Reincarnated As A Wonderkid

The cold, sharp spike of adrenaline from the fixture notification didn't fade. It settled into a heavy knot in his stomach as he drove through the glittering Milan night.

The 18% number burned behind his eyes, a stark, brutal assessment of their chances.

His Vision had shown him the reason why. It wasn't just a team; it was a collection of titans, each name scrolling past his mind's eye paired with terrifying numbers.

Rafael Leão: Current Ability: 91 / Potential Ability: 95

Theo Hernández: Current Ability: 89 / Potential Ability: 92

Mike Maignan: Current Ability: 89 / Potential Ability: 91

The list went on. Fikayo Tomori, Sandro Tonali, Ismaël Bennacer… a spine of pure, world-class talent. The thrill of the Napoli victory felt like a distant memory, replaced by the daunting reality of the Derby della Madonnina. This wasn't just another match.

This was for the city, for the fans, for everything. And according to his system, it was a battle they were overwhelmingly likely to lose.

He pulled into the quiet residential street where he lived, the engine's hum dying down to a soft click. The apartment building was modest, a far cry from the flashy villas some of his teammates owned. It was home.

He took a deep breath, pushing the daunting numbers and the pressure to the back of his mind, and walked inside.

The smell of garlic and olive oil greeted him instantly. The small apartment was warm and bright, a sanctuary from the roaring stadiums and the cold, hard stats of his life.

"Leon? Is that you?"

His mother, Elena, came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. Her face, etched with gentle lines of worry and pride, broke into a wide, beautiful smile the moment she saw him. She wasn't a football analyst or a tactician; she was a mom who had watched her son pour every ounce of his being into a dream.

"I saw the match," she said, her voice thick with emotion. She rushed forward and wrapped him in a hug that smelled of home-cooked pasta and unconditional love. "That goal… mamma mia, it was like a movie! The whole building heard me screaming. I think Mrs. Rossi next door almost had a heart attack."

Leon chuckled, melting into the embrace. The tension in his shoulders eased for the first time since he'd left the stadium. "Sorry, Mrs. Rossi," he said softly.

"Don't you be sorry," Elena pulled back, her hands on his cheeks, her eyes shining. "I am so, so proud of you. Not just for the goal, but for how you played. You looked so happy."

He just nodded, unable to find the words. In her eyes, he wasn't the player with an 88 rating or the man facing an 18% chance of victory.

He was just her son, and he had done well.

That simple, pure validation was worth more than any headline. They ate a late dinner together, talking about everything and nothing—the rising price of tomatoes, a funny story about his father from years ago, the leaky faucet he promised to look at. For a little while, football didn't exist.

Later, tucked in his bed, the quiet of the night allowed the thoughts to creep back in. He stared at the ceiling, the AC Milan lineup scrolling in his head again.

How could they possibly win? His system was a cheat, a gift, but it couldn't close a gap that wide by itself. He needed more. They needed more.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, dragging him from his thoughts. The screen lit up with a familiar, grinning face. Byon. He answered the video call.

"There he is! The Hero of the San Siro!" Byon's voice boomed from the phone's speaker. His friend was sitting in what looked like a ridiculously comfortable gaming chair, wearing a Manchester City training kit. "I saw the bicycle kick, mate. Absolutely filthy. You're all over my timeline."

Leon couldn't help but smile. "Thanks, man. How are things in Manchester? Still raining?"

"Always," Byon laughed. "But you know, the glow of victory keeps you warm. Did you see my goal against Bayern in the quarter-final?" He didn't wait for an answer.

"Little cut inside from the right wing, left the defender for dead, top corner. Easy peasy. We're through to the semis!"

"I saw it," Leon said, the friendly banter a welcome distraction. "Nice finish. Who'd you draw?"

Byon's grin widened. "Oh, you'll love this. We got Barcelona."

The name hung in the air for a second. The team that had knocked Inter out of the Champions League. The team that had ended Leon's first taste of Europe's biggest competition.

Byon let out a hearty laugh. "Don't worry, mate, we'll get revenge for you. Then we'll go and win the whole thing, and you can come to the parade."

"Just don't get too cocky," Leon shot back, the competitive fire inside him stirring. "Barça is no joke."

"Neither are we," Byon said, his tone shifting slightly, becoming more serious. "Listen, Leo. That game against Napoli… that was different. You weren't just playing well. You were running the show. Keep doing that, and you'll be back in this competition next year, and we can play each other in the final."

The conversation drifted for a few more minutes before they hung up. Byon's words stuck with him. You were running the show. He had felt it. The connection with Cole Palmer, the pass to Lautaro, the confidence to even attempt that kick. It was a new level. But would it be enough?

The next day, the atmosphere at the Appiano Gentile training ground was electric.

The victory against Napoli had injected a dose of confidence into the squad, but the looming derby cast a long, intense shadow. Coach Chivu gathered them in the center of the pitch, his expression unreadable.

"Good win," he said, his voice sharp and clear. "You celebrated. Now, you forget it. It's over. All that matters now is Sunday." He didn't need to say the opponent's name. Everyone knew. "Today, we work. We find a way."

As they started the drills, Leon activated his Vision, scanning his own teammates.

Lautaro Martínez: Current Ability: 88 / Potential Ability: 91. Mentality: Determined.

Nicolò Barella: Current Ability: 87 / Potential Ability: 90. Key Attribute: Work Rate.

Alessandro Bastoni: Current Ability: 86 / Potential Ability: 92. Key Attribute: Passing.

He saw the quality. He saw the fight.

The 18% didn't seem to account for the heart of this team. It didn't account for their hunger.

During a small-sided 8-v-8 training match, the intensity was off the charts. Tackles were flying in, and the ball moved at lightning speed.

Chivu wanted them to simulate the derby's pace. Leon found himself marked by Barella, whose relentless energy was suffocating. He tried to turn, but Barella was on him in a flash.

His Vision flared. He saw Barella's stats, but he also saw something else—a flicker of movement in his opponent's eyes, a slight shift in his body weight.

Anticipation: Player will commit to a standing tackle.

Instead of trying to turn away, Leon dragged the ball back with the sole of his boot at the last possible second. Barella, committed to the tackle, slid past him, leaving a pocket of space. In that instant, Leon looked up and saw Lautaro making a darting run between two defenders.

His Vision focused on his captain. He saw Lautaro's stats, his potential. But then a new piece of information surfaced, something he'd never seen before.

Player Trait: Tries First-Time Shots.

Lautaro wasn't going to take a touch. He was going to hit it the moment the ball arrived.

Leon didn't thread the pass into his path; he drilled it slightly behind him, forcing the striker to adjust his body. It was a counter-intuitive pass, one that looked awkward. But his system told him it was the right one.

As predicted, Lautaro didn't try to control it. He swiveled his hips, contorting his body into position, and met the ball with a thunderous first-time volley that rocketed into the top corner of the net.

The training match paused for a second as players on both sides let out shouts of appreciation. Lautaro jogged over to him, a look of slight disbelief on his face.

"How did you know?" the captain asked, clapping him on the back. "I didn't even know I was going to hit it like that until the ball was on its way."

Leon just smiled. "Just a feeling, Cap."

It was a small moment, a single goal in a training game. But for Leon, it was everything. The system wasn't just showing him numbers anymore. It was showing him tendencies, traits, secrets hidden within the game.