Milano, Italy – Year 2000. Midnight.
The streets are silent. A thin fog crawls over the wet asphalt.
Somewhere in the old district, a dim light flickers from a small café — Café Lurano.
Inside, Franko, a skinny 15-year-old boy with messy brown hair, wipes the tables. His eyes are tired, but there's a spark in them — the spark of someone who still dreams.
Lurano, his uncle, an aging man with kind eyes, stacks empty cups near the counter.
---
Lurano: "That's enough for tonight, ragazzo. Go get some sleep."
Franko: "One more table, zio. You always say that, and then you do it yourself."
Lurano (smiling): "Because I can't sleep until this place shines."
Franko: "You should charge people more for coffee. Maybe we'd be rich by now."
Lurano (laughs): "Ha! In Milano? They'd rather steal than pay another lira."
---
The laughter fades as the café's door creaks open.
Three men enter — suits, leather gloves, and cold eyes.
A golden pin on one of their jackets glints under the light — the symbol of the Lucchini Mafia.
Franko freezes. Lurano's smile vanishes.
---
Mafioso #1: "Evening, Lurano."
Lurano (tense): "You're late... The café's closed."
Mafioso #2: "We don't come for espresso, old man."
Mafioso #1: "You missed last week's payment. Don Lucchini doesn't like being ignored."
Lurano: "Business has been slow. I just need time."
Mafioso #1 (smirking): "Time? You think this city gives time to beggars?"
He kicks over a chair.
Franko steps forward instinctively.
Franko: "Leave him alone!"
Mafioso #2 (grinning): "Look at this little hero."
Lurano (urgent whisper): "Franko, go upstairs. Now!"
Franko: "But—"
Lurano: "Go!"
---
Franko hesitates, his heart pounding.
He retreats toward the stairs, peeking through the wooden rails.
The leader pulls a pistol slowly, the metal gleaming.
Lurano: "Please… I'll pay. Just—"
BANG!
Franko's world stops.
The cup in his hand shatters on the floor.
He doesn't scream — his body simply runs.
Through the back door.
Into the dark alleys of Milano.
---
One week later...
Franko sleeps in abandoned corners, eats leftover bread, and keeps replaying that night in his head.
He hasn't spoken to anyone since.
Until today.
A group of boys laugh and shout across the street, kicking a worn-out football on a dusty court.
Spectators cheer — bills are being exchanged.
Street football — winner takes the pot.
Franko watches from afar, clutching his jacket.
---
Player 1: "Next match! Who's challenging us?"
Player 2: "Come on! No one's brave enough?"
Franko takes a step forward.
Franko: "I'll play."
Player 2 (snorts): "You? You look like the ball would break you."
Franko: "Try me."
The crowd laughs. Someone throws him a torn jersey.
---
The game begins.
Franko's small frame moves fast — too fast.
He dodges, spins, and weaves through defenders like smoke.
Every pass he makes lands perfectly.
Every shot burns with quiet anger.
The crowd roars.
---
Spectator: "Who is that kid?!"
Player 1 (frustrated): "Cover him! Don't let him through!"
Franko (calmly): "Too late."
He strikes.
The ball slices through the air — goal.
The final whistle blows.
Franko's team wins.
The crowd erupts.
Money flies. Cheers echo.
But among the noise, one man doesn't cheer.
A tall figure in a black coat stands in the shadows.
A cigarette glows between his fingers.
He's been watching from the start.
---
Franko (panting): "Guess I'm not so weak after all."
Teammate: "You're insane, kid! Where did you learn that?"
Franko: "My uncle taught me to move fast... before life hits first."
The teammate laughs, unaware of the weight behind those words.
The man in black drops his cigarette, crushes it under his shoe, and begins walking toward Franko.
---
Franko (noticing him): "Who's that guy?"
Teammate: "Dunno. He's been standing there since the first game."
Franko turns away, but suddenly — a van screeches nearby.
A hand covers his mouth.
He's dragged backward into the darkness.
---
Franko (muffled): "Mmm—! Let me go!"
Man in Black: "Quiet, kid. You'll thank me later."
The door slams.
Engine roars.
Milano's lights blur through the window as the car disappears into the night.