By the time Saturday rolled around, Lecce was humming with tension and anticipation. The streets were unusually quiet in the early morning, as if the entire city was collectively holding its breath. Fiorentina were coming. Not just a team, but a test. A real one. And though the mood around the club had lifted slightly after the dramatic win over Monza, nobody was under any illusions. Fiorentina were a different beast entirely.
Inside the training facility, everything was moving with quiet purpose. Staff moved equipment around with focused urgency, players arrived in clusters, and cameras from the media team clicked and rolled as they gathered footage for the club's social platforms. The tension wasn't spoken aloud, but it was there. Everyone felt it. Everyone knew.
And in the middle of it all sat Alex Walker, now dressed in a sharp black Lecce tracksuit, perched calmly behind a modest table inside the press room. The club's crest was emblazoned on the backdrop behind him, shining under the harsh overhead lights. He looked composed, professional, but also a little distant, like his mind was already three steps ahead, thinking about passing lanes and pressing traps instead of press quotes and soundbites.
The room in front of him was full. Journalists filled every seat, some scribbling into notepads, others tapping away on laptops, and a few with phones held up to record video or audio. Familiar faces mostly. Local and national media all gathered here for a glimpse into the mind of Lecce's new coach. The one who had won over the fans with grit and guts, and now stood on the verge of his first real Serie A trial by fire.
The press officer gave a quick nod, and the first hand shot up almost instantly.
Daniela Marchetti from Gazzetta dello Sport, poised and confident as always, spoke up first.
"Coach Walker, Vincenzo Italiano said yesterday that Fiorentina are the better side and expect to win comfortably against Lecce. Do you have a response to that?"
A small murmur rippled through the room. The type of question designed to stir the pot. Alex didn't flinch. He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table, and smiled, but not in a way that invited mockery.
"Well," he began, his voice steady and calm, "I think it's fair for any manager to back his team. I'd do the same. That being said, this is football. Matches aren't won in interviews. They're won on the pitch."
He let the silence hang for a second.
"If they think it'll be comfortable, I guess we'll see just how comfortable ninety minutes at the Via del Mare really is."
There was a low chuckle across the room. Even the more skeptical reporters cracked a grin. Alex didn't push the moment any further. He leaned back, hands clasped in front of him, letting his words do the work.
Matteo Bianchi from Corriere dello Sport raised his hand next, always more tactical in his questions.
"Coach, Lecce's last match was impressive in terms of spirit and organization. But you missed quite a few chances in the first half. How are you addressing that going into this match?"
Alex gave a slow nod, his brow tightening slightly in thought.
"Yeah, we did leave a few goals on the table. No question about that. We were sharp with our movements but a little wasteful with the final product. That's not good enough if we want to compete at this level."
He paused and took a breath.
"So we've been working with the forwards all week. Focused sessions. Finishing drills. Reviewing match footage. Finding small adjustments in body position, timing, and decision-making. At this level, you don't always get second chances. Against Fiorentina, we have to be clinical. Period."
That answer earned a few nods of respect from the reporters. Not flashy, but honest. Straightforward. Alex didn't try to spin it. He just called it like it was.
Andrea Lombardi from Sky Sport, sitting near the middle row, raised his hand next with a sly look on his face.
"Coach, you mentioned playing a more pragmatic style recently. Some might even call it defensive. Are you worried about criticism that Lecce aren't playing attractive football?"
That one made Alex smirk.
"I'd rather be boring and win than beautiful and lose," he said plainly, prompting a few laughs. "Look, do I want us to play expansive, fluid, dominant football someday? Of course. That's the dream. But we're not there yet. Right now, we're building. That means being smart, being compact, being resilient. Maybe even ugly sometimes. And I'm okay with that. Because the fans want results, and so do we."
Francesca Di Leo from Lecce Today, always direct and a bit more grounded in local concerns, was next.
"Any updates on the squad? Are there any injuries or late decisions you're waiting on?"
Alex nodded quickly.
"Yeah, we've got a mostly fit squad, thankfully. A couple of players had some knocks earlier in the week, but nothing serious. We'll make the final calls after tonight's session. The medical staff's been great, and the players have been professional with recovery. So overall, I'm pleased."
There was a brief pause as people tapped notes into their laptops or checked recordings. Then Riccardo Mancini from Tuttosport, known for his more reflective takes, leaned forward.
"Coach, this is your first major test against a top-seven Serie A side. Do you see this as a chance to make a statement?"
That question hung in the air for a moment. A little heavier than the others.
Alex tilted his head slightly and nodded slowly.
"Every match is a chance to make a statement," he said, his voice a little quieter now, more deliberate. "But yeah, I won't lie, it's a big one. Not because it's Fiorentina, but because it's the next step for us. We've been trying to build momentum. Build belief. And tomorrow, we get to see if that belief can carry us into a real battle and keep us standing by the final whistle."
That line seemed to resonate. A few reporters looked up from their screens. There was something in the way Alex said it. Not just confidence, but conviction. Like he had already seen the game in his mind and was just waiting for reality to catch up.
The press officer glanced at her phone, then gave the subtle signal. Time was up.
Cameras clicked. Recorders were stopped. Bags zipped shut. One by one, the journalists began to rise from their seats. Some nodded politely at Alex as they left, others offered quick thanks. A few stayed behind to chat with each other, debating lineups or predicting score-lines.
Alex stood up, stretching slightly, and stepped away from the table. The press officer walked over, a satisfied look on her face.
"Handled that well, boss," she said with a grin.
"Let's hope we handle Fiorentina even better," Alex replied without missing a beat.
As he left the press room and made his way down the hallway, his mind was already churning. Not with the questions he had just answered, but with the ones he still needed answers for. Would their block hold under Fiorentina's pressure? Would Banda find space on the break? Would the midfield keep their shape when the game stretched?
He passed by the gym, where a few players were going through light stretching. Sala nodded at him. Gallo gave a thumbs up. These small gestures gave him comfort, but not rest.
That would come later. After the whistle. After the ninety minutes of chaos and control.
He stepped outside into the late afternoon sun, which peeked weakly through the clouds overhead. The air felt heavy, like it always did before a big match. The city of Lecce would be waiting tomorrow, holding its breath again, as their team took the field against giants.
For Alex Walker, it wasn't just about points anymore. It wasn't just about systems or strategies. It was about proving that this version of Lecce could punch above its weight, that grit and courage still mattered in the modern game, that belief could bend the odds.
The real test was coming. The kind that reveals who you really are.
And Alex was ready.
Or at least, he would be.
Because tomorrow, when the whistle blew and Fiorentina stepped onto the pitch with all their flair and confidence, they would not be met by fear or submission.
They would be met by Lecce.
Lecce with a plan.
Lecce with something to prove.
Lecce with Haram Ball in their veins.
And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.