Lecce walked out for the second half with something different in their eyes. It wasn't just determination, it was something deeper. Maybe it was anger. Maybe pride. Or maybe it was that fire you only see when someone's had enough of being pushed around. Whatever it was, it was real. You could feel it in the air.
Their shoulders were squared. Their jaws clenched. No one was laughing or smiling. Every single player had a look like they were marching into battle. The home fans felt it too. The chants grew louder. Not just random noise anymore. There was rhythm now. Purpose. Like war drums beating in sync with the players' hearts. The entire stadium had been holding its breath during the first half. Now it was alive.
Alex stood by the touchline, not moving much. Arms folded, eyes sharp. The kind of sharp that made you not want to look him in the eye for too long. He wasn't barking orders or pacing nervously like before. That had been done already, inside the dressing room. Whatever needed to be said had been said. Now, it was on them. The eleven players on the pitch.
The referee's whistle pierced the noise.
The second half began.
And Lecce? They exploded into life.
Not even thirty seconds in, Ylber Ramadani read a sloppy pass from Monza like an open book. He stepped in fast, stuck out a foot, and took it. Then, using his strength, he shrugged off Monza's number 7 who tried to win it back. He didn't panic. Ramadani turned and quickly slid a pass sideways to Berisha.
Berisha didn't waste time either. One touch to control, then he turned on the spot and sent a clever ball down the flank toward the right. That's where Patrick Dorgu was already making his move.
"Go on, Patrick," Alex muttered under his breath.
Dorgu didn't need a shout to get going. He was already gone. The second he saw space, he attacked it like a man possessed. He pushed the ball ahead and stretched his legs, running with the kind of confidence that said, try and stop me.
The Monza defender tried. He reached out, grabbing a fistful of Dorgu's shirt, but it was like grabbing water. Dorgu just powered through, never even looking back. The defender stumbled, and the fans jumped to their feet.
The entire right wing opened up like a curtain being drawn.
But Dorgu didn't stop to admire it. He kept going. Fast, powerful, determined. He reached the edge of the penalty box and dragged two defenders with him as he cut inside. Everyone thought he was going to shoot. Even Alex braced for it.
But then Dorgu did something special.
He paused.
It wasn't a big dramatic stop. Just a half-second of hesitation. Enough to freeze the defenders. His body shifted slightly, and instead of blasting it, he nudged the ball gently with the inside of his foot.
To the left.
Krstovic.
Already moving, already prepared. The striker read it perfectly. The ball arrived soft, smooth, and just slow enough to allow a first-time strike.
He didn't hesitate.
Bang.
["GOAL FOR LECCE! WHAT A RUN BY DORGU! WHAT A FINISH BY KRSTOVIC! THE STADIO VIA DEL MARE HAS ERUPTED!"]
The net bulged, and the entire stadium exploded like a volcano. Red and yellow scarves shot up into the air. People screamed. Some were jumping. Others were hugging strangers. It was chaos, the beautiful kind.
"YEEEEEEEEEEEES!" Alex shouted, his whole body jumping as he pumped his fists wildly. He spun and slapped Marco's hand with a force that stung. Then punched the air again, like a boxer celebrating a knockout.
The players mobbed the corner flag. Krstovic pointed straight at Dorgu, like an arrow. That pass, that move, that run, it was all him. Half the goal belonged to the young winger.
Dorgu froze for a second. The noise, the attention, it hit him all at once. But then his lips curled into a wide grin, pure and honest. The nerves that had haunted him in the first half had vanished. That assist wasn't just a moment. It was a release.
Alex watched for a few more seconds, then turned back to his technical area. His smile faded a little. There was still a lot of time left.
But deep down, he allowed himself one simple thought.
They were playing like winners.
By the 60th minute, Lecce were still the better side. They moved the ball faster. Their press was tighter. Monza couldn't breathe. Alex didn't want them to get comfortable though. He wanted more. He wanted the kill.
He signaled Marco. "Get Pierotti and Sansone ready."
They moved quickly. Federico Di Francesco and Medon Berisha jogged off, each of them getting a slap on the back. In their place came Santiago Pierotti and Nicola Sansone. Both came in with clear orders—press high, stay sharp, punish every mistake.
Three minutes later, it paid off.
It started with Ramadani again. The midfielder was everywhere tonight. He crashed into a Monza player and took the ball cleanly. Then, without looking nervous for even a second, he shifted it out to Gallo on the left.
Gallo and Pierotti combined with a nice one-two. Pierotti then slipped a neat little ball inside to Banda. Banda, always dangerous in tight spaces, looked up once, saw Krstovic making his move, and delivered a low pass that skipped just past a defender's foot.
Perfect weight. Perfect timing.
Krstovic didn't take a touch to settle it. He just swung.
Bang.
["KRSTOVIC AGAIN! THAT'S TWO! WHAT A FINISH FROM THE STRIKER! LECCE ARE RUNNING RIOT!"]
Another eruption from the crowd. The second goal sent the stadium into full-blown delirium. Krstovic ran towards the stands, dropped to his knees, and slid with his arms wide open like a king returning home.
Alex turned to Marco again, smiling wider than he had all season. "Let's take him off. He's done his job."
They didn't wait. Roberto Piccoli came on, and Krstovic received a roaring ovation from the fans as he jogged off. He clapped in return, his face beaming with pride.
But the game wasn't done.
In the 75th minute, Patrick Dorgu decided he wasn't finished either.
He took a pass from Pierotti deep on the right and looked up. Two defenders in front of him. No problem. He pushed the ball through the first defender's legs, nutmegging him cleanly. The crowd gasped.
Then he danced past the second with a body feint so quick the defender almost fell over.
And then, he was off.
Like a train breaking free from the tracks, Dorgu powered into the penalty box.
["Look at Dorgu go! LOOK AT HIM GO!"]
Alex couldn't believe what he was seeing. For a second, he was just a spectator like everyone else.
Dorgu reached the center of the box, faked a shot, then cut inside again and smashed it with his left foot.
Top corner.
Boom.
3–1.
["GOOOAAAAL! PATRICK DORGU! HE'S BEEN ELECTRIC TONIGHT!"]
The commentator's voice cracked with excitement. The fans lost their minds.
Alex lifted both hands like a conductor at the end of a perfect performance. Everything about that goal was magic. Raw, beautiful magic.
Dorgu sprinted to the corner flag, arms flapping wildly. Then he dropped to his chest and slid across the turf. His teammates swarmed him, shouting, laughing, patting his back, ruffling his hair.
The kid had done it.
The final whistle blew not long after.
Lecce 3. Monza 1.
A massive win. Not just because of the scoreline, but because of how they won. With style, with belief, with courage.
Alex exhaled slowly as he walked over to shake hands with Monza's coach. His pulse was still racing, his mind still whirring. But he didn't show it.
He kept it calm.
But inside, a smile had already formed.
And this time, it wasn't going anywhere.
A/N: Bonus chapter if we make it to 50 Power Stones this week, or three reviews. Two if we smash both targets