Crimson Wall: The Last Defender

December 26–31, 2003 — Naples, Winter Break

The next day began slow.

Golden light filtered through the hotel curtains. Outside, seagulls cried faintly, and the harbor was already alive with fishermen shouting, tourists chattering, boats bobbing against wooden piers.

Inside the boutique hotel, the Milan squad had scattered. Some were at breakfast, laughing quietly over cornetti and espresso. Others strolled outside, hands in pockets, their heavy muscles grateful for stillness.

Luca Bellini sat on the balcony of his room, a wool blanket around his shoulders, his journal resting on his knees. He wasn't writing. Not yet. Just thinking.

Sofia had kissed him.

Or he had kissed her. It didn't matter now.

Everything felt different. And yet — it didn't. She was still Sofia. Still his friend, his listener, his reminder of home. But now, the air between them had changed. Softer. Charged.

A knock broke the silence.

"Open up, romantic," Kaká called through the door.

Luca smiled and stood. He opened it to find Kaká holding two cups of coffee.

"Ambrosini says you missed breakfast. He thinks you eloped."

"Not yet," Luca said, taking a cup.

They sat on the bed, sipping in companionable silence.

"I'm happy for you," Kaká said at last. "She's… She's something special."

"She is."

Kaká nodded. "You're better when she's around. Not just calmer — clearer."

Luca didn't answer. He didn't have to.

—

Later that morning, Ancelotti gathered the squad at a nearby futsal pitch. Not to train, exactly — but to move, to laugh.

Five-a-side matches. Coaches versus players. Cafu pulling nutmegs. Gattuso shouting like it was the World Cup. Pirlo refusing to run but somehow always scoring.

Luca found himself on a team with Nesta, Serginho, Tomasson, and Kaladze.

They played against Maldini, Shevchenko, Rui Costa, Dida (in goal), and Seedorf.

"Five legends," Nesta muttered. "And Rui Costa's hair."

The match was chaos. No tactics, just touches, feints, and shouts. Luca surprised himself — two goals, including a cheeky heel flick past Dida.

"Who are you?" Seedorf demanded, laughing.

"Someone who's not afraid anymore," Luca replied.

They all paused. Nesta clapped him on the shoulder.

"About time."

—

That evening, the team walked to a family-run restaurant near the bay.

The owner recognized Maldini immediately and refused payment. The players filled two long tables. Wine flowed. Plates kept arriving: octopus salad, fried zucchini flowers, gnocchi alla sorrentina.

Luca sat between Sofia and Gattuso, who teased the waiters in dialect.

"You look different," Sofia whispered.

Luca smirked. "I'm full."

"No. You… You're glowing."

He rolled his eyes. "Must be the oil from the calamari."

She nudged him gently. "You should smile more. Your jaw stops looking dangerous."

He did smile.

At the far end of the table, Ancelotti toasted.

"To joy. To laughter. To this team — growing, bonding, and fighting for each other. May this short pause strengthen what we build next."

The team cheered.

After dinner, some players stayed behind for grappa. Others, like Luca and Sofia, walked slowly toward the water.

The sea shimmered beneath the moonlight. Fireworks popped distantly — early New Year's celebrations.

"I've never been happier," Luca said, almost to himself.

Sofia squeezed his hand. "You'll remember this. Even when it's hard again."

"I know."

They stood in silence.

—

December 27.

The club had arranged a short trip into the countryside — thermal springs. A few hours to relax further.

Luca shared a car with Kaká, Tomasson, and Cafu.

Cafu played DJ, choosing upbeat samba that even Nesta bobbed his head to. Tomasson talked about Denmark's bitter winters. Kaká asked everyone for their New Year's resolutions.

"Win the Scudetto," Tomasson said.

"Break Maldini's running record," Cafu grinned.

"Smile more," Luca added.

Everyone turned.

"You serious?"

He nodded. "Gonna show my teeth in 2004."

"Be careful," Tomasson said. "The press might panic."

They laughed.

—

At the springs, players soaked in the warm mineral water. Gattuso tried to start a cannonball contest. Ancelotti dozed with cucumber slices on his eyes.

Luca lay back, head against the edge, staring up at the sky.

Kaká floated by.

"You're different," he said.

"You already said that."

"I mean it. You're not just playing better. You're living better."

Luca nodded. "I think I understand what balance means now."

"Don't lose it when things get hard again."

"I won't."

—

That night, Sofia joined the group for dinner at the hotel's rooftop.

The city stretched beneath them — domes and alleys and quiet lights.

Sofia sat near Maldini and Ancelotti. She asked about old matches, big moments. Listened intently. She wasn't trying to impress — just curious.

Luca watched her.

Pirlo leaned in. "She's sharp."

"She's everything."

"Then keep her close. Not everyone will understand what this life costs."

"I know."

—

December 28.

A beach football match — players vs. staff.

Gattuso tackled Ancelotti and was benched by consensus. Rui Costa tried a bicycle kick and landed flat. Luca scored twice again.

Kaká whispered, "We're building something big."

Luca nodded. "But we need to finish strong."

—

Later, in the shade of a palm tree, Sofia read a medical textbook. Luca lay beside her, eyes closed.

"You'll be a great doctor," he murmured.

"Because I can memorize diseases?"

"Because you care."

She looked at him. "So do you. Even when you pretend not to."

He smiled.

"I'm going to marry you someday," he said softly.

She said nothing.

But her fingers found his.

—

December 29.

The team trained lightly at a local field. Media were allowed in for ten minutes. One question stood out:

"Bellini — any thoughts on your standout performances and possible national team future?"

Luca looked to Maldini, who nodded.

Then he replied: "I'm just focusing on Milan. I learn every day. We'll see what comes."

It made headlines. 'Bellini, Humble Wall of Milan.'

Sofia smiled when she saw it.

—

December 30.

One last dinner. Gifts exchanged. Coaches shared stories. Players clapped for the staff.

Maldini stood one final time.

"We started this year as contenders. We'll finish it as champions — if we remember that it's not just talent, but trust."

Luca looked around. At Nesta. At Gattuso. At Kaká. At Sofia.

Trust.

He was starting to believe in it.

—

December 31.

Flight back to Milan.

Luca sat by the window. Sofia beside him. She rested her head on his shoulder.

He opened his notebook.

Wrote one word:

Balance.

Then underlined it.

The clouds parted.

A new year waited.