Aside from the active nightlife, most of Rome was quiet at that hour.
Most of the federation building had long since emptied, its corridors dark and the day's conversations and meetings reduced to little more than memory.
Only one office remained occupied.
The glow of a computer screen was the room's only source of light, painting everything in shades of blue and grey.
It caught the sharp lines of Luciano Spalletti's face as he leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on the desk and eyes fixed on the footage playing in front of him.
In the next second, he paused the video and sat back for a moment.
Then he leaned forward again.
"What a player..."
On the monitor, Leo Calderon's image sat frozen mid-turn, one foot planted and the ball tucked beneath the other as he prepared to evade a challenge.
It wasn't the first clip, and it wasn't even the hundredth.
