As soon as Leo pushed open the cafeteria door and disappeared down the corridor, the low chatter that had filled the room suddenly lifted into laughter and groans.
"Ma dai!" one of the players said, slapping his hand against the table.
"He actually found it?"
"Posate Sporche!(Dirty Utensils)" another chimed in, shaking his head with a grin.
"The new kids's either lucky or psychic, because nobody ever finds that on their first night."
The laughter rolled through the room, a few forks clinking as players leaned back in their chairs, still amused.
"Poor ragazzo doesn't even know what he's avoided," said one of the midfielders, his accent thick from Naples.
"We were waiting for him to leave it there."
Another player, half-laughing, added, "Yeah, you remember last camp? Giacomo left his plate and had to scrub every dish in here. Every single one."
A chorus of agreement followed, some groaning at the memory, others laughing harder.
It was tradition, after all.
