Chapter 75: Who’s Getting Fucked?!
Lecce’s training ground buzzed with fresh energy.
It was early, too early for most of them. The sun had only just begun to rise, casting long shadows across the pitch, painting the grass in a soft gold hue. The cool breeze that rolled off the Adriatic added a sharpness to the air, one that snapped at bare legs and flushed cheeks. Still, despite the lingering fog of sleep, the players had arrived on time.
That said something.
They were dragging themselves in, sure, rubbing their eyes, sipping from oversized water bottles, groaning as they bent to lace up their boots. But they were here. And there was a certain kind of purpose moving beneath the surface. An awareness that something had shifted after the Milan game. Something subtle. Something solid.
It felt like momentum.
Alex Walker stood alone at the center of the main pitch, arms folded behind his back, scanning the group. His gaze moved from face to face, some familiar, some still growing into their place. He didn’t bark. He didn’t need to. Just standing there in the quiet morning light, watching, was enough to make the group start inching toward him.
"Gather round," he said, his voice steady but clear. It cut through the quiet like a knife.
Boots scuffed against the ground as players jogged in from all corners. They formed a semi-circle around him, bibs pulled over training tops, a few still blinking into the sun. Banda was already bouncing on his toes. Gallo yawned and elbowed Dorgu for stealing his place.
Alex waited until every set of eyes was on him. Then he spoke.
"We play Atalanta next."
Simple. Casual. But even that drew a few raised eyebrows. Straight to the point.