Leon stood in his kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hands, staring out at the quiet, grey morning.
His mind was a quiet storm of tactical thoughts and nervous energy.
He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. It was his mother.
"You have that look on your face," Elena said softly.
"The one you used to get before your school exams. The one that says you are trying to carry the whole world on your shoulders."
"It's a big game, Mom," he said, a small, tired smile on his face.
"Every game is a big game," she replied, her wisdom simple and profound. She took his face in her hands.
"You are not carrying the world, Leo. You are playing a game. A game you love, with friends who are like your brothers. Go and have fun. The rest," she said, giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead, "is just noise."
He hugged her tightly, her words a perfect, calming anchor in his sea of anxiety.
"Thanks, Mom."
He got in his car, the engine a low, powerful hum, and drove towards Anfield. He was ready.
