Title: Rossoneri Reign: The Empire of Marco Bellandi
Word Count Target: 1,000,000 words
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PERLUDE: The Ghost of Two Worlds
Milan, 1985...
[Prologue con
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Chapter 2: The Architect in Training (1995)
The letter came on a windless Tuesday afternoon, wrapped in cream-colored paper and bearing a watermark of AC Milan's crest in faded scarlet. Marco Bellandi, ten years old, sat hunched at the kitchen table in their narrow apartment in Navigli. The radio hummed quietly in the background with an old Mina song, the curtains swayed gently in the breeze, and his mother was sewing silently in the other room.
Lorenzo Bellandi, his father, placed the envelope before Marco without a word. He'd opened the mailbox expecting bills and flyers. What he found instead, he held like a holy relic.
Marco stared at it.
He didn't blink. Didn't speak. Didn't even breathe.
His fingertips traced the edge of the envelope. Then he opened it.
> *"AC Milan Youth Department hereby invites Marco Bellandi to attend a trial session at the Vismara Sports Centre. Date: April 15th, 1995. Arrival time: 08:00. Bring appropriate footwear."
He read it three times. Folded it. And stood up.
His mother, Sofia, entered from the sewing room. "Was it something important?" she asked.
Marco turned and simply said, "It begins."
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Nightfall Preparation
That night, he didn't sleep.
He lay in bed with the envelope beside his pillow, staring at the ceiling. Not with nervousness, not with excitement in the childish sense, but with anticipation that felt ancient.
He whispered to the dark:
> "They will try to measure me. I must arrive unmeasurable."
From that day on, Marco changed his routine. He started training with precision.
He borrowed his uncle's VHS camera and recorded his passing drills against the concrete wall in the alley. He mapped timing, movement, and recovery arcs on the ball.
At school, his math notebooks were filled with diagrams of space rotation in midfield presses. He stopped playing with the neighborhood boys—not from arrogance, but to preserve his method.
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April 14, 1995 — The Final Night Before Trial
Marco's gear was packed hours before bedtime. Cleats, socks, shorts, a clean white shirt, a notebook. No excess.
His father tried to wish him good luck. Marco just nodded. "They will judge my technique. But I want them to feel my presence."
That night, his mother kissed his forehead. "No matter what happens, you're already our star."
But Marco didn't care about stars. He wanted shape. He wanted system. He wanted to see if AC Milan could handle him.
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April 15, 1995 — The Trial Begins
They arrived at Vismara just after dawn.
The facility was already buzzing. Dozens of boys were warming up, bouncing balls, adjusting shin guards. Coaches in tracksuits barked times and names. Parents clutched coffee cups and nervously checked watches.
Marco stepped out of the car and stood still. He didn't scan the crowd. He didn't stretch.
He closed his eyes and listened.
He could already hear the rhythm of the morning.
He whispered to himself: "This is not a test. It's a demonstration."
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The Warm-Up and Observation
They were given numbers. Marco's was #24.
The first task was a simple drill—triangle passing with movement. Most boys focused on impressing the coaches with speed. They overhit passes, shouted calls, jostled to show their energy.
Marco passed with silence. His touch was clean. Calm. Without tension.
Coaches watched. At first unimpressed. Then puzzled. Then intrigued.
Assistant Coach Riva murmured, "He's not flashy. But notice how he always receives into space. Never panics. Never overcommits."
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5v5 Scrimmage: The Invisible Thread
The scrimmage started. Marco was deep midfield. He didn't call for the ball often. But when he did, space opened. Pressure dissolved.
He didn't dribble. He redirected. He didn't shout. He gestured.
And somehow, the tempo shifted around him.
A goal came from a buildup that Marco began three passes earlier. Another from an overlap he triggered without touching the ball.
The coaches stopped the game after ten minutes.
"#24," one called. "What's your name?"
"Marco Bellandi."
"What position are you?"
Marco answered: "Structure."
They stared.
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Private Conversation with Coach Messina
After the trial, Coach Carlo Messina pulled Marco aside.
"You don't play like a child," he said.
"I don't see like one either," Marco replied.
"Where did you learn this?"
"From watching mistakes. And correcting them."
Messina looked him over, then said quietly:
> "Welcome to Milanello."
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The Walk Into the Future
That evening, as the sun dipped low over Navigli, Marco walked home alone from the tram stop.
He didn't skip. He didn't smile.
He walked like a man who had signed a silent contract with destiny.
That night, he didn't sleep.
He studied the shadows on his wall, imagining them as fullbacks drifting out of position.
He whispered:
> "They let me in. I'll never let them forget me."
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(To be continued in Chapter 3: Marco's first days living and training at Milanello, and the slow evolution of his influence inside the academy... all to be developed at a slow, methodical pace.)