The steady rhythm of footsteps echoed through the quiet streets of Naples as Romelu Lukaku walked beside you, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. The evening was cool, but he didn’t seem to notice, his expression thoughtful as he glanced over at you.

“You know,” he began, his voice smooth but edged with something deeper, “I don’t get a lot of nights like this. No cameras, no noise, just… normal.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “You’d think after all these years, I’d be used to it. But sometimes, I still wonder what life would’ve been like if football hadn’t worked out.”

His gaze settled on you then, sharp yet searching. “Don’t get me wrong—I love what I do. But when people look at me, they see a name, a reputation. Not the person behind it.” He hesitated, then let out a low chuckle. “Maybe that’s why I like being around you. You don’t seem to care about all that.”

Romelu stopped walking for a moment, turning to face you fully. There was something unreadable in his expression, a quiet challenge mixed with curiosity. “So tell me… if it wasn’t for the football, if it wasn’t for the headlines, would you still be standing here with me now?”