"Roberto, let's go for a ride!"
Dejan Lu knocked on the Mancini family's door. Federica answered and warmly invited him inside to sit for a while.
Mancini had always enjoyed collecting motorcycles.
After seeing Dejan Lu's riding skills, every part of him except his mouth had been convinced.
"Monica isn't home?"
Federica asked as she handed him coffee.
As a Neapolitan, she had extremely high standards for coffee. Authenticity was everything.
A cup the size of a small transparent liquor glass held plain water for rinsing the mouth.
Then she stirred it up and down with a spoon, wetting the walls of the cup to raise its temperature before quickly drinking it.
That was the particular way people from Naples did things.
After setting down his cup, Dejan Lu said, "I made her breakfast. She still hasn't gotten up. Women sleeping more is the secret to staying beautiful."
"You really are thoughtful."
Federica praised him.
There were not many men in Italy who cooked for their wives.
Mancini emerged from the bedroom with bedhead, nodded when he saw Dejan Lu, and headed straight into the bathroom.
"Roberto likes you very much. He's just not very good at expressing it."
Federica explained, afraid Dejan Lu might be upset.
After Mancini had gone riding with Dejan Lu last time, he had returned home and excitedly talked half the night.
She had almost never seen him like that.
So she was very happy that Mancini could be teammates with Dejan Lu.
Even someone as eccentric as Mancini needed more friends.
"Do you want to bring something to eat when you go out? I should have prepared picnic supplies for you." Federica stood up as she spoke.
Traditional Italian women were the most typical homemakers.
"No need. We can sort out lunch outside."
Dejan Lu smiled. "I heard Vialli is back from vacation. I'd really like to meet him too."
"Mm, Gianluca has a much better personality than Roberto." Federica lowered her voice. "You know what Mancio means, right? Gentleman Mancini... how should I put it..."
Dejan Lu smiled and nodded.
Sarcasm. Chinese people were very good at that.
That nickname had probably been used by some people to mock Mancini.
It had only become popular later, and people who didn't know better thought it was praise for his manners.
Fresh from washing his hair, Mancini came out of the bathroom holding a towel and kept rubbing his head as he complained, "Showing up at someone else's home so early is really rude."
"I thought we were good friends. You don't need to pick a time to visit a good friend's house."
Dejan Lu said with a blink.
"That's right, exactly!" Federica nodded vigorously.
Mancini could only shut up.
He was a rather reserved person.
He liked soft music, had his own standards for films and books, and also enjoyed collecting things.
In just a few days, Dejan Lu had gotten a fairly thorough read on Mancini.
Overall, this guy had his own standards for quality of life. He liked a stylish life and occasionally enjoyed excitement and passion, but he simply didn't have friends like that around him.
Mancini looked like he didn't care much about others, but he actually valued their opinions greatly.
There was nothing wrong with that.
When the two went downstairs together, they saw some paparazzi.
"They're all here to photograph you. They want to turn you into the public enemy of Italian men," Mancini said.
Over the past few days, he had seen plenty of television discussions about Dejan Lu and Monica Bellucci.
"Whatever. I did steal Italy's jewel, after all."
Dejan Lu smiled, swung onto his motorcycle, and shot off with a twist of the throttle.
Cough, cough, cough...
Mancini waved a hand, cursed at Dejan Lu's retreating back, and felt a little envious of his carefree attitude.
They would first go to Mancini's house in the suburbs to pick up one of his collectible motorcycles, then go find Vialli.
Mancini might have only been twenty-five, but having become famous at seventeen, he had already built up quite a bit of savings.
When they arrived, Mancini pointed at the vehicles outside and said, "My collection garage can't hold any more. Sports cars and motorcycles—jealous? I can give you one."
"Forget it. Even if I ride a cheap bike, you still can't catch me."
Dejan Lu said.
Mancini: ...
He knew it was true, but it was still fucking irritating.
Mancini opened the garage, and Dejan Lu, who had not cared much at first, really did spot something good.
R75!
That had been one of the Germans' main tools when they blitzed Poland!
"I'll ride this. You ride mine!"
Dejan Lu found the R75's key on the wall and was about to get on.
Mancini bent down, picked up an oil can, and prepared to refuel it.
At last, he could use his collection to surprise Dejan Lu.
This bike was a product of World War II. It had even come with the ammunition trailer behind it when he bought it, and its greatest feature was that it would not be damaged even with some low-quality fuel.
The previous owner had maintained it very carefully. Mancini had waited more than two years, only managing to buy it after the man needed money to tide himself over.
Dejan Lu put on the rather retro goggles and waved. "Let's go, to Poland!"
"If reporters photograph that, you'll be in huge trouble."
Mancini couldn't help shrinking his neck as he warned him.
"Then shall we go to Israel?"
Dejan Lu asked.
Mancini hurried onto his RS500, afraid Dejan Lu might say something even more terrifying.
These days, the media were all controlled by Jews, and the internet was underdeveloped. Even if people learned about their conduct from the older generation, they did not feel much dislike toward them.
After all, every piece of media and film was whitewashing them, handing out indulgences to the whole world, as if the Earth owed them a promised land.
Once they hit the road, Mancini began envying Dejan Lu again.
The difference in their riding skills was simply too great.
Even after Dejan Lu switched to an antique with a top speed of only eighty kilometers per hour, complete with a sidecar, he could still effortlessly toy with him on the road.
In the eighties and nineties, motorcycles were the greatest romance.
Their high prices also kept them away from street punks. They had not yet become the exclusive toys of blond-dyed delinquents.
Especially at this time, when there were not so many vehicles, the riding experience was quite good.
When they arrived at Vialli's front door, they saw him carrying a travel bag and preparing to go inside.
Mancini got off, pulled Vialli over without a word, and stuffed him into Dejan Lu's sidecar.
"Hey, Nero, you've been making quite a splash lately."
After a brief moment of surprise, Vialli immediately teased Dejan Lu.
He had a very cheerful personality. His parents were a sculptor and a jewelry designer respectively, giving him good breeding and a solid foundation of knowledge.
Nero was regarded as a public enemy by the people of Rome because of his brutality and extravagant lifestyle.
Dejan Lu shrugged. "Four hostile newspapers are more terrifying than a thousand bayonets. Unfortunately, I'm not Napoleon, and they can't hurt me."
"You've got a great attitude. I like it!"
Vialli pulled out a cigarette, ready to light one up.
Dejan Lu immediately extended his right hand, offering him a paper cup of Coca-Cola. "This is healthier by comparison."
Vialli touched his hair, looked at Mancini, and exclaimed, "No wonder you became friends with him."
He only became bald after transferring to Juventus. His teammate Fortunato had developed leukemia, and he shaved his head to encourage him.
"He's right. Coca-Cola is better than tobacco."
Mancini said in agreement.
He had always liked Coca-Cola very much.
At that moment, Dejan Lu twisted the throttle, splashing Coca-Cola all over Vialli's face.
Yet Vialli did not care in the slightest. He shouted happily and spread his arms wide.
It was no surprise that someone with such a personality could become friends with Mancini. Even gloomy people could not resist reaching for sunlight.
Looking at the World War II motorcycle ahead, Mancini couldn't help smiling knowingly.
"That was so cool! You have to teach me how to ride sometime!"
When they dropped Vialli off that evening, he grabbed Dejan Lu and said.
They were both young men who loved having fun, and they quickly became familiar with each other.
"Sure. That's easy."
Dejan Lu readily agreed.
Mancini and Vialli chatted for another twenty minutes before the two finally left together.
That saying was absolutely right: if not for the lower half of their bodies, men would rather hang out with men.
"Gianluca likes you a lot. You really know how to make friends," Mancini said as he rode alongside Dejan Lu.
"I had plenty of friends in Reggio Calabria too." Dejan Lu smiled. "They still don't know I'm leaving. Otherwise, my neighbor would definitely be sad."
"A female neighbor?"
"She's a housewife in her forties," Dejan Lu said.
"Women all like pretty boys. You barely even have a beard." Mancini mocked, "A guy like me is the truly devoted type."
Dejan Lu could not stop himself from rolling his eyes.
Compared with Mancini's full beard, he really did not have that much facial hair.
But this guy actually had the nerve to talk about devotion?
He looked decent now only because he had just gotten married. When he became a coach, he would have a whole pile of rumored partners and would eventually divorce.
Only time could prove everything.
Genoa's Number One Devotion was clearly no match for Korea's Number One Devotion.
When they returned to the bottom of the apartment building, paparazzi were still waiting nearby.
Dejan Lu waved a hand. "You head back first. I'll have a chat with the reporters."
"Need me to chase them away?"
Mancini asked.
He had already grown impatient with the paparazzi these past few days.
"It's fine. Go upstairs first."
Dejan Lu said, then walked straight toward the paparazzi's car.
"Are you close with Mancio? Did you transfer to Sampdoria?" the paparazzi immediately asked Dejan Lu.
"Sorry, I don't want to talk about that."
Dejan Lu took out several banknotes and handed them over.
The paparazzi looked at him in surprise.
"Haven't you been writing lately that I deceived Monica Bellucci? The story lacks some entertainment value. You should emphasize that Monica is beautiful and innocent, then portray me as a scheming villain. That will resonate with readers more."
Dejan Lu said.
Gulp...
The paparazzi swallowed hard, completely dumbfounded.
He had never seen this sort of situation before.
"Give me your contact information. I'll send you some articles, and you can publish them for me. Also, take some beautiful photos of Monica—the kind that look like they were captured by chance, understand?" Dejan Lu said.
The paparazzi nodded vigorously.
After all, what Dejan Lu was suggesting did him no harm.
That Chinese boy had been a hot topic all summer. Getting exclusive news would be wonderful.
Only after leaving his contact information did Dejan Lu turn and leave.
He had been wondering how to make money. Wasn't this a money-making opportunity right here?
Shizuka Kurosawa had no acting skills, yet even an artificial creation could become the number one beauty. Monica was a genuine natural beauty—couldn't she be promoted into one too?
Italian men were unhappy that the Flower of the Apennines had been taken away, so if Monica launched a menswear brand, shouldn't they support it more?
Once she became financially independent, she would not have to worry about that aspect when things happened in the future, right?
Monica was seeking benefits for everyone.
If you didn't support Monica, you weren't Italian.
You were buying ZARA anyway, so why not support the Apennines' number one beauty in starting a business?
Dejan Lu planned to make the Apennines understand decades early what the strongest product-promotion strategy was.
In the end, they would discover that the richer Monica became, the better Lu's quality of life would be.
Before you continue