before you scored that crazy goal against Milan."

"I think," Leon said, his eyes shining with the thrill of a sudden revelation, "I think I just figured out how to solve your dad's triangle problem."