Part 1: Simulation Pressure
September 7, 1996. Coverciano.
The morning air tasted metallic.
Marco stood with twenty-nine others outside the tactical auditorium, their cleats clacking softly against the stone tiles. Today wasn't drills. Today was simulation.
They would play a full 11-vs-11 national training match in front of coaches, federation observers, and—unusually—two figures from Rai Sport.
A single sentence had been posted on the door:
> "Match is recorded. Performance will affect final report to FIGC."
For many, it was just a scrimmage. But Marco felt the shift in temperature, the change in atmosphere. This wasn't about movement anymore.
It was about exposure.
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Section 1: Team Assignments and Internal Doubt
The rosters had been chosen by staff the night before.
Marco would wear #8 for the red team. Davide was on his left wing. Elia, for the first time, was on the opposite side.
The blue team.
They would meet not in harmony, but opposition.
Marco's brain started running simulations: where Elia might hide, what angles he'd disguise, how to draw him into a reactive role.
He played through scenarios the way a chess player memorizes openings. In his head, there were traps, triggers, cues, microseconds.
And with every layer of planning, Marco felt something constricting in his chest.
He was preparing too much.
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Section 2: The Opening Half – Tactical Paralysis
Kickoff.
The ball was light in the morning. Grass sharp and well-watered. No excuses.
Marco jogged forward from the opening whistle, scanning.
First possession: he drifted into the half-space between the holding midfielder and center-back. A safe ball from Riccardo arrived. Marco trapped it well—then hesitated. He looked left, saw Davide starting a run, then looked back.
Too late.
The blue team closed in. He was dispossessed.
Second touch: Marco dropped deeper, looking for a clean angle. He saw the right-back sprint into open space and tried a switch-field pass.
Too strong. Out of bounds.
He grimaced. Not physically tired—but intellectually exhausted. Overprocessing.
By the tenth minute, Marco's pass completion had dipped below sixty percent.
By the twentieth, teammates were beginning to bypass him. Riccardo stopped making eye contact. The goalkeeper looked long instead of short. Even Davide, his roommate and closest teammate, shifted toward central midfield more often than usual.
Marco was vanishing in real time.
Across the pitch, Elia had begun conducting.
He didn't score. He didn't sprint.
But he received between the lines with such comfort—using one touch to stretch the defensive shape, another to erase pressure—that the red team began to react out of sync.
By the 30th minute, the blue team led 1-0.
The goal had come from a build-up that started with Elia's disguised inside-out heel pass in midfield. Not flashy—intelligent.
Marco stood near the center circle, watching the ball roll back to the halfway line.
His lungs were working. His legs were fine.
But his brain? It was lost in noise.
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Section 3: Halftime in Isolation
In the locker room, voices buzzed. Some laughed. Some argued. One defender protested the offside call that disallowed a second goal.
Marco said nothing.
He sat in the far corner, sweat drying against his skin, eyes blank.
His notebook lay closed beside him.
He didn't dare open it—not yet.
Coach Damiani entered. Clipboard in hand.
"Red team. Ball movement is vertical panic. Blue team. Congratulations, but don't think I'm impressed by tempo alone."
He didn't look at Marco.
He didn't need to.
Marco stared down at his boots.
Outside the locker room, someone was singing. A cleaner maybe. Or one of the cooks. It was a faint tune—something operatic.
Marco's fingers twitched.
He picked up Iterazione.
> "I mistook thought for clarity. I mistook planning for control. Elia is playing music. I'm trying to choreograph silence."
> "Pressure isn't the air. It's what collapses inside your skull when you forget to feel the field."
He closed it again.
The match had a second half.
And if he couldn't dominate it—maybe he could rediscover what it meant to belong in it.
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(To be continued in Chapter 10 – Part 2: The second half, Marco's quiet recalibration, a crucial mistake, and the rediscovery of rhythm through instinct.)