The rising sun in the east of Turin was as glorious as ever. Its golden and shimmering rays immediately enveloped Zachary in a shawl of warmth after he exited his hotel that morning. He donned his cap and squinted his eyes to adjust to the natural illumination while looking around.

"Now, where is this guy?" He mumbled to himself and glanced at his brand new Rolex watch. The stylish dauphine hands had already pointed to the 8:20 AM mark, meaning he only had approximately forty minutes to get to the Vinovo. If he didn't start moving soon, he would be late for his first official training with Juventus and possibly annoy his new coaches. And that made his heart race with anxiety.

"Zachary!" Suddenly, a shout drew his attention. He inclined his head and immediately noticed Angelo Mattiello, his guide and interpreter, jogging towards him from the other end of the hotel building. He seemed out of breath as if he'd been running a marathon.

"What happened?" Zachary questioned when the Italian man finally stood before him. "You're late, and you're out of breath! Did something go wrong?"

Angelo breathed in deeply before saying, "Sorry, Zachary. I had a mechanical failure on the way. That's why I couldn't get here on time. But, I have now resolved the issue, and we can be on our way."

"I see," Zachary said, nodding. "I need to get to the Vinovo in about twenty minutes. Or else I'll be late for my first training."

"Don't worry," Angelo assured, smiling assuredly. "I'll get you there on time. Come; follow me. Let's head to the car and set off immediately."

"Okay," Zachary nodded and followed after his guide. Before long, they arrived at the hotel's parking lot and easily located Angelo's car. It was a white Citroen C3 in the shape of a sub-compact SUV. They quickly got into the car, and off they went, easing into the main street and driving off towards the Vinovo, Juventus' training center.

Over the past six days, Zachary had been busy. He hadn't gotten an opportunity to tour Turin since he had spent all his time training or reading Italian textbooks. That was why his eyes remained glued to the scenery flashing outside the car's window while taking in the refreshing cityscape of Turin.

He felt like he was in a dream, watching the grand boulevards and the beautiful historical architecture spread beside and beyond the streets. Gradually, his mood became complicated, and he sighed. He couldn't help but recall how he'd only been able to enjoy such magnificent scenes through television or photos on the web during his previous life.

Due to his previous incarnation's pauper status, he could never have foreseen that he would ever visit a famous European city such as Turin. But surprisingly, he obtained a new life that eclipsed all his expectations. He'd already made it big and obtained legal status to live in the renowned Italian city. Moreover, that was as a Juventus player, earning millions of Euros per year and able to choose any famous neighborhood as his place of residence. If that wasn't a dream come true, then what was it? He was obviously proud of his achievements.

Zachary's only regret was that he couldn't share such a happy life with his grandma, his sole guardian, who had looked after him since childhood. Even in a new life, he couldn't prevent her death. It was as if the unfortunate incident was destined, and she had passed away before she could witness him joining one of the top European clubs. That caused Zachary to occasionally experience a turmoil of painful emotions bubbling up within his core. Fortunately, he had learned to suppress them through exercising or busying himself with other things.

"We're here," Angelo said as he steered the car around a roundabout and approached the fenced expanse of fields and buildings that made up the Juventus training center. A few seconds later, he went through security without any trouble and then spoke again, "As I promised, It only took us nineteen minutes to arrive here. You should be able to get to the training turf before nine."

"Great! Thank you," Zachary said, glancing at his watch. It was already 8:42 AM, implying that he still had more than fifteen minutes to prepare and head to the training ground. He would surely make it if he utilized his time well.

"I also want to alert you that the club doesn't allow people who aren't staff members or players on the training grounds, especially during official training sessions," Angelo said, steering the car onwards and towards the front structures of the training center. "So, I'll have to wait for you outside while you train. But that shouldn't worry you. Most members of the coaching staff, except Allegri, speak English. They'll be able to guide you through the training sessions without any problems."

"I understand. Thank you," Zachary said, glancing outside the car window. The next moment, his eyes widened as he took in the surprising spectacle composed of the crowd of fans and journalists waiting outside the training center. The excitement about them was already shooting into the azure morning sky as they observed Angelo's moving Citroen with glittering eyes.

"This is unbelievable," Zachary mumbled. He had a feeling that if it wasn't for the fence and security personnel keeping the supporters at bay, they might have even rushed towards the car to check which Juventus player had just arrived.

"You haven't seen anything yet," Angelo said, seemingly catching on to Zachary's thoughts. "The size of the crowd will be even more stunning as the big matches approach. For instance, if Juventus is about to face off against AC Milan, you'll always find hundreds of fans crowding around the entrance. The excitement around football is that crazy in Italy."

"Oh!" Zachary exclaimed. At that moment, he again comprehended the difference between the football cultures of Turin and Trondheim. The stark contrast was quite clear to him after he arrived in Italy.

While he was still a Rosenborg player, it was rare to find fans crowding around the training ground on a Monday morning. There was always a laid-back attitude about the fanbase since the Norwegians in Trondheim would only gain a bit of interest in Rosenborg's circumstances when a big match was approaching. Of course, that's aside from a few exceptions.

But in Turin, circumstances were totally different. After interacting with his guide for seven days, Zachary learned that football was everything for most Italian men. Their love for the sport could border on the fringes of insanity as it was their hobby, their passion, and a big part of their culture.

Before doing anything else in the morning, they would read the La Gazzetta Dello Sport or Il Corriere Dello Sport print or online to get updates on which player did this and that, who was sold to another team, who declared he was happy, mad, or sad. Plus, they would have apps and alerts on their smartphones so as to avoid the prospect of even missing one tiny detail concerning the sport they loved. Thus, it was natural for them to stalk their favorite football stars to the training grounds. It wouldn't even be a surprise if a few supporters followed a footballer to his home to get an autograph. That was how much they adored the footballers playing for their clubs.

"I hope you already know the way to the locker rooms and training grounds," Angelo said after parking the car. "If not, I can ask one of the security guys to guide you there."

"Don't worry," Zachary said. "I'll find it myself. See you later." He said before picking up his gym bag and exiting the car.

The next moment, his appearance elicited a peak wave of excitement among the crowd of fans.

"Dio mio! It's Zachary in the flesh..."

"Zachary, an autograph!"

"Zaccaria! Ti vogliamo bene..."

The supporters all went crazy and started yelling in both Italian and English as they waved at him. Zachary, of course, maintained a smile and responded to their enthusiastic shouts with a wave of his hand. But since he only had about fifteen minutes to prepare for training, he could waste time fulfilling their requests for autographs. He politely excused himself before jogging towards the locker rooms of the famous training center.

A minute later, he arrived before the door of the dressing room. He breathed in deeply before pushing it open and stepping inside. A wave of relaxation swept over him after noticing that there wasn't even a single soul in the spotlessly clean room. Most likely, all the other players were already on the turfs about to commence training. As a result, he could prepare without interruptions from his new teammates.

"But this is also not a good sign," he mused, walking towards the locker with his name and the number 'ten' printed on it. "I might be the last one to arrive for training. I better hurry."

The fact that he, a new player, was still in the dressing room, even when less than fifteen minutes remained before the designated time for the training session, jolted his heart, sending it into a whirlpool of unease. He hurriedly changed into his brand new training garments, which he'd received from Juventus six days prior. Then, in a matter of seconds, he stepped into his glittering brand new green pair of Nike Mercurial Superfly boots before throwing the rest of his stuff into his locker. After locking it, he finally breathed a sigh of relief since he still had about ten minutes to spare before the training commenced. He'd finally achieved a total state of relaxation as he no longer feared that he would be late on the first day of his official tenure at Juventus.

But just then, as he was about to turn away from his locker and step out of the locker room, his sharp ears picked up the rhythmic tapping of boot studs on the floor. His heart skipped a bit, and he naturally turned to face the source of the sound.

"Eh!" Zachary exclaimed as the silhouette of a familiar footballer he'd seen countless times on the screens during his previous life appeared before his vision. The player in question looked fierce and with a no-nonsense aura about him. His sturdy physique, protruding chest, and strong arms gave him the appearance of a miniaturized version of King Kong crammed into a human body. And although his height was a bit on the short end, just at about 5'7 feet, he seemed like a person who could easily take down a pro-wrestler if given a chance.

"Hello, Carlos Tvez!" Zachary spoke first, attempting to break the ice in the most polite tone he could muster. "I'm Zachary Bemba, your new teammate. It's nice to meet you." He extended his hand towards the Argentine striker.