"Two Defeats in One Week! The Luigi Ferraris Becomes a Purple Graveyard!"
"Six Goals in Two Trips! Genoa's Gates have been Re-Painted Viola!"
"Four Assists in 60 Minutes: Is the 'Oriental Rui Costa' the Savior of Florence?"
If Renzo Uzumaki's debut had been a shock to the system, his second performance was a full-scale earthquake. The Florentine media, usually a cynical and hard-to-please bunch, were suddenly tripping over themselves to find new adjectives for the sixteen-year-old.
Even La Nazione, the city's largest daily, did a complete U-turn. Before the Sampdoria match, they had urged "caution," fearing that overhyping a teenager would lead to a psychological collapse. They wanted to protect the boy. They didn't realize the boy didn't need protection—he needed a bigger stage.
To the fans, the "Four Assists" were the headline. But for the historians, it was the age. When the legendary Manuel Rui Costa arrived from Benfica in 1994, he was twenty-two, a polished diamond. Renzo was sixteen, still technically a child, yet he was putting up numbers that the Portuguese "Maestro" hadn't touched in his first month.
On the training ground the next morning, the atmosphere had shifted. During the tactical scrimmage, the players weren't surprised when Renzo was handed a Red Bib. In Florence, the Red Bib was sacred; it meant you were in the starting eleven for the upcoming match.
It was the first time Renzo had worn it since arriving at the Artemio Franchi.
"So, you've finally made up your mind?" Daniele Pradè, the technical director, asked as he watched the scrimmage from the touchline.
Montella didn't take his eyes off the pitch. Instead, he wordlessly handed Pradè a laminated sheet of paper. It was the advanced analytics report from the Sampdoria game.
"Pass completion… 100%?" Pradè squinted, his voice dropping an octave. "And six Key Passes? Directly leading to shots?"
As a man who spent his life looking at scouting profiles, Pradè knew the math didn't add up. In Serie A, a playmaker is considered elite if they hit 85%. If they are a "High-Risk, High-Reward" passer—the kind who constantly tries to split the defense—that number usually drops to 78% or 80%.
But Renzo? Six balls into the "red zone" and not a single one misplaced?
"That's impossible," Pradè muttered. "Even a god misses a pass once in a while. The wind, a bad bounce, a teammate tripping… something usually goes wrong."
"He did it against Genoa, too," Montella said quietly. "I ignored it then because he only played twenty minutes against tired legs. I thought it was a statistical fluke. But he just did it again for a full half against a fresh, tactical defense led by Eto'o and Mihajlović."
On the pitch, Renzo received a ball under pressure, did a subtle body feint, and slid a forty-yard diagonal into Cuadrado's path. The Colombian scored and immediately turned around to perform a mock "bow" toward the teenager.
"So he's starting," Pradè concluded. "Knowing you, Vincenzo, he's going to be a lock for the rest of the season."
Montella's eyes were sharp, reflecting the morning sun. He finally turned to look at the director.
"Starting isn't enough, Daniele. I'm not just putting him in the lineup."
Pradè paused, sensing the gravity in the coach's tone. "What are you saying?"
"I'm taking the keys away from the veterans," Montella replied. "From today on, we aren't just playing Renzo. We are playing through him. I'm making him the tactical heartbeat of Fiorentina."
The director stared at him, stunned. Building a team around a veteran like Borja Valero was one thing. Entrusting the entire tactical philosophy of a historic Italian club to a sixteen-year-old loanee?
That wasn't just a decision. It was a revolution.
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