The restaurant was a madhouse.
One moment, everyone was a calm, professional footballer; the next, they were a yelling, gesticulating mob of passionate fans, completely losing their minds over Trent Alexander-Arnold's impossible goal.
"It's the ball!" Julián Álvarez insisted, holding up a breadstick to demonstrate. "They have put a ghost in the ball! It has its own brain! See? It wobbles!" He wiggled the breadstick erratically, nearly poking Nicolò Barella in the eye.
"Julián, if you don't put the haunted breadstick down, I'm going to feed it to you," Barella grumbled, ducking away. "It wasn't a ghost, it was technique!"
"It was witchcraft!" Federico Dimarco countered, his eyes wide. "He made a deal with a wizard before the match! There is no other explanation!"
Leon was just laughing, completely caught up in the joyous chaos.
This was football at its purest: a moment of genius that defied explanation and turned grown men into giddy, superstitious children.
