The locker room after the Fiorentina match was a symphony of shouts and laughter. It was a beautiful, chaotic noise, a stark contrast to the quiet despair of our previous loss to Barcelona.
Julián Álvarez, his face a mix of pure joy and utter exhaustion, came over and wrapped me in a tight hug. "Leo! You're a wizard, man!" he yelled, his voice hoarse from shouting. "I can't believe you did that!"
"We did that," I said, a genuine, joyful grin on my face. "It was a team effort. We never gave up."
"Yeah, but you were the one who saw it," Cole Palmer said, his calm, collected demeanor a soothing presence in the chaos. "That last goal... it was unreal. I don't know how you saw that coming."
I just shrugged, a small, knowing smile on my face.
My Vision was a secret, a private world that only I could see, but I knew that my teammates believed in me.
They had seen it with their own eyes. They had seen the passes, the runs, the goals. They had seen the magic.
