Chapter 54: Chapter 53: Learning the Game [I]
Saturday, July 27th, 2022 - Gewiss Stadium, Bergamo
Six days had passed since the contract signing, and Demien stood outside the Gewiss Stadium with Sophia beside him, the afternoon sun warming his face while the noise from inside the ground filtered through the concrete walls.
"I can’t believe I’m actually here," Sophia said, looking up at the stadium entrance with bright eyes. "This is my first time watching a football match. Like, in person. In an actual stadium."
"Really?" Demien glanced at her with surprise. "Your brother plays football and you’ve never been to a match?"
"He was always in the youth teams," she explained with a shrug. "Those matches are usually empty. Just parents and scouts. This though..." She gestured at the crowds moving through the gates. "This is different. It’s lovely."
They showed their passes at the entrance and found their seats in the lower tier, close enough to see the players clearly but not so close that the noise would be overwhelming.
As they settled in, Sophia turned to him with curiosity in her expression. "So why did your U23 coach give you this assignment anyway? Seems weird to tell you to watch a pre-season friendly."
Demien leaned back in his seat. "I don’t know honestly. I was just told to come watch how the first team plays and grab one or two things from it. Maybe it’s about understanding the system better before pre-season starts."
"Makes sense I guess." Sophia pulled out her phone to take a photo of the pitch. "When do you start training?"
"Monday morning. Seven AM sharp."
"Nervous?"
"A bit," he admitted. "But also ready."
The stadium was about half full, which was normal for a pre-season friendly against a French side like Angers. The atmosphere was relaxed, fans chatting casually while waiting for kickoff, and the smell of fried food drifted from the concession stands.
Then the teams emerged from the tunnel.
The Atalanta players jogged onto the pitch in their famous blue and black stripes, and the crowd responded with applause and scattered chants. Demien recognized most of the starting eleven from the squad list he’d memorized—Musso in goal, Tolói marshaling the defense, de Roon and Koopmeiners in midfield, Zapata leading the line.
Angers came out in white, their players looking focused and organized despite this being just a friendly.
The referee blew his whistle, and the match began.
******
The first half was scrappy.
Atalanta dominated possession like Demien expected, circulating the ball patiently across the back three while the wing-backs pushed high, but Angers defended in a compact low block that was difficult to break down.
By the 20th minute, Atalanta had taken three shots, all from outside the box, all either blocked or straight at the goalkeeper.
Demien watched intently, his eyes tracking the movement patterns, the spacing between lines, the way Gasperini’s system demanded constant rotations and positional fluidity.
"Is it always this slow?" Sophia asked, leaning closer so he could hear her over the crowd noise.
"This is pretty normal for the first half," Demien said. "They’re feeling each other out. Testing for weaknesses."
At the 35th minute, frustration started to bubble through the stands.
Koopmeiners received the ball thirty yards out, turned, and played a square pass back to de Roon. De Roon shifted it wide to Zappacosta on the right. Zappacosta crossed into the box. Zapata attacked it with his head. The goalkeeper caught it comfortably.
"Come on!" someone shouted from a few rows behind them. "We’re playing Angers, not PSG!"
More voices joined in, scattered complaints about the lack of cutting edge, about passes going sideways instead of forward, about chances not being created.
Sophia looked confused. "Why are they complaining? The team’s playing well, aren’t they?"
"They’re struggling to score," Demien explained quietly. "Fans expect goals, especially against a team like Angers. When it stays 0-0 too long, they get impatient."
"This match is so tough though," Sophia said, watching Angers win another defensive header. "And the fans are crazy."
Demien smiled slightly. "Wait until you see a real match. This is nothing."
She turned to look at him then, her expression thoughtful. "So soon people will be screaming your name while they watch you play, right?"
The question caught him off guard.
"Shouting my name is a stretch," he said after a moment. "But I hope they do one day."
"They will," Sophia said with certainty. "But how will you cope with fans like this? Are you prepared?"
Demien thought about it, about David Drinkwater’s decades playing in front of hostile crowds and passionate supporters, about the pressure that came with wearing a club’s colors.
"I think so," he said slowly. "I’m not sure. I believe I am."
Sophia reached over and touched his arm, her hand warm against his skin. "You’ll be fine. You’ve got the mentality for it. I can tell."
He looked at her, at the sincerity in her eyes, and something shifted in his chest.
"Thanks," he said quietly.
She smiled and squeezed his arm gently before turning back to the match, but her hand lingered there for a moment longer than necessary.
*******
The halftime whistle blew with the score still 0-0.
The teams disappeared down the tunnel while the crowd stretched their legs and queued for refreshments. Sophia went to get water while Demien stayed in his seat, replaying the first half in his mind and thinking about the spaces Atalanta had failed to exploit.
When the second half began, the intensity picked up immediately.
Gasperini had clearly made adjustments during the break because Atalanta pressed higher, won the ball back quicker, and attacked with more urgency.
The minutes ticked by—50, 55, 60—and still no breakthrough.
Then at the 78th minute, something changed.
Angers tried to play out from the back. Their center-back passed square to his partner. Muriel pressed aggressively from the left wing, cutting off the passing lane back to the goalkeeper.
The defender panicked slightly and played a loose ball toward midfield.
De Roon read it perfectly, intercepting with one touch and immediately spraying a diagonal pass out to the right where Zappacosta had space.