Crimson Wall: The Last Defender

January 2–5, 2004 — Milanello

The frost had returned.

Milanello welcomed the squad back with frozen grass and breath clouds. Gone were the warm breezes of Naples. The holiday glow faded fast under the biting grip of January.

But the smiles remained — for a while.

Luca Bellini stepped out of the locker room wrapped in his training jacket. His cheeks stung. His body, though rested, felt sluggish. He jogged in place, staring across the field.

Nesta and Maldini were already out, stretching quietly. Gattuso barked at the fitness coach to turn the speakers up. Kaká stood beside Pirlo, bouncing a ball off his thigh like it was summer again.

Luca joined them.

"Ready to sweat out the sfogliatella?" Kaká asked.

Luca nodded. "I missed the cold."

"You're a madman."

But Kaká clapped him on the back, and together they began the warmup laps.

—

Ancelotti's voice cut through the cold.

"Light first. Then we pick up. Half the league rested. The other half trained. We do both."

They ran drills. Short sprints. Ball control in triangles. Then defensive positioning.

Maldini stayed close to Luca.

"Stay sharp. Legs forget quick."

"I haven't forgotten anything."

"Good. Show me."

And so Luca did. His timing was crisp. His angles sharp. He directed younger reserves like a veteran.

When they moved to full-pitch simulation, Ancelotti split the team.

Maldini played left back. Cafu on the right. Nesta and Luca in the middle.

Midfield: Pirlo, Gattuso, Seedorf.

Up front: Kaká behind Inzaghi and Shevchenko.

The second team looked solid — Ambrosini, Kaladze, Tomasson — but they couldn't break through the first line.

Luca intercepted three passes in ten minutes. One sliding block, two aerial wins.

"Bellini, you want a trophy for this scrimmage?" Gattuso joked.

Luca smirked. "Just your respect."

"Too late. I gave that in Naples."

—

After training, the squad retreated indoors for stretching and recovery.

In the hot-and-cold plunge room, Luca sat beside Kaká. Their legs submerged in ice water, steam from a nearby whirlpool wafting between them.

"You never told me what you wrote," Kaká said.

"In Naples?"

"In your notebook."

"One word."

"Tell me."

"Balance."

Kaká smiled. "It shows."

They didn't speak for a while.

Then Luca leaned forward.

"I need to tell her."

"You already did."

"I mean everything."

"You will. When it's time."

Luca looked at his fingers, turning pink from the cold.

"You'll be the first to know."

"Of course I will."

—

That evening, the team gathered in the tactical room.

Ancelotti stood at the front, a large projector behind him displaying the Serie A table.

"We're top. But barely. Roma is chasing. Juve too. This month? It defines us."

He pointed to the upcoming fixtures.

"Three matches. Eleven days. Lecce. Bologna. Roma. Each one demands intensity."

He clicked to the next slide: Lecce's formation.

"They press. They bite. They'll test our focus. Don't give them belief."

He looked around the room.

"And you — Bellini. You'll see more of this."

He clicked again — slow-motion replay of Luca's block from the Reggina match.

"You're no longer a surprise. They'll study you. Be one step ahead."

Luca nodded.

Maldini spoke up. "He's ready."

Kaká added, "He's always writing about it."

Laughter broke the tension.

Ancelotti smiled. "Then let's write our next chapter."

—

Back at his apartment, Luca found Sofia curled on the couch with a mug of tea and a thick book.

She looked up. "Don't say anything. I know I look like a grandmother."

"You look like a woman who keeps me from collapsing."

She closed the book. "Good training?"

"The best."

"Cold?"

"Frozen."

She stood. Handed him the tea. "Then warm up."

They sat together, not saying much. Just being.

After a while, she asked, "Do you think they'll call you?"

"For the national team?"

She nodded.

"Maybe. Maybe not. I'm not thinking about that now."

"But you want it."

"Of course."

She rested her head on his shoulder. "It'll come."

He believed her.

—

January 5.

The team traveled to Lecce. An away game. First one of the year.

On the bus, Luca sat beside Kaká. They played cards. Then talked quietly.

"You're becoming our anchor," Kaká said.

"Feels like a dream."

"It's not. This is real. Stay steady."

"I will."

When they arrived at the hotel, the lobby buzzed. Fans waited outside. Kids waved posters.

Luca signed one: "To Matteo — believe in your fire."

The boy smiled. "You're the wall!"

Luca smiled too.

That night, he wrote:

Jan 5 — Lecce away tomorrow.

My body feels right. My mind is clear.

Balance holds.

And I'm not alone.