"Roberto, we're not signing a 37-year-old player from Serie C just because he played well in a single pre-season match."
Martinelli corrected him. "It's 35."
"Right, 35, 37. What's the difference?"
Martinelli spoke again. "You'll change your mind once you watch the replay of that match. And what's wrong with it anyway? 35 isn't that old. Cristiano Ronaldo and Pepe retired at 41. He's a defender; he doesn't need to run much. Just put him out there and—"
"Enough." One of the board members interrupted. "Enough of this nonsense. You are a Head of Youth Development we greatly respect. Zeroli, Nesti, Bozzolan—you've proven yourself a brilliant scout. But once again, let us be clear, we will not recruit an old man from the middle of nowhere. Milan is a modern club that focuses on youth development."
"If that's the case, at least sign their other player. The striker who came on as a sub, I think his name is Luca Santoro. He's still in his 20s and has the potential to become something."
The board deliberated briefly before giving their response. "We will consider it."
Martinelli had no choice but to leave the boardroom, feeling annoyed. 'Consider it?' That's the phrase they always use when they meet, only to ultimately ignore all his suggestions.
Martinelli hadn't been taken seriously since the club was taken over by an American company called Summit Capital Group. The company had begun shedding senior staff, leaving him as one of the few remaining. They knew his influence was too significant to eliminate immediately, so they had to chip away at it gradually. It began with bringing in a new head coach who often disagreed with him.
Even though Martinelli realized his suggestion was a bit unreasonable, he trusted his instincts—the very instincts that got him this far. Players like Theo Hernández, Rafael Leão, and Mike Maignan were products of his masterful scouting.
Martinelli had been watching football since he was a child. He had observed different generations of players, and when someone caught his eye, they weren't mediocre. They were destined for greatness. And at Aeterna, they would only waste away, stuck in the deepest pits of professional Italian football.
'Those board bastards… they'll regret this.'
*#*
Rashid regretted his decision. Playing Luca in the final minutes against Milan had turned into a ticking time bomb, especially since Luca made a significant impact: a goal that narrowed the score and reignited hope for the team in the closing moments.
Since then, Luca had become increasingly arrogant, demanding a regular starting spot at every opportunity—a demand Rashid never granted.
It only got worse when Luca continued proving he was too valuable to be just a super-sub.
Luca scored a brace in a 3-2 victory over Cesena, one goal in a win against Foggia, and another in a draw against Reggina.
All these goals were scored after Luca came on as a substitute in the 70th minute or later. That meant he needed less than 20 minutes to score at least once.
"Can you imagine if I played longer? My goal tally would be fantastic, right?" Luca smirked arrogantly.
Rashid stood up lazily, grabbing his bag, and turned toward the exit.
"Hey, hey, wait. Didn't you hear me?" Luca blocked his way.
"Yes, Mr. Santoro. Loud and clear. With that talent, I'm sure you could climb the corporate ladder in a big company."
Luca didn't seem to understand—or care—about Rashid's remark and continued questioning him. "So, why did you drop my name from the squad traveling to Spezia?"
Rashid sighed. "Because I had to."
Luca stared, too confused to react, allowing Rashid to slip past him. "What kind of reason is that? Are you joking? You're mocking me, aren't you?"
Rashid ignored him again. "We'll discuss this tomorrow. It's already 9 PM, and training starts at 7 AM. Or do you want to use this as an excuse for being late again?"
"I'm not done talking!" Luca grabbed Rashid's hand to prevent him from opening his car door. "So this is how you handle things, huh? Don't you know who you're dealing with?"
"The best player on the team?"
Luca sensed the sarcasm in Rashid's voice. He merely snorted and clicked his tongue. "I've been patient and reasonable for weeks now, hoping we could be mature and wise. And what did I get?"
Luca clenched his fist and pointed threateningly at Rashid. "You might act tough now because you have Sandro. And I must admit that old man is somehow better than ever. But so what? He's old and probably has only a year left before he retires. When that happens, you won't be needed anymore. And mark my words, I won't just get you fired—I'll make sure you end worse. Remember that!"
Rashid said nothing as he got into his car. Instead of being intimidating, Luca's threats were almost laughable.
Rashid thought Luca had truly changed, that he just needed a strong leader on the field to guide him. But from the start, this was never about skills in game. It was something rooted deep within Luca—his ego.
Maybe Luca's issue was more serious than Rashid had anticipated. But then what?
The past few weeks had been somewhat enjoyable—the intense competition on the field, the tactical battles, the training sessions.
But that emptiness still gnawed at him, and it probably always would.
For now, Rashid was just going through the motions, drifting with every current. If his career ended in a year, then so be it.
His career ended sooner than he had expected. The next morning, Rashid had just parked his car, ready to head to his office to put away his bag.
But Gigi was already there, greeting him awkwardly. "H-hey, Mr. Alfaro."
Rashid raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?"
"If you consider it wrong, not exactly. I mean, you didn't do anything wrong this time, and—"
"Gigi!" Rashid patted Gigi's shoulders. "Do you have something to tell me?"
"Ah, right. Th-this… is a message from the club chairwoman, Mrs. Elena Marino. She asks you to meet her."
Rashid nodded. "I'll meet the team, set up today's training, and meet her afterward."
Before Rashid could take another step, Gigi stopped him. "Um… sorry, Mr. Alfaro, but Mrs. Marino wants to see you right away. And she doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Rashid sensed trouble. His recent interactions with the executives had been about his problems with Luca.
And this time, it seemed to be the same. "Sit down, Mr. Alfaro." The club chairwoman was a young woman, probably not even past 30. Her brown hair, strong jawline, and hawk-like eyes gave her the look of someone who valued discipline and wouldn't tolerate mistakes.
She didn't look like the kind of person Rashid expected to run a club on the brink of bankruptcy.
"I won't beat around the bush. It's the end of the month, and we've done our evaluation. You've done an incredible job showing progress during the pre-season. But—" Elena looked at Rashid sharply. "You still can't seem to control the dressing room properly, can you, Mr. Alfaro?"
Rashid frowned.
"That's truly concerning, Mr. Alfaro. A captain who can't control his ship will make everyone sink. And soon, we'll be sailing into vast waters. Are you sure you're ready for it?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Mrs. Marino. Almost no players have issues; we coordinate well. The dressing room is under control." Rashid narrowed his eyes. "Unless you're referring to one troublemaker as representing the entire dressing room."
"All players have equal rights—"
"And Luca Santoro has the most rights of them all?" Rashid scoffed, shaking his head. "How does a mere player hold enough influence to sway the club's evaluations?"
"Luca Santoro has a market value of 25 million euros. That's more than the entire team combined."
"No player is bigger than the club." Rashid stood firm. "That's the mentality instilled in my former club. That mentality brought them back to glory."
"Mr. Alfaro, have you ever heard the phrase, 'When in Rome, do as the Romans do?' Let me remind you, this is Ravenna, not Manchester. This is Italy, not England. As impressive as your CV is, it doesn't change the fact that you're an employee, and I am your boss." At that moment, Elena looked like someone unwilling to hear any more objections. "Play Luca Santoro as a regular starter from now on."