Reincarnated As A Wonderkid-Chapter 568: Como 1907 - 78 pts

The morning mist hung over Lake Como like a soft blanket. It was quiet. Peaceful.

Alex stood on the balcony of his office, sipping an espresso. He looked at the league table pinned to the wall.

Serie A Table:

Como 1907 - 78 pts

Inter Milan - 76 pts

Juventus - 74 pts

AC Milan - 70 pts

Two games left. Two points clear.

"The final stretch," Alex whispered.

Mark burst into the room. He was wearing a headband that said CHAMPION LOADING... and holding a stopwatch.

"TIME IS TICKING!" Mark shouted. "THE SCUDETTO IS WAITING! IT IS GETTING COLD! LIKE A PIZZA LEFT ON THE PORCH!"

"The Scudetto is a trophy, Mark. It doesn't get cold."

"IT GETS LONELY!" Mark argued. "IT NEEDS A HOME! MY SHELF IS READY!"

"We have to win first," Alex said. "Lazio away. Then Verona at home."

"Lazio," Mark shuddered. "The Eagles. They have big beaks."

"They have Immobile," Alex corrected. "And Luis Alberto. They are dangerous."

Rome. The Stadio Olimpico.

It was a cauldron. The Lazio fans were famous for their passion (and their hostility).

Alex stood in the tunnel.

Ciro Immobile stood next to him. The Lazio captain. He was old now, but he still scored goals for fun.

"Professor," Immobile nodded.

"Ciro," Alex replied.

"You want the title," Immobile said. "But Rome is not a gift shop. You don't just take what you want."

"I am here to earn it," Alex said.

The whistle blew.

The game started.

Lazio played deep. They defended with five at the back. They wanted to frustrate Como.

In the twentieth minute, Luis Alberto played a through ball.

Immobile ran. He was still fast.

He shot.

Raya made a fingertip save.

"Close!" Mark yelled from the bench. "Too close! My heart is racing! I need a calming snack!"

"Eat a carrot," Alex suggested.

"A CARROT?" Mark looked horrified. "I NEED CHEESE!"

Como struggled to break down the wall. The Liquid Diamond was flowing, but Lazio were clogging the pipes.

Halftime. Zero zero.

News came from Milan. Inter were winning 2-0 against Torino.

If Como drew, they would be level on points. But Inter had better goal difference.

"We need to win," Alex told the team. "A draw is a loss."

He looked at Luca. The young winger.

"Luca. Stop passing. Start running. Run at them. Make them scared."

"Yes Boss," Luca said.

Second half.

Luca got the ball on the wing.

He didn't look for a pass. He put his head down and ran.

He beat Marusic. He beat Romagnoli.

He cut inside.

He was fouled. Penalty!

The referee pointed to the spot.

Saka picked up the ball.

The stadium whistled. Lasers flashed in Saka's eyes.

Saka was calm. He was the Ice Man.

He ran up.

He stuttered.

He rolled it into the corner.

Goal.

One zero. Como.

"ICE IN HIS VEINS!" Mark screamed. "HE IS A REFRIGERATOR!"

Lazio threw everything forward. They hit the post in the 89th minute.

But Como held on.

The final whistle blew.

Como 1. Lazio 0.

One game left.

The week before the final game was chaos.

The city of Como was painted blue. Flags hung from every window. The lake was filled with boats flying Como flags.

Milo was in his element.

He had set up a "Scudetto Shop" in the main square.

"GET YOUR CHAMPIONSHIP AIR!" Milo shouted. "BOTTLED FRESH FROM THE TRAINING GROUND! SMELLS LIKE VICTORY! AND SWEAT! MOSTLY SWEAT! ONLY FIFTY EUROS!"

"Milo," Alex said, walking past. "You are selling empty bottles."

"THEY ARE FULL OF POTENTIAL!" Milo argued. "I AM ALSO SELLING 'LUCKY SOCKS'! THEY ARE JUST MY OLD SOCKS! BUT I WASHED THEM! TWICE!"

"Gross," Alex laughed.

The pressure was immense. The whole world was watching. Can the underdog do it again?

Matchday 38. Como vs Verona. The Sinigaglia.

If Como won, they were champions. If they drew or lost, and Inter won... Inter were champions.

The stadium was packed three hours before kickoff.

Alex gave his team talk.

"This is it," Alex said. "The last exam."

He looked at the players. Saka. Belotti. Luca. Marco.

"You have studied. You have practiced. You know the answers."

He pointed to the pitch.

"Go out there and write your names in the history books. In ink. Permanent ink."

"I brought a sharpie!" Mark shouted, holding up a pen.

"Metaphorical ink, Mark," Alex smiled.

The game started.

Verona were safe from relegation. They had nothing to play for.

Usually, that meant an easy game.

But Verona decided to play like Brazil 1970.

They passed. They moved. They attacked.

In the tenth minute, Verona scored.

A long shot. A screamer.

Zero one.

The stadium went silent.

"What is happening?" Rico whispered. "Why are they so good?"

"They are relaxed," Alex said. "No pressure. We are tight."

News from Milan. Inter were winning 1-0.

As it stood, Inter were champions.

Como needed two goals.

Alex stood on the touchline. He didn't panic.

He clapped his hands.

"Play!" Alex shouted. "Just play!"

Twenty fifth minute.

Saka got the ball. He dribbled past two. He crossed.

Belotti headed.

Saved.

Thirty fifth minute.

Paz shot.

Post.

"The goal is cursed!" Mark yelled. "Someone put a spell on it! Milo, did you sell a curse?"

"I ONLY SELL BLESSINGS!" Milo shouted from the stands.

Halftime. Zero one.

The mood was dark.

"We are choking," Marco said, head in his hands.

Alex walked into the center of the room.

"Look at me," Alex said.

They looked up.

"Do you remember where we started?" Alex asked. "Relegation candidates. Nobody believed in us. Nobody knew your names."

He pointed to the window.

"Now, the whole city is singing your names. They don't care if you lose. They love you because you fight. So go out there and fight."

He looked at Luca.

"Luca. Do you remember the goal against Juventus?"

"Yes Boss."

"Do it again."

Second half.

Como came out like lions.

Fifty fifth minute.

Luca got the ball. He ran. He cut inside.

He shot.

Goal.

One one.

The stadium roared. Hope.

But they needed one more.

Sixtieth minute. Inter were winning 3-0. They were doing their job.

Como pushed. Verona defended.

Seventy minutes. Eighty minutes.

Time was running out.

Eighty fifth minute.

Alex looked at his bench.

He saw Tito. The young Brazilian striker.

"Tito," Alex said. "Go win the league."

Tito ran on.

Eighty ninth minute.

The clock ticked. 89:12. 89:13.

Como had a throw-in.

Alex grabbed the ball. He threw it to Saka.

Saka turned. He saw Tito making a run.

Saka chipped the ball.

Tito controlled it with his chest.

He was in the box.

A defender slid in.

Tito didn't shoot. He chopped the ball back.

The defender slid past.

Tito was alone.

He looked at the goal.

He smashed it.

The net bulged.

GOAL.

Two one. Como.

The stadium exploded. The noise was so loud it shook the lake.

Tito ran to the crowd. He ripped off his shirt.

Alex ran down the touchline. He couldn't help it. He ran onto the pitch.

Mark followed him. Rico followed him. The whole bench followed him.

They piled on top of Tito.

"WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS!" Mark screamed. "GET THE PIZZA!"

The referee blew the final whistle.

It was over.

Como 1907. Serie A Champions.

Alex fell to his knees.

He looked at the sky.

He thought about the journey. The three lives. The endless games.

It all led to this moment.

Cesc Fabregas ran over. He hugged Alex.

"You did it," Cesc said. "You built a masterpiece."

"We painted it together," Alex smiled.

Milo ran onto the pitch. He was wearing a crown made of pasta.

"THE PASTA KING!" Milo screamed. "ALEX! WE DID IT! I AM SELLING THE AIR FROM THE BALL! I CAUGHT IT IN A JAR! ONE MILLION EUROS!"

"Milo, put the jar away," Alex laughed.

They walked up to the podium.

The trophy was there. The Scudetto.

Alex lifted it.

Gold confetti rained down.

He looked at his son, Leo, running towards him. Leo was wearing a Como shirt.

"Daddy!" Leo yelled. "You won the big cup!"

"We won it, Leo," Alex said, picking him up.

Mark was wearing the trophy as a hat (of course).

"It fits!" Mark shouted. "It is a perfect fit!"