ARENA 2088 - THE IMPACT

PROLOGUE

Towering stadium terraces packed to the brim with jubilant crowds, intoxicated by the spectacle of a World Cup final unlike any the world had ever seen.

The moment of glory, anticipated across the globe, was almost upon them. The World Cup stood there, ready to be lifted. And with it, a breathtaking eruption of lights, colours, and cutting-edge technology that would make all previous tournaments look like a modest end-of-term school party.

In the heart of that architectural marvel, with its awe-inspiring scale, it was Samuel Arena who held the honour of raising the trophy to the skies.

The missing piece in the thrilling puzzle of his life’s journey...

CHAPTER 1- THE HIKE

A snippet of Coldplay’s Charlie Brown woke him up as usual, from his smartphone, right at seven in the morning.

"That was a good dream," Samuel thought to himself as he stretched his muscles, still toned from an intense 2015-2016 season spent in the blaugrana kit.

“Much better than the recurring nightmare that haunted me just weeks ago,” he mused, opening the curtains of his suite at the Sea Palace in Taormina, overlooking the sea.

The room was flooded with a glorious morning light, paired with a warm, seductive sea breeze that, on the 24th of May, heralded an early start to summer in Sicily.

On an elegant walnut table still lay the voucher from his Barcelona-Catania flight the previous evening. Beside it was a small duffel bag, ideal for the brief stay on his island, which he had carved out immediately after the Copa del Rey final in Madrid. A 2-0 win against Sevilla, one of those goals bearing his name. The final act of an exhilarating season, not only for the Catalan fans.

"Love, how are you? I’ll call you later... love you." The delicate and unobtrusive WhatsApp message was sent by Samuel at 7:02 to his partner Rebecca. Twenty-three, from Catania like him, she had been forced to stay at home—an elegant villa in the exclusive hillside neighbourhood of Pedralbes. She was on bed rest, under strict medical supervision, due to a high-risk pregnancy. Her parents, long-time residents of Rome, had flown in on the first available flight to fill the void left by Samuel's inescapable commitments.

"Sicilian star takes holiday on the island, leaving recovering girlfriend at home," read a merciless headline in an Iberian newspaper. "Vultures!" Samuel cursed as he stared at his tablet, his magnetic blue eyes narrowing in anger.

The measures taken to make his landing at Catania's Vincenzo Bellini airport a strictly private affair had been evidently inadequate. Boarding last at the gate in El Prat hadn't been enough. Nor had booking a more secluded business class seat on the plane. Not even his agent and mentor, Andreas Miller, acting as his driver instead of a taxi, could shield him from prying eyes. Andreas, a German by birth but adopted by Catania, had lived a life full of triumphs, traumatic disappointments, and injustices, first as a footballer, then as a coach. He found solace in discovering the phenomenon that was Samuel, the son of his neighbours, Daniele Arena and Elisa Di Maggio, seeing it as a recompense for the suffering he'd endured in his youth in Germany.

Andreas was supposed to attend the two professional meetings awaiting Samuel shortly in a private room of the five-star resort. However, a painful slipped disc, caused by lifting a heavy vase, kept him bedridden that morning.

“I should have stayed at the hotel last night!” the seventy-year-old wheezed over the phone, his voice strained.

“Don’t worry. It’ll all be fine. I’ll let you know how it goes. Talk later. Bye, Andreas,” Samuel replied briefly, trying to reassure him.

He hurried off, as his mind was already working to rethink a morning that now risked jeopardising the noble and bold purpose for which he had returned to his homeland. He wasn’t just here to surprise his family, particularly his little brother Leonardo, twelve years his junior, who had greatly missed Samuel when he left for the Catalan club with a one-way ticket years earlier.

The surprise had already been ruined by the news of his Sicilian stay spreading across the internet.

"Mum's already making your favourite cake... what time are you coming?" The innocent message from his little brother, raised to reach out to his older sibling in the most discreet way possible, was the final blow to a carefully planned reunion.

“The main reason I’m here is still safe. They won’t know where I’m going this morning!” Samuel thought, staying calm.

He reflected for a few minutes with sharp clarity. The receptionist confirmed what he had feared—journalists from major outlets, from Sky Sports to Mediaset and Raisport, were swarming the hotel lobby, eager for anything to fill the sports pages. From questions about his Barcelona salary to relations with the national team coach, to more intrusive questions about his relationship with Rebecca Russo.

Samuel was determined to avoid this chaos, at any cost. Not out of arrogance or fear of losing his temper over potential provocative questions. That wasn’t in his nature, nor in the character that the world had come to know. Andreas Miller's presence would have been a more than adequate shield for his privacy, answering diplomatically to the press on his behalf, explaining that the player would appear in a few minutes after a necessary spa massage. Meanwhile, Samuel would have discreetly slipped away through a side exit.

“I need a solution... hmm... got it!” Samuel rejoiced moments after stepping onto the private beach of the Sea Palace. At that early hour, the umbrellas were still folded. Within minutes, a few would be opened at the request of some early-rising tourists from abroad.

The champion called reception. This time, the young and attractive receptionist sounded flustered, struggling to conceal the source of the call in the face of the ravenous pack of reporters.

“Dr Arena, how can I assist you?” she asked breathlessly after retreating with the cordless phone to a back room.

“Have the Nokia rep and Dr Sanfilippo arrived on time?”

“Yes, about ten minutes ago. Apologies for not informing you earlier. I’m handling... well, all this chaos by myself this morning. Please forgive me…”

“You’re doing your best. Don’t worry. Just imagine you’re here alone with me, with no one else around. It’s easy.”

Samuel’s charisma came into play.

“Okay, I can do that...” Alessia smiled, feeling reassured by his calming influence.

“Listen… I assume the side exit isn’t safe either?”

“You’re right. There are journalists and onlookers everywhere.”

“It’s 7:45... the second meeting should wrap up around 9:30?”

“Yes, roughly.”

“Good. Once that’s done, even with all the effort, I won’t be able to ‘teleport’ myself to where I’m heading this morning…” Samuel’s sarcasm brought a genuine smile to the receptionist’s face, “...so, how about having the car pick me up not here, but at the entrance of Atlantis Bay? You own that hotel too, right?”

“Yes, Dr Arena... but how will you get to the street without being seen?”

“Who said I’m going by land?”

“Oh!” The realisation dawned on her, her face lighting up in surprise at the clever plan Samuel had concocted.

“Okay, I’ll notify the lifeguard right away. He’ll escort you to Baia delle Sirene. How does 9:45 sound?”

“Perfect, thank you. And by the way, just call me Samuel. After all, I’m only twenty-three…” he added with a grin as he dashed back to his suite to prepare for the morning.

From his duffel bag, he pulled out a small backpack, filling it with a LED torch, a solar-powered battery charger, a pack of AA batteries, a cotton hoodie, some sterile gauze, a small bottle of disinfectant, a compact but powerful binocular with optical stabiliser, and sunscreen. He then attached a small red-and-blue elephant plush toy—an inseparable childhood gift from his parents. It would all be supplemented by the packed lunch the hotel staff would soon deliver to his room. Lastly, he needed to bring along a device that had been sent to him by Nokia Italia’s head of marketing and communications, Simona De Sanctis. A dynamic forty-something manager who had entrusted cosmetic surgery with the task of preserving her persuasive, winning, and attractive exterior over time.

Her usual refined charm and eloquence, however, hadn’t managed to break through to Samuel this time. With 96 million followers on Facebook, Samuel had been chosen as the perfect face for the global launch of Nokia’s latest innovation: a smartphone capable of projecting 3D images and videos, reminiscent of popular sci-fi films. The device was the result of a talented team of researchers at Nokia’s cutting-edge facility in Catania’s Etna Valley industrial district, in collaboration with the University of Catania.

They still worked there despite Nokia’s 2012 announcement to shut down their Sicilian branch within a year, deeming it no longer strategic. However, an unprecedented cultural and social revival among the people of Catania had convinced the Finnish company’s management to reconsider the plant's prospects under the shadow of Mount Etna. They relaunched it with mid-to-long-term programmes focused primarily on research and development, in synergy with the University of Catania, tapping into the most promising local talent.

"You’re well aware that you’re not the first international figure to collaborate with our company..." began De Sanctis, glancing at a printed biography of the Sicilian talent, "… but in your case, we feel a particular excitement... because here we are, facing someone who has literally revolutionised the identity of an entire population. It wasn’t the number of 'likes' on your Facebook page that impressed us, nor the honorary degree you received in Catania in 2013, but the incredible influence you’ve had on your fellow Sicilians. You’ve ignited the self-esteem and pride of so many in this region, transforming it into a land of excellence with a hopeful gaze towards future horizons. It’s this impact that convinced us to stay and invest in Sicily. We couldn’t entrust anyone else with launching a product that, after years of market share losses to Apple and Samsung, could be a game-changing bet to restore Nokia to its former glory. Thanks to your charisma!" she concluded, pulling a box from her trolley, still devoid of logos or designs, containing a six-inch smartphone with an anthracite grey frame and a side-mounted quad-lens camera. The entire package was wrapped in polystyrene.

"You haven’t named it yet," Samuel observed.

"Your sharp eye precedes you," smiled the manager, confirming his observation. "We were thinking of calling it Galactico, as a nod to sci-fi films," she said enthusiastically. But she was immediately met with Samuel’s puzzled expression.

"Ms De Sanctis..." Samuel replied calmly, looking her directly in the eye, "... I agree with many of the things you’ve said so far. I’m flattered by what you’ve described about Sicilians and my contribution to our land. But if you expect me to be the face of a phone named after Real Madrid’s rivals, this meeting ends here. Unless you’re willing to alienate 30% of your potential Spanish customers right from the start. What do you say?"

Such a response rattled the usually composed manager, who was more accustomed to dealing with sports stars and celebrities who rarely delved into commercial matters. She nervously crossed her elegantly tanned legs, hoping to later soak in the inviting Taormina sun. Then she took a deep breath, wearing the relieved expression of someone about to save their team from a major own goal.

"You really are virtuous in everything. The lines I’ve read here don’t do you justice... I’d love for you to impress me even more by turning your critique into a solution. One that we’ll certainly reward with a revised contract in your favour," Simona offered.

"My agent will handle the contractual details... but if you want solutions, I have more than one," Samuel replied.

Simona’s hazel eyes locked onto the player’s face.

"The first is to call it Interstellar. The second is to take it up Mount Etna, where we’ll shoot a mini-clip with a homemade feel that you can later digitally enhance into a proper ad," Samuel suggested, leaving the Nokia executive completely enchanted.

It was only a short step from admiration to an irresistible physical attraction toward the two-time Ballon d’Or winner. Virtuous even in his outward appearance, he had been ranked among the world’s sexiest men.

"Why don’t you drop by my suite in a little while?" she boldly proposed, showing him the number of her junior suite.

Without hesitation, Samuel deliberately moved closer, closing the distance just enough to fan the flames of her passion. He placed his hands on her hips, knowing he could take things further if he wanted to. But it was in his nature to maintain control over his primal instincts.

It wasn’t reason that prevailed, nor was it morality or respect for his partner, who wasn’t in the best of health. Instead, he felt that this luxurious bed, where he would have tangled with the limbs of the seductive manager, would irreversibly deepen his spiritual debt. On that very day, he had a profound obligation to fulfil—a gesture of gratitude for something invaluable he felt had been given to him from above: the survival of Rebecca’s unborn child after an emergency hospitalisation for a haemorrhage.

"If I tell you I can’t, I know you’ve got enough self-esteem not to feel rejected... I’ll send you the footage for Interstellar. Take care," Samuel responded to De Sanctis’s advances with a wink.

"Good luck, Samuel," she replied, watching him with eyes still filled with longing.

They parted ways at 8:50, just as the figure of the construction entrepreneur, accompanied by a hotel staff member, appeared. It was engineer Aurelio Sanfilippo, a second-generation builder in his mid-forties, who had pioneered a highly successful concept in his native Catania.

He had created a residential complex that, in addition to meeting modern comfort and energy-saving standards, revived the idea of the cortile—a traditional courtyard where children and teenagers could gather during their free time. Instead of the dusty, neglected spaces that had told decades of youthful stories in Catania, these new courtyards featured synthetic grass football pitches, cycle paths, and green expanses. All in a protected environment, allowing those nostalgic for the past to re-live the playful spirit of the 1960s, ’70s, and ’80s. A lifestyle completely unknown to today’s youth, trapped in a web of video games and social networks—alienating virtual worlds far removed from reality.

However, it wasn’t this noble aim that had made Sanfilippo’s project a success. It was the fact that these residential developments mirrored the one in which Samuel Arena had grown up. A perfect environment for developing one’s physical and mental potential through constant interaction with peers, day after day. The first such development broke ground a few months after Samuel had signed with the Catalan giants following two triumphant seasons with Catania. At the time, Samuel wrote a few memorable lines on Facebook about his childhood in the Gaudí residence on Via Nuovalucello.

“My parents chose to raise me in a place like this because they believed it would stimulate my potential and that of all my peers. We played football every afternoon on a small synthetic pitch, in complete freedom, in a safe environment, with no one telling us what we had to do. Quite the opposite of what happens now in most homes, where there’s no space for children to play. In the summer, they’re sent to day camps, where someone who thinks they know better always tells them what to do, when, and how—minute by minute—stifling their free spirit. It’s a regimented environment that even limits parents’ freedom, forcing them to queue up in cars every morning and afternoon to drop their children off. Builders, if you’re planning any new residential projects in our beautiful land, consider including a football pitch, not just a swimming pool that will only be useful for three months of the year. You’d help your children express the best of themselves. I bet it would be a great success, for you and for them.”

Convincing the banks to finance the idea wasn’t easy, but Sanfilippo took Samuel’s suggestion to heart, and Samuel generously agreed to feature in a TV commercial for the development, which aired on the main regional channels. The impact was immediate and incredible. Queues formed outside the offices of A.S. Costruzioni S.p.a., reminiscent of the economic boom years when Aurelio’s father, Carmelo Sanfilippo, built his empire. Young couples, with small children or expecting, eagerly put down deposits to secure their semi-detached homes even before the project was fully off the ground. Three years later, Sanfilippo had built eight more such complexes, totalling 280 homes. Other construction firms soon adopted the concept, stimulating a significant portion of the local economy and job market.

That day, Sanfilippo was meeting Samuel again after three years, but this time with ambitions far removed from his usual business ventures. He wanted to leverage Samuel’s public image once more.

“The success you’ve brought me with your legendary status could only lead me back to you one day,” he said warmly, embracing the young champion as if he were a family friend. His stocky build exuded the energy of someone whose entrepreneurial achievements had only magnified his sense of purpose. Perhaps it had even led him to overestimate himself, to believe he could turn everything he touched to gold, with the expectation that others would fully support his ideas and visions. One of those visions was to enlist trusted, influential individuals to help form a secessionist political party—a bold plan to persuade the people of Sicily to vote for the establishment of an independent state. And in this grand scheme, Sanfilippo saw Samuel Arena as the key figure in realising this monumental shift in Sicily's future.

“Sicilians hang on your every word. If you support me throughout the campaign, this dream will come true. In the newly formed Republic of Sicily, you’ll be at least the Foreign Minister or Ambassador. It’s the least you deserve for your incredible abilities!” Sanfilippo proposed, his eyes alight with fervour, though Samuel could sense a darker, more self-serving motive lurking beneath the surface.