The moment the two teams walked out of the tunnel, it all felt heavier than usual.
The floodlights above pierced through the Venetian twilight, turning the Stadio Pier Luigi Penzo into something otherworldly. The cool wind blew in from the nearby water, carrying with it that familiar cocktail of sea salt, brine, and tension, the smell of damp concrete rising from the stands. Lecce's yellow and red kits glowed vividly under the lights, stark against the gray-toned surroundings, a splash of defiance.
Alex stood at the edge of his technical area, hands in his coat pockets, jaw tight, eyes scanning the field with the unblinking intensity of someone living inside the game before it even started. His chest rose and fell slowly, but his mind was alive, calculating distances, anticipating movements, reading the body language of Venezia's players as they adjusted socks and exchanged glances across the tunnel.
