Gasperini remained standing as the players jogged toward the tunnel, his arms crossed though his posture had changed by leaning forward slightly in a way that suggested engagement rather than casual observation.
Number eight walked slowly off the pitch with his head up while talking with Martinez about something, neither celebrating nor looking exhausted but simply professional in his demeanor.
Belotti returned to his seat with his tablet in hand after making calls during the final minutes, and he pulled up a file before saying, "Walter. Demien Walter. Eighteen. Dual national—Italian mother, English father."
"Academy background?"
"Fiorentina. Three years in their system."
Gasperini’s eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise. "Fiorentina released him?"
Belotti scrolled through the file before responding, "Doesn’t specify. Just says ’released.’ No disciplinary notes. No injury history. Medical records are clean."
Gasperini turned that over in his mind because Fiorentina didn’t release players lightly—their academy was one of the best in Italy, and if they let someone go there was usually a reason—but the kid on the pitch today didn’t look like someone who deserved release.
"What are his stats?" Gasperini asked.
Belotti checked the file. "Sixty-eight overall. Decent pace. Good passing. Nothing exceptional on paper."
Gasperini snorted softly. "Sixty-eight."
"I know," Belotti agreed as they both watched through the glass while the last players disappeared into the tunnel, leaving the pitch empty except for groundskeepers collecting water bottles.
"That first pass," Gasperini said slowly and deliberately, "to the wing-back. Sixty yards. Perfectly weighted. Over three defenders."
"The second one was better," Gasperini continued, his voice quiet and clinical. "First-time pass. Under pressure from two players. Threaded between three. Arrived exactly where it needed to."
Belotti made a note on his tablet as Gasperini kept analyzing: "And when they pressed him near the touchline, he turned both defenders without losing the ball. No panic. Clean."
"Composure’s not something you can measure with stats."
"No," Gasperini agreed as he finally sat down. "It’s not."
He was quiet for a moment while processing everything because the file said sixty-eight overall—average, forgettable—but what he’d just watched was anything but average.
"Pull his full record from Fiorentina," Gasperini instructed. "Training reports. Coach evaluations. Match logs. Everything."
"You think there’s something we’re missing?"
"I think Fiorentina made a mistake," Gasperini said while leaning back in his seat. "Or we’re about to."
Belotti tapped rapidly on his tablet. "I’ll have it by tonight."
The stadium was quiet now as the crowd had mostly filtered out, though a few parents lingered near the tunnel entrance while waiting for their sons.
"You want me to keep notes on him second half?" Belotti asked.
"Yes. But focus on decision-making under pressure. That’s what matters," Gasperini replied while pulling out his own notepad and flipping to a blank page. "Como will adjust. They’ll mark him tighter. Maybe double-team him every time he touches the ball."
"You think they’ll target him specifically?"
"If their coach has any sense, yes," Gasperini confirmed as he wrote something at the top of the page. "Let’s see how he responds when things get difficult."
Belotti glanced at what Gasperini had written: Demien Walter - #8 - Second Half Observations
"You’re serious about this one," Belotti observed quietly.
Gasperini didn’t look up as he clicked his pen. "Rossi told me to watch him. I didn’t listen." He paused. "I’m listening now."
The team filtered in with players breathing hard and shirts soaked through with sweat as water bottles were passed around, some players dropping onto benches while others leaned against lockers to stretch their legs.
Rossi stood at the front with his clipboard in hand, waiting for the room to settle, and when the noise died down he spoke with a voice that was firm but warm.
"Two-nil at halftime. Excellent first half. You did exactly what we worked on in training—patient buildup, good movement, clinical finishing when the chances came."
He looked toward the defenders who’d just come off. "Back three—solid. You stayed organized when they pressed and didn’t panic under pressure. Good."
Then to the wing-backs: "Esposito, Carlos—your positioning created space for the midfield. That first goal came from Carlos being in the right place at the right time."
A few players nodded while some sat up straighter, responding to the positive reinforcement.
"Midfield," Rossi continued as his eyes found Martinez and Demien. "You controlled the tempo. Made them uncomfortable. Exactly what we needed."
He paused to make sure everyone was listening before his tone shifted slightly. "But Como will adjust. They have to. They’re two goals down, so they’ll come out aggressive second half. They’ll press higher, mark tighter, and if you drop your level even a little, they’ll punish you." This update ıs available on 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵※𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮※𝓷𝓮𝓽
He let that sink in for a moment. "We’re making changes for the second half. This is a friendly—everyone gets minutes."
Looking down at his clipboard, he began calling out the substitutions: "Moretti, Valenti, Rinaldi—well done, you’re coming off. Mancini, Greco, Torres—you’re going into the back three."
The three defenders nodded with some relief showing on their faces because they’d done their job, and Rossi continued: "Esposito, Carlos—good work pushing forward, you’re off. Conte takes right wing-back, Lombardi takes left."
More nods came from the substitutes who were already standing and mentally preparing themselves, then Rossi’s eyes found Demien again. "Midfield. Walter stays. Riccardo, you’re going in next to him. Martinez, you’re off. Good half."
Martinez stood while clapping once in a professional manner before grabbing his towel and stepping aside to let Riccardo prepare, and across the room Riccardo’s expression didn’t change even though he’d been watching this whole first half and now he’d get his chance alongside the trialist who’d taken his starting spot.
"Front three," Rossi continued. "Costa, Di Luca, Parisi—you’re done. Bianchi takes the left wing, Romano takes the right, Gabriel up front."
Luca’s head snapped up as his name was called, and Rossi looked directly at him. "Bianchi. Left wing. Use your pace. Get at their right-back. He’s tired."
"Yes, Coach," Luca replied, his voice steady though his hands tightened on his water bottle.
"That’s seven changes," Rossi announced. "Completely different team for the second half, but the job stays the same—control possession, be patient, and punish their mistakes."
Moretti stood up and pulled the captain’s armband off his bicep before walking across the room to where Riccardo was lacing his boots.
"You’ve got it second half," Moretti said while holding out the armband.
Riccardo looked up and met Moretti’s eyes before taking the armband and sliding it onto his left arm without a word, just a single nod of acknowledgment.
Moretti clapped him on the shoulder once. "Keep them organized. Don’t let them back in."
"I won’t," Riccardo promised.
Moretti raised his voice so the whole room could hear: "Good luck to everyone going in. Finish strong."
The substitutes nodded while the starters who’d been pulled off clapped once in acknowledgment and respect, then Rossi checked his watch. "Ten minutes. Hydrate. Stretch. Those going back out—mental reset. Como will be different second half."
The room dispersed into smaller groups as some players stretched on the floor while others grabbed ice packs for their legs.
Demien sat in his corner with a towel draped over his head while catching his breath, and his legs felt good with his stamina holding without any cramps or tightness.
The system chimed softly in his head.
「Current Match Rating: 8.2」
「Passing Accuracy: 89%」
「Defensive Actions: 3」
「MISSION STATUS: ON TRACK」
「Objective: Maintain 7.0+ rating (ACHIEVED)」
「Secondary: 1+ key pass (ACHIEVED)」
He dismissed the notification quietly as across the room Riccardo was already changed into a fresh shirt with number six on the back, and he caught Demien’s eye for a brief second with no smile and no nod, just cold professionalism before looking away to lace up his boots.
Luca appeared beside Demien and sat down while pulling on his kit with number eleven on the back.
"You nervous?" Demien asked quietly.
"Terrified," Luca admitted with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "You made it look easy out there."
"Still," Luca said while tying his laces tight, "two key passes that both led to goals—that’s a hell of a first half."
"Como will be different now. They’ll adjust."
"Yeah," Luca agreed as he stood up. "That’s why I’m nervous." He clapped Demien on the shoulder once. "Let’s finish this."
Rossi’s voice cut through the room: "Two minutes. Let’s go."
The players who were staying on grabbed their water bottles and headed for the tunnel with the substitutes following close behind, while Demien stood slowly and rolled his shoulders because his legs felt ready and his mind was clear.
Second half approaching with new teammates, Riccardo beside him in midfield wearing the captain’s armband, and Luca on the wing getting his chance to prove himself.
Time to prove the first half wasn’t luck.