Reincarnated As A Wonderkid

They kept the live stream going for another five minutes, a masterclass in professional deflection from Mac Allister, who answered a few more questions while Leon mostly just nodded and smiled, his mind a million miles away.

"Alright everyone," Mac Allister said finally, "we have to go before the gaffer thinks we've run away to become fashion influencers. Thanks for joining! You'll Never Walk Alone!"

He ended the live stream, and the moment the screen went dark, he turned to Leon, a huge, impressed grin on his face.

"Mate," he said, shaking his head. "Your life is not boring, is it?"

The team bus was buzzing.

The story of "The Chivu Comment" had already spread like wildfire.

"So he's watching you," Virgil van Dijk said from his seat, a low, amused rumble in his voice.

"Good. Let him watch. Let him see what's coming for him."

"I think it was a compliment," Trent Alexander-Arnold argued. "He said the hair reminded him of his playing days. That's respect."

"Or," Andy Robertson chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eye, "it was a very clever, very public way of saying, 'I see you, and I know all your secrets'. It's terrifying, is what it is."

Leon just sank into his seat, the friendly, well-meaning banter a chaotic symphony around him.

The journey to the airport was a quick one.

Leon had just enough time to make a final stop at his house.

His mother was waiting for him at the door, her face a mixture of a mother's pride and a mother's worry.

"You are going back to Italy already?" she asked, pulling him into a tight hug.

"It feels like you just got here."

"Just for two days, Mom," he said, hugging her back. "It's a big match."

"I know," she said, her hands fussing with the collar of his travel tracksuit. "I saw that scary man on your telephone show. He has very intense eyes."

She looked at him, her own eyes soft and serious.

"You be careful, Leo. Play with your heart, but also with your head. And," she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "if you see his daughter, you tell her that my lasagna is waiting for her when you get back."

He laughed, a warm, happy sound. "I will, Mom. I promise."

The team plane was a quiet, focused sanctuary.

The closer they got to Naples, the more the light-hearted, holiday atmosphere of the pre-season was replaced by the familiar, sharp-edged focus of a team heading into battle.

Players had headphones on, their eyes closed, visualizing the game. Some were reading, others were quietly talking tactics.

Julián Álvarez, who was sitting next to Leon on the flight from Manchester, was staring intently out the window at the clouds.

"Okay, so," he began, his voice a low, philosophical murmur.

"We are currently flying over France. It is one hour earlier there. So, technically, we are time travelers. We are flying into the past to prepare for a battle in the future. Does this give us a 'temporal advantage'?"

Leon just looked at his old friend, a fond, tired smile on his face. He had missed this.

"Julián," he said, "I think you just broke my brain."

"Excellent," Julián nodded, satisfied. "A confused opponent is a weak opponent."

Later in the flight, Alexis Mac Allister sat down in the empty seat across the aisle from Leon. "You ready for this?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"I think so," Leon admitted. "It's going to be weird. Playing against a team that looks like a fantasy draft."

"De Bruyne in a Napoli shirt," Mac Allister said, shaking his head. "It just looks... wrong. Like seeing a pineapple on a pizza."

"Hey!" Julián yelled from the row behind them.

"Pineapple on pizza is a valid and delicious tactical choice! It provides a sweet, unexpected counter-attack to the savory defensive line of the cheese!"

Leon and Mac Allister just looked at each other and burst out laughing.

He was surrounded by his new brothers, flying into battle against his old rivals. He was exactly where he was supposed to be.

As the plane began its descent, the magnificent, sweeping curve of the Bay of Naples appeared below them, the iconic shape of Mount Vesuvius a silent, imposing guardian in the distance.

They had arrived in enemy territory.

Leon felt a familiar, thrilling knot of anticipation tighten in his stomach. He was ready. He closed his eyes, a final pre-battle ritual, and decided to run one last analysis. He activated his 'Manager Mode', the interface now a sleek, familiar tool. He pulled up the Napoli squad list, the names of De Bruyne and Højlund glowing with a dangerous light. He reviewed their stats, their tendencies, their potential synergies.

Then, he did something he hadn't done since the day he left Italy.

He pulled up the profile of his old coach.

[Profile: Cristian Chivu] [Role: Head Coach (Real Madrid)]

Wait.

The profile hadn't updated. It still listed him as the Madrid manager.

Was the system lagging? He was about to reboot it when his eyes scanned down the list of Chivu's attributes.

And then he saw it. A new, terrifying line of text had appeared, a new 'Hidden Trait' he had never seen before, a trait that was glowing with a faint, almost mocking, sky-blue light.

[Hidden Trait Detected (Conditional): 'Neapolitan Heart'. When managing any team in a match taking place at the Stadio Diego Armando Maradona in Naples, all 'Tactical Acumen' and 'Motivation' attributes receive a significant, temporary boost.]

[Additional Effect: Player Trait 'The Gambler' is suppressed and replaced with 'The Fortress'. Tactical preference shifts to 'Pragmatic, Counter-Attacking Defense'.]

Leon lay in his luxurious hotel room in Naples, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't stop the single, hysterical thought from bubbling up in his mind:

This is officially the weirdest season of all time.

He had spent the last twenty-four hours in a state of low-grade mental turmoil, questioning his system, his sanity, and the fundamental laws of football management.

But as the day of the match arrived, a strange, defiant calm settled over him.

It didn't matter how it was happening. It only mattered that it was.

Chivu was waiting for him, and he had a game to win.

The hours before a 10 PM Champions League match are a strange, slow-moving river of time.

The players, their bodies perfectly prepped and their minds buzzing with anticipation, needed a distraction.

And in the 21st century, that distraction had a name: FIFA.

In a suite that had been unofficially designated the "Liverpool Gaming Hub," a high-stakes, epic battle was unfolding on a giant television screen.

On one side, the "Full-Back Union," Trent Alexander-Arnold and Andy Robertson. On the other, the "New Boy Wonders," Leon and Florian Wirtz.

"GET IN! YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE PRESS!" Trent yelled, leaning forward so intensely he was practically inside the TV, after his virtual Mo Salah scored a goal.

He celebrated by doing a ridiculous, knee-sliding victory lap around the hotel room's coffee table.