The timing was, in a word, terrible. Leon stood in the golden afternoon light of the park, Sofia's hand warm in his, the biggest, most terrifyingly beautiful question of his life sitting unspoken on the tip of his tongue. And then, the phone rang. Arne Slot. Urgent. Now.
"I... I have to take this," Leon stammered, his heart doing a frantic, disappointed nosedive. "I'm so sorry."
"Go," Sofia said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, her smile understanding. "Save the world, or whatever it is managers call their star players for. I'll be here."
He stepped away, his mind racing. What could be so urgent? Had Konaté changed his mind? Had Briatore declared war via carrier pigeon? He answered the call.
"Leon," Slot's voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of something Leon couldn't quite place... excitement? Urgency? "Can you come to the training ground? My office. There is something... fascinating I need to show you."
"Now, gaffer?"
"Now," Slot confirmed. "It's important."
