Chapter 60: Chapter 59: Chelsea Preparation [II]
Saturday, July 31st, 2022
Demien woke early on Saturday morning and packed his bag carefully—training gear, casual clothes, toiletries, phone charger, headphones.
Luca was still asleep when he left the apartment, so he wrote a quick note and left it on the kitchen counter: Gone to London. Back Monday. - D
The first team bus was scheduled to leave at eight AM, and when Demien arrived at the training complex the other traveling players were already loading their bags into the storage compartment.
The bus itself was luxurious—leather seats, individual screens, plenty of legroom—and Demien found a seat near the middle.
Moretti dropped into the seat beside him with a satisfied sigh. "Much better than the U23 bus."
"Way better," Demien agreed, looking around at the premium interior.
"Remember when we rode that old bus to Como?" Moretti laughed. "Felt like it was going to fall apart."
"And the Fiorentina trip wasn’t much better."
"This is the life, man. First team travel."
The bus pulled out of the complex and headed toward the airport, and forty minutes later they arrived at a private terminal where Atalanta’s chartered plane was waiting.
Demien had never flown private before—neither as David nor as Demien—and he felt his eyes widen slightly as they boarded the aircraft.
The interior was spacious with wide seats arranged in pairs, tables for working or eating, and flight attendants already preparing refreshments.
Malinovskiy waved Demien over to a row near the back where he’d saved two seats, and Moretti claimed the spot across the aisle.
"First time on a team plane?" Malinovskiy asked as they settled in.
"Yeah," Demien admitted.
"You’ll get used to it." Malinovskiy smiled. "Enjoy it while it lasts. Travel is one of the best parts of playing professionally."
The plane took off smoothly, climbing through scattered clouds before leveling out at cruising altitude, and the seatbelt signs turned off.
Moretti leaned across the aisle. "I can’t believe we’re on the team plane. Going to London. To play Chelsea."
"Pinch me," Demien said, half-joking. "Make sure this is real."
Malinovskiy laughed. "It’s real, boys. And tomorrow you’ll understand what it means to play at this level."
Demien pulled out his headphones and plugged them into his phone, queuing up a playlist of music that would help him relax and mentally prepare.
As the plane carried them toward London, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander.
Tomorrow.
Stamford Bridge.
Chelsea.
His first potential appearance for Atalanta.
He’d be ready.
Landing in London
The plane touched down at London City Airport in the early afternoon, and as Demien stepped off onto the tarmac the familiar English air hit him—cooler than Italy, heavy with moisture, carrying scents that triggered memories he’d tried to bury for years.
Sixteen years.
It had been sixteen years since he’d last been in England.
Not as DAvid, but as Demien—no, before that, when he was still just a child with his mother, traveling to London because his father had run away and left them alone in Italy with nothing.
His mother had been desperate, trying to track down a man who didn’t want to be found, hoping maybe he’d changed his mind, maybe he’d come back, maybe there was still a family to save.
There wasn’t.
Demien—David—whoever he was—remembered standing outside a pub in East London while his mother argued with someone inside, remembered the shame and anger burning in his chest, remembered swearing that one day he’d be successful enough that his father would see and regret everything.
He blinked the memory away and followed his teammates toward the waiting bus.
The drive into central London took an hour through heavy traffic, and Demien watched the city pass by outside his window—the Thames, Tower Bridge, modern skyscrapers rising beside historic buildings.
The hotel they’d reserved was near Chelsea, a four-star establishment with understated elegance and a quiet professionalism that suggested it often hosted sports teams.
In the lobby, the team coordinator handed out room keys in pairs.
"Moretti and Walter, room 412," Giorgio called out.
Demien and Moretti collected their key cards and headed to the elevator with their bags.
The room was nicer than anywhere Demien had stayed before—two double beds with crisp white linens, a flatscreen TV on the wall, a desk and chairs by the window, a bathroom with marble counters and quality amenities.
"This is incredible," Moretti said, dropping his bag and immediately testing out one of the beds. "Remember that hostel we stayed at during the U23 Match against fiorentian? This is like a palace compared to that."
Demien smiled and set his bag down more carefully. "Definitely an upgrade. That place had beds like rocks."
"And the shower barely worked," Moretti added, laughing. "I’m taking a long hot shower here just because I can."
They unpacked a bit, then met with the rest of the squad for a light lunch in the hotel restaurant—pasta, grilled chicken, salads, nothing too heavy before tomorrow’s match.
Gasperini addressed the team briefly, reminding them to rest properly and stay hydrated, before giving them the afternoon off to relax.
Back in the room, Demien and Moretti turned on the TV and found a Premier League highlights show, and they spent the next few hours talking about football, reminiscing about their U23 matches, and discussing what they hoped to achieve now that they’d made it to the first team.
"You think we’ll actually get minutes tomorrow?" Moretti asked as evening approached.
"Against Chelsea? Probably not. But being in the squad is huge."
"True. Still feels unreal though."
"Tell me about it."
They ordered room service for dinner—more pasta, bread, fruit—and ate while watching a film neither of them really paid attention to.
By nine PM, exhaustion caught up with Demien and he climbed into bed, setting an alarm for tomorrow morning.
Moretti did the same, and soon the room was dark and quiet except for the faint sounds of London traffic outside.
Demien lay awake for a while, his mind racing through everything that had happened in the past month.
From rejected trialist to professional contract.
From training alone to training with Serie A players.
From Florence to London.
From nobody to someone whose name would appear on a team sheet against Chelsea.
It still felt impossible.
But tomorrow it would be real.
Sunday, August 1st, 2022 - Match Day
Demien woke to his alarm at seven AM, feeling surprisingly rested despite the nerves that had kept him awake the night before.
Moretti was already up, staring at his phone.
"Morning," Demien said, stretching.
"Morning. Just saw Chelsea posted their probable lineup. They’re taking this seriously even though it’s a friendly."
"We should too."
"Oh, trust me, I am. My hands are literally shaking." Moretti held up his phone to demonstrate.
Demien laughed. "Same here. But we’ve come this far together, right? From those trial matches to here."
"From washing our own boots to... well, still washing boots, but now for Serie A players." Moretti grinned. "Progress."
They dressed in the travel tracksuits Atalanta had provided—navy blue with the club crest embroidered on the chest—and headed down for breakfast with the rest of the squad.
The atmosphere at breakfast was relaxed but focused, players eating carefully chosen meals and chatting quietly while the coaching staff reviewed final notes.
After breakfast, the team boarded the bus for a light training session at a nearby facility—just enough to loosen muscles and go through a few tactical drills without tiring themselves before the match.
Then they returned to the hotel for a brief rest period before the real preparations began.
At two PM, the bus departed for Stamford Bridge.
The stadium appeared through the London streets like a fortress of blue and white, and Demien felt his pulse quicken as they pulled up to the entrance.
Chelsea.
One of the most successful clubs in English football.
And he was about to walk into their stadium as an Atalanta player.
The bus parked in the secure area beneath the stands, and the squad filed off with their bags and headed toward the away dressing room.
The corridor was narrow and functional, nothing glamorous, just concrete walls and fluorescent lighting, but Demien could feel the history in the air, could imagine all the great players who’d walked these same halls.
They reached the dressing room.
Gasperini opened the door and the squad filed inside.
A/N
First off, a massive thank you for all the Golden Stones and Power Stones! Your support truly means a lot to me.
I have to make a slight adjustment going forward: I’ll be discontinuing the conversion of Power Stones and Golden Stones into TP (Treasure Points). I’ve realized that keeping this system running will make our protagonist too overpowered too quickly, and we don’t want to spoil the challenge and fun this early in the story!
As promised, I’m still working on the fan gift system. Depending on the gift, I’ll be offering a list of characters or entities a fan can be turned into within the book! This includes a chance to become a recurring character! I’ll share the full details soon.
Finally, I’m introducing a new incentive: for every review the book receives, I will release one additional Chapter!
Thank you again for all the amazing support!