"Is this kid's brain wired differently?"
The commentator's voice cracked over the live stream. In the digital forums across Japan, the skepticism was dead. You could fake a highlight reel, but you couldn't fake the way Renzo Uzumaki was currently puppet-mastering a top-four Serie A team in their own backyard.
Lazio was a wounded animal. After conceding in the 8th minute, Stefano Pioli signaled for the "Blue Eagle" to hunt. Their 4-5-1 transformed into a terrifying 4-3-3. Felipe Anderson and Candreva pushed so high they were practically stepping on the toes of the Fiorentina full-backs.
But Montella had built a trap.
As Lazio pushed, Fiorentina retracted like a coiled spring. Mohamed Salah and Juan Cuadrado—two of the fastest players in world football—didn't just wait for the ball. They sprinted back 40 yards, forming a five-man midfield shield.
For twenty minutes, Lazio threw everything at them. Miroslav Klose found a pocket of space, but Stefan Savic threw his body in front of the shot like a human wall. The "Viola" weren't just defending; they were absorbing Lazio's soul.
The breaking point came in the 28th minute. Savic blocked a shot, and Captain Pasqual scooped up the loose ball. He didn't hesitate. He looked for the "System."
He looked for Renzo.
The moment the ball touched Renzo's cleats, the spring uncoiled. Salah and Cuadrado exploded forward like Olympic sprinters. Lazio's defensive line, which had been pushed high to support their attack, was suddenly caught in a footrace they couldn't win.
Renzo held the ball for exactly 1.8 seconds. He slid a pass to Salah on the wing, drawing the Lazio center-back out of position.
Salah, seeing the space closing, didn't force it. He clipped the ball back toward the "D" at the top of the box. Renzo was already there.
Stefan de Vrij, desperate to redeem himself, lunged at Renzo. He expected a trap, a dribble, or a setup.
Renzo did none of those.
With a movement so subtle it was almost invisible, Renzo used his toe to flick the ball over the lunging defender's foot. It wasn't a power pass; it was a lofted dink that bypassed the entire defensive structure.
Mario Gómez didn't even have to look for the ball—it found him. He beat the offside trap by a fraction of an inch, settled the ball with his chest, and buried a low drive into the bottom corner.
0-2.
Gómez stood in front of the Lazio ultras, arms wide in his signature "Torero" pose. But every Lazio player was looking at Renzo.
The 16-year-old was already walking back to the center circle, adjusting his socks. He hadn't broken a sweat. He hadn't celebrated wildly. He had simply looked at the pitch, seen the "logical" conclusion of the play, and executed it.
"His radar is changed," Klose muttered, watching Renzo. "He isn't looking for the open man. He's looking for where the man will be open in three seconds. He's playing in the future."
The Stadio Olimpico, the heart of Rome, had gone cold. The "Maestro of Merseyside" had just become the Conqueror of Rome.
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