January 10, 2004 — AC Milan vs. Bologna
The morning broke grey over Milan.
The city, still blanketed in a mid-winter hush, stirred beneath low clouds and quiet anticipation. San Siro's belly rumbled with early fans lining up with scarves and flares. The street vendors were out in full force, calling over the hum of traffic. Inside Milanello, the atmosphere was different — thick with purpose.
The Lecce match had been the perfect start — precise, composed, quietly dominant. But Bologna wouldn't come with such softness. And Roma had just demolished their opponents the night before. The whispers in the press grew louder. The title race was heating up.
Ancelotti stood before them in the dressing room, arms folded.
"We are hunted. Not just watched — hunted. And we defend that position every match. You're not playing just for points now — you're defending a dream."
No shouting. Just truth.
Luca listened with his eyes on the floor. Gattuso cracked his knuckles beside him. Kaká leaned forward, focused. Maldini stood near the board, quietly marking the final tactical adjustments.
Then came the squad list.
AC Milan would start in their now-settled 4-3-1-2 formation: Dida in goal; Maldini on the left, Bellini and Nesta as center backs, Cafu at right back. Pirlo would anchor the midfield with Seedorf and Gattuso alongside him, while Kaká would operate behind Shevchenko and Inzaghi.
Bologna lined up in a compact 4-2-3-1, disciplined and narrow, hoping to frustrate Milan's creative flow. Roberto Colacone led the line, with Bellucci and Locatelli providing support from wide. Their game plan was clear — stay compact, slow the tempo, and hit Milan in transition.
Maldini clapped once. The room stirred.
"Do your job," he said quietly, "and trust each other."
Luca stood. He didn't say anything, but his eyes met Kaká's.
Trust.
—
The air inside San Siro was electric.
50,000 strong. Flares burned. Flags waved. The curva bounced to the rhythm of drums and chants. This was no longer just sport — it was war painted in color and sound.
The match began with immediacy. Bologna pressed high, aggressively.
Minute 5: Cafu's cross was blocked. Corner. Seedorf delivered. Luca rose, met it with power — wide.
Minute 9: Bellucci turned Nesta — dangerous. But Luca slid in, clean and fast, intercepting the pass before it reached Colacone. He popped up and cleared without hesitation.
"Bellini again," came the broadcast voice, "fast becoming not just Milan's wall, but its calm under fire."
The crowd roared. But Bologna didn't retreat.
Minute 17: mistake in midfield — Gattuso dispossessed. Locatelli surged forward. A cut inside. Bellini shadowed him. Waited. No lunge. Just presence.
Locatelli hesitated. Lost the ball. Gattuso recovered.
"Did you bait him?" Gattuso muttered.
Luca shrugged. "He blinked."
—
By minute 24, Milan adjusted.
Pirlo dropped deeper, helping in buildup. Seedorf cut inside, drawing defenders. And Kaká — oh, Kaká — found rhythm.
Minute 29: a slick one-two with Inzaghi. Kaká burst into the box. Shot — saved by Pagliuca.
Minute 33: Cafu won a throw. Quick restart. Gattuso to Pirlo. A chip over the back line.
Inzaghi met it on the bounce.
GOAL.
1–0 Milan.
San Siro erupted.
Luca didn't run forward. He didn't need to. He turned and pumped a fist at Nesta.
—
But Bologna wasn't done.
Before halftime, minute 41: Bellucci curled one from 22 meters. Dida parried. Rebound fell to Colacone. He struck — point-blank.
Luca slid in, body first.
The ball cannoned off his hip and out.
"HE'S EVERYWHERE," the commentator shouted.
Halftime.
1–0.
Inside the tunnel, Nesta clapped Luca's back. "You're reading everything."
"Trying not to blink."
—
Second half. Bologna began with bite.
Minute 48: yellow for Gattuso. Tensions rose.
Minute 53: Seedorf danced down the flank. Cutback. Shevchenko struck. Post.
Minute 56: Cafu won the rebound. Back to Pirlo. One touch. Chip.
Shevchenko adjusted.
Volley.
GOAL.
2–0.
San Siro trembled.
Luca raised both arms to the fans. Not in celebration — in unity. The wall belonged to them too.
—
Minute 61: Bologna earned a dangerous free kick.
Luca positioned the wall. Shouted. Pointed.
Strike.
He jumped. Blocked it with his shoulder.
Recovered.
Cleared.
He wasn't just defending anymore — he was leading.
—
Minute 74: substitution — Ambrosini for Seedorf.
Minute 79: Kaká weaved through three players. Through ball. Inzaghi again.
GOAL.
3–0.
The final whistle came like thunder.
Victory.
—
Back in the dressing room, the mood was jubilant.
Laughter. High fives. Applause.
Ancelotti waited for silence.
He looked directly at Luca.
"Performance of a champion."
The team cheered. Even Dida smiled.
Maldini offered a nod. "We're watching a legend begin."
Luca sat quietly, peeling tape from his wrist.
Kaká leaned over. "You feel it now?"
"Not yet," Luca replied. "Maybe in June."
—
That night, Luca and Sofia walked through the quiet streets of Milan.
She wore a red scarf — the same shade as his kit. Her hand curled around his.
"You didn't flinch," she said.
"I wasn't alone."
They stopped at a small bakery. Shared a warm pastry. Laughed.
"This is how I want to remember it," she said. "Not the goals. The silence after. With you."
He nodded.
—
Back home, he opened his journal.
January 10 — Bologna.
Still learning to lead.
Nesta's voice. Gattuso's fire. Maldini's calm.
I carry a piece of all of them.
And Sofia? She carries me.