Title: **Edoardo Bove's Wild Morning** INT. A LUSH, FOREST CLEARING - MORNING The sun peeks through the dense foliage, casting a heavenly glow over a quaint, woodland setup. Birds chirp melodiously, but the tranquility is about to be disrupted by the morning routine of EDOARDO BOVE, Roma's vivacious midfielder. Edoardo strides into the scene, sporting a mischievous grin. His lean, athletic physique, sculpted from hours of training, glimmers under the rising sun. He approaches a makeshift outdoor shower, where a large bucket hangs precariously on a high branch. EDOARDO (to himself) Ah, Mother Nature's spa. Who needs modern plumbing when you've got good ol' gravity! With a flourish, he discards his clothes, tossing them onto another branch. His butt, a testament to the squats and sprints of a dedicated athlete, catches a beam of sunlight, almost winking at the audience. His armpits, a forest within a forest, await their freshwater bath. Edoardo's face, marked by a charming, boyish smile, beams with anticipation. Grasping a rustic rope, he yanks it. The bucket tilts, unleashing a cascading shower upon him. As the chilly mountain water drenches him, Edoardo's smile widens, his teeth gleaming against the backdrop of the Italian wilderness. He happily scrubs his armpits, humming a catchy tune, until the bucket gasps its last droplet. Satisfied, he makes his way to a polished, vintage mirror propped against a tree. He grabs a wooden, bristle brush, attacking his teeth with gusto. Mid-brush, he catches his reflection, grinning. EDOARDO (to his reflection) Look at you, il bello della festa. Now comes the breakfast hunt. Still in the nude, embracing the liberating air, Edoardo grabs a burlap sack and wades into a nearby pond. The water, cool against his sun-kissed skin, invigorates him. Suddenly, he stops, clinches, and releases a mighty fart he's been holding in. A fine art in the wilderness, his relief is palpable. EDOARDO (sighing in relief) Ah, when in Rome... or rather, when out of Rome. Nearby fish, unaccustomed to such potent disturbances, float to the surface, victims of Edoardo's potent underwater brew. Edoardo, unfazed, surveys his unintentional catch with an expert eye. EDOARDO (perusing the fish) Hmm, you look like you'd sizzle nicely with some olive oil. And you, my friend, have the eyes of a primo antipasto. With the discernment of a Michelin-star chef, he picks the prime candidates, adding them to his sack. Standing up, he wades back to shore, the morning sun casting a heroic glow around him. EDOARDO (to the audience, as he exits) And that, amici, is how you catch breakfast in Edoardo Bove's wilderness. Who said footballers can't hunt? CUT TO BLACK. The scene closes on the romantic, albeit eccentric, start to Edoardo's day - a unique blend of athleticism, nature, and a dash of eccentricity, leaving the audience both amused and awestruck by the charm of Serie A's unconventional star.