Chapter 192: [Career Path Simulation!]
The morning after breaking the rules of his own system, Leon felt a strange and wonderful sense of freedom.
The sun was streaming through his window, and for the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel like a pre-determined path of stats and potential ratings. It felt like a blank page.
He walked into the kitchen to find his mother already there, a whirlwind of happy energy, humming along to the radio as she prepared a frittata.
"Buongiorno, my champion" she said, beaming at him. "Did you sleep well? You didn’t have any nightmares about crazy coaches or haunted breadsticks?"
"Slept like a log, Mom," he laughed, grabbing a glass of orange juice. "And for the record, Julián is convinced the breadsticks were on our side. He thinks they distracted the referee."
"That boy is a treasure," Elena said, shaking her head with a smile. "He reminds me of your Uncle Marco, who once tried to pay a parking ticket with a very convincing-looking rock."
They ate breakfast together, the conversation easy and light. It was the perfect, grounding start to a day that would be anything but ordinary.
He had a date with Sofia that afternoon, and then, the final training session before the crucial match against Torino’s infamous "Triangle" defense.
"Don’t forget to wear a nice shirt for your date," his mother advised as he was getting ready to leave. "And maybe a different hat. The one you wore last time made you look like you were about to rob a very fancy bank."
"Thanks for the fashion advice, Mom," he said, giving her a hug. "I’ll try to look less like a criminal mastermind."
He got in his car, the engine humming, a sense of happy anticipation in the air.
He was on his way to meet Sofia for a simple walk in the park, a slice of normality he was beginning to cherish more than any trophy. He was driving through a bustling part of the city, the streets filled with the vibrant energy of a Milanese afternoon, when a smell hit him.
It was a glorious, intoxicating, almost-forgotten smell.
The smell of grilled onions, sizzling meat, and toasted bread. He looked to his right and saw it: a classic Italian food truck, a vibrant, chaotic little island of culinary perfection parked on the side of the road.
A long line of people—construction workers, students, business people—were all waiting patiently for a panino.
A strange, nostalgic thought struck him.
When was the last time I ate street food?
He couldn’t remember.
In his world of team nutritionists, carefully balanced meals, and high-end restaurants, the simple, messy joy of a food truck burger was a relic from another life.
On a pure, unthinking impulse, he pulled his car over, a ridiculous, giddy grin on his face.
He grabbed the baseball cap his mother had so mercilessly mocked—his only disguise—and pulled it down low.
He joined the back of the line, feeling wonderfully anonymous.
The man in front of him was complaining about his boss; the two girls behind him were gossiping about a university professor. It was normal. It was perfect.
"Next!" the vendor, a large, cheerful man with a magnificent mustache, called out.
"One cheeseburger," Leon said, trying to keep his voice low. "With everything."
"You got it, boss," the man said, slapping a patty onto the grill with a satisfying sizzle.
He got his burger a few minutes later.
It was a masterpiece of messy perfection, wrapped in checkered paper, dripping with cheese and sauce.
He found a quiet spot on a nearby bench, the sun warm on his face. He was about to take the first, glorious, life-affirming bite when a polite, English-accented voice spoke from beside him.
"It’s a work of art, isn’t it?"
Leon nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked up to see a man in an impeccably tailored grey suit, looking completely out of place next to a food truck.
The man had kind eyes and a calm, professional smile.
"I’m sorry to disturb you," the man said. "But you are Leon, aren’t you?"
Leon’s heart sank. So much for being incognito. "Uh, yeah," he said, clutching his burger like a shield. "Can I help you?"
"My name is David," the man said, extending a hand. "I was hoping we could talk for a moment. Perhaps somewhere a little more private? My treat, of course." He gestured to a quiet, elegant-looking café across the street.
Five minutes later, Leon was sitting in the café, his perfect, uneaten burger sitting on a napkin on the table like a sad, forgotten dream.
David had ordered them both espressos.
"So," Leon said, getting straight to the point.
"You’re not a fan of my team, I’m guessing."
David chuckled. "On the contrary. I am a huge admirer of what you’re doing at Inter. We all are."
He took a sip of his espresso.
"Leon, I am the chief scout for Liverpool Football Club."
Leon’s brain, which had just been happily anticipating a mouthful of cheeseburger, suddenly felt like it was running a thousand complex calculations a second. Liverpool.
The Champions League semi-finalists.
The team with the magical free-kick taker. That Liverpool.
"We have been monitoring your progress for over a year," David continued, his voice calm and persuasive. "Your vision, your technical ability, your leadership... you are a very special player. You possess a combination of intelligence and creativity that is incredibly rare."
He leaned forward, his expression serious. "Our manager is a great admirer of your style. He believes you would be a perfect fit for our system, for the Premier League. The intensity, the speed... it’s a league that would challenge you, and we believe you would thrive."
Leon was completely stunned. This wasn’t a "we’re watching you" text from a scout.
This was the chief scout of one of the biggest clubs in the world, sitting opposite him, making a direct pitch.
"Our attacking line is evolving," David said, his voice dropping to a confidential tone. "We are looking for a new focal point for next season. A player who can not only score goals but can create for others, someone to link the play between our midfield and our world-class wingers. We believe that player is you."
"I... I’m honored," Leon stammered, the words feeling completely inadequate. "But... I’m an Inter player. We’re in the middle of a title race."
"Of course," David said smoothly. "And we respect that completely. This is not about now. This is about the future. Your future. We just want to make our interest clear. We want you to know that if you ever decide you are ready for a new challenge, the doors at Anfield will be wide open for you."
He placed a simple, elegant business card on the table.
"No pressure," David said, standing up. "Your focus should be on winning the Scudetto. You’ve earned that. But when your season is over... think about it."
He gave a final, polite nod and walked out of the café, leaving Leon sitting there, his mind a complete whirlwind. His espresso was cold. His perfect burger was even colder.
His simple, normal afternoon had just been hijacked by a life-altering, impossible choice.
He looked at the business card.
Liverpool FC.
He thought about the roar of their fans, the history of their club, the challenge of the Premier League. It was a tempting, intoxicating thought.
He picked up his phone to call his agent, then stopped. He didn’t know what to do. He closed his eyes, a desperate need for clarity washing over him.
On instinct, he activated his ’Manager Mode’.
He didn’t ask a question. He just presented the situation to the system, a silent plea for guidance.
The screen in his mind flickered to life.
It wasn’t a choice this time. It was a single, stark, and utterly terrifying analysis.
[Career Path Simulation: Liverpool FC]
[Tactical Fit: 92% (High Synergy with Current Squad)]
[Trophy Probability (5-Year Span): 88%]
[Risk Factor: Extremely High Media Pressure & Physical Demand.]