The world had shrunk to a single, terrifying stage:
A patch of grass, a ball, a goalkeeper, and Paulo Dybala. Leon stood on the halfway line, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs.
He had the cheat code. The answer key.
But it was locked inside his head, 60 yards away from the man who needed it most.
He couldn't run. He couldn't shout. The noise of the Stadio Olimpico was a physical wall, and the referee would book him for leaving the center circle.
He had to do something. Something subtle. Something that wouldn't look like he was communicating with a secret agent from the future.
He turned to Julián Álvarez, who was next to him, nervously chewing on the collar of his shirt.
"Julián," Leon said, his voice a low, urgent hiss.
"Yeah?" Julián whispered back, his eyes wide with tension.
