CHAPTER FIFTEEN — The Cauldron

October 26, 2003 — Stadio Olimpico, Matchday 7

The bus curved through the Roman streets as dawn broke over the Eternal City. The marble shadows of statues flickered past the windows. Luca Bellini sat upright, his hands resting on his thighs, eyes scanning the rooftops. The sky was bruised with red.

This wasn't just another match.

AS Roma. At the Olimpico. Totti. Cassano. Emerson. Cafu's old stomping grounds. And for Milan, the biggest test of the season so far.

Luca knew this. He could feel it in the way Ancelotti had paused at breakfast and looked around the room. In the hush of the team meeting. In the tight-lipped focus of Maldini, Nesta, and Dida.

He pulled out his pocket notebook and flipped to a new page.

October 26 — Roma (A)

Totti false nine. Cassano drifts. Watch overlaps from Candela. Midfield block key.

He didn't write anything about fear. There wasn't room.

—

The previous week had been relentless. Milanello was a hive. Film sessions, tactical rehearsals, shape drilling. Ancelotti worked on timing the backline's reactions to through balls. Luca stayed late every day, reviewing Cassano's footwork and Totti's passes from deep.

One evening, as the autumn wind rippled through the Milanello pines, Sofía called. She was walking home from the hospital.

"How's the knee?" she asked.

"Fine. I took a knock, but nothing serious."

She paused. "You haven't written in two days."

"I'm just tired."

"You're not just tired. You're overthinking."

He didn't deny it.

"Want to talk it through?"

"No," he said quietly. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

She smiled through the phone. "Well, here it is."

That was enough to clear the clouds.

—

Matchday.

The Olimpico heaved with 70,000 voices. Romanisti lit flares, sang war chants. Totti's name echoed like thunder. The tunnel was a corridor of tension. Flashbulbs burst from above as the teams lined up.

Milan in red and black.

Roma in deep wine and gold.

The lineup: Dida in goal. Cafu and Maldini as fullbacks. Nesta and Luca in central defense.

Midfield: Pirlo the regista, Gattuso and Seedorf his engine and silk. Kaká ahead, linking with Shevchenko and Inzaghi.

Roma lined up with Pelizzoli in goal. Panucci, Samuel, and Zebina in defense. Candela and Mancini on the flanks. Emerson and Dacourt patrolled midfield. Totti floated behind Cassano and Delvecchio.

Kickoff.

—

The match exploded with tempo.

In the 5th minute, Cassano wriggled through a sliver of space, slipped past Seedorf, and pinged a shot — Dida parried.

Luca closed down the rebound and cleared, but his heart was pounding. The pace was unreal.

In the 10th minute, Totti dropped into midfield, drew Gattuso, and released Mancini on the wing. The cross came in fast. Luca stepped in front of Delvecchio and headed it out.

Rome growled.

The pressure was endless. But Milan countered well. In the 18th minute, Shevchenko spun off Samuel and found Kaká — his curling shot kissed the post.

Luca was everywhere — pressing up when Totti dropped, tracking Cassano's drifting runs. Nesta barked calls beside him.

"Watch left! Cassano's behind you!"

Luca adjusted, cut the angle, and forced a turnover.

In the 29th minute, Roma struck.

Candela surged forward, played a one-two with Totti, and hit a perfect low cross. Delvecchio stabbed it in. 1–0.

San Siro would have groaned. Olimpico exploded.

Luca cursed softly. It wasn't his side, but it still stung.

—

Milan responded with fury.

Pirlo began dictating rhythm. Kaká danced through lines. Gattuso hounded Dacourt. Luca held the backline firm, blocking a stinging Cassano shot in the 37th minute.

Then, in the 42nd, it came.

A long diagonal from Cafu. Shevchenko chested it down and found Kaká. One touch. Shot.

Goal. 1–1.

—

Halftime.

The locker room was tight with breath. Shirts soaked. Ancelotti paced slowly.

"Good recovery. But we're not done. Watch Totti. Emerson's sitting deeper now. Expect longer balls. Backline — be ready."

Nesta sipped water. "Talk more, Bellini. I can't see everything."

Luca nodded. "Got it."

—

Second half.

Roma started hot. In the 48th, Cassano nutmegged Seedorf and danced toward the box. He tried to flick it over Luca — but Luca read it.

Chest trap. Turn. Pass to Cafu.

The press box gasped.

In the 53rd, Delvecchio charged again. Nesta missed his footing. Luca slid, perfect timing, ball out for a throw. He pumped his fist. Gattuso roared.

Momentum swung.

In the 60th, Milan countered. Gattuso intercepted. Fed Pirlo. He sprayed a pass out to Shevchenko, who took one touch and curled it past Pelizzoli.

2–1 Milan.

The bench erupted. Ancelotti clenched a fist.

Luca didn't celebrate. He pointed to the back line. "Reset. Focus."

In the 68th, Cassano wriggled free and curled a shot — blocked. By Luca. Again.

Totti tried twice more to pull defenders. Luca followed, closed, stifled.

In the 75th minute, Roma's frustration showed. Panucci lunged into Seedorf. Yellow card.

In the 80th, Milan closed the game.

Corner from Pirlo. Flicked by Maldini. Nesta's header. Goal.

3–1 Milan.

The Olimpico fell silent.

In the final minutes, Luca cleared one last ball, turned toward the crowd, and took it all in — the hiss of whistles, the groan of defeat.

Then the whistle blew.

AC Milan 3 – Roma 1.

—

In the tunnel, Totti walked over.

"You played well, ragazzo. Stay sharp."

Luca nodded, stunned. "Thank you."

Nesta threw an arm around him. "Told you it'd be loud. You didn't flinch."

Kaká added, "Player of the match, no doubt."

—

Back at the hotel, Luca showered, ate, and slipped away to the balcony with his notebook.

October 26 — Roma 1, Milan 3

Minutes: 90

Clearances: 9

Interceptions: 5

Blocks: 3

Passes completed: 91%

Rating: 8.5

Totti: respect

Cassano: relentless

Nesta: trusting me

I held. I adapted. I survived the cauldron.

—

Later, he called Sofía. She answered on the second ring.

"You were brilliant," she said.

"You watched?"

"I had a break. Everyone at the hospital did."

He laughed, quietly.

"Get some rest," she said. "Next week's coming fast."

"I know," he whispered.

But as he looked at the stars over Rome, he let himself enjoy this one.

One night. One triumph.

Then — back to war.