Milan adjusted the strap of his boots as he stood just off the touchline, staring at the sea of red and black swirling in the San Siro. His heart raced—not out of fear, but anticipation. At sixteen, few ever set foot on the senior training pitch. Even fewer were called up to train with the AC Milan first team.
"Nervous?" a calm voice asked beside him.
Milan turned to see Gianluigi Donnarumma, the towering keeper who'd debuted at just sixteen himself.
"Only a little," Milan admitted. "More excited."
"Good. Just remember—they'll test you. Hard. Not because they hate you. Because they *see* something."
Coach Montella blew the whistle, and the session began.
The pace was electric. No longer was this the U-19 setup where Milan could dance through defenders at will. Here, every pass had to be perfect. Every touch sharp. Every second mattered.
Bonucci barreled into him early, stealing the ball with a smirk. "Welcome to the big boys."
Milan chuckled, brushing himself off. On the next play, he nutmegged Bonucci with a sly grin.
"Cheeky little..." Bonucci muttered, trying not to smile.
Montella watched closely. The kid had composure beyond his years. Not flashy without purpose. Not rattled when challenged. The assistants were already whispering.
"What do you think, coach?" one asked.
Montella crossed his arms. "I think we've got something special."
Word spread after training. Not just about his skills, but his presence. The way he played like he belonged. Someone in the physio room joked he moved like a ghost.
"One second he's here, the next he's not," Suso said with a laugh.
By the time Milan hit the showers, he had a new nickname floating around the dressing room:
"The Phantom."
Not loud. Not official. Just murmurs. But Milan heard it.
And he smiled.
The buzz didn't die down. In fact, it got louder.
A few days later, Milan walked into the training facility with his hoodie up, head low, until someone tapped him on the back.
"You're in the squad," Cutrone grinned. "First-team bench. This weekend. Against Torino."
Milan blinked. "Wait—what? Seriously?"
Cutrone held up the team sheet on his phone. Milan's name was there.
> #72 - Milan Martinez Villa
Milan's chest tightened. Not with nerves, but pride.
When he called his mom, her voice trembled with joy.
"You've worked for this. Stay calm, stay smart. I'll be watching, Milan."
He called his dad next.
"Torino? You better hit one in the top corner for me, eh?"
Game day arrived. Milan wore his #72 kit with reverence, walking into the legendary San Siro tunnel. The atmosphere was electric, rain misting over the lights as fans chanted in waves.
He sat on the bench, waiting. The minutes ticked by. The scoreboard read: **AC Milan 0 - 0 Torino**
"Warm up," Montella said in the 70th.
Milan didn't hesitate.
In the 78th, the fourth official held up the board:
> "Coming on... #72, Milan Martinez Villa!"
Applause rippled. Not thunderous, but curious.
His first touch was a flick. Second—a spin. Third—he turned a Torino midfielder inside out.
Gasps followed. Then cheers.
In the 84th minute, Milan picked up the ball near the halfway line, sped down the left wing, and dropped a defender with a sudden change of pace. He cut inside, drew two defenders, and slipped a disguised through ball to Suso, who calmly slotted it past the keeper.
*Goal. AC Milan 1 - 0 Torino*.
The San Siro erupted. Milan didn't celebrate wildly—he just pointed at Suso and smiled.
In the dying moments, he nearly had one of his own. Another dazzling run left the Torino right-back spinning, but his shot curled inches wide of the post.
Final score: **AC Milan 1 - Torino 0**
After the match, reporters swarmed Montella.
"The kid changed the game," one of them said.
"He's a spark," Montella replied. "And sparks start fires."
In the locker room, Suso tossed him a bottle of water.
"Assist machine already? Didn't expect that."
Bonucci chimed in. "The Phantom strikes. They couldn't catch you even when you were standing still."
Milan sat quietly, staring at his boots. Not out of disbelief—but hunger.
He wasn't satisfied.
He wanted more.