Chapter 66: Chapter 65: Chelsea Vs Atalanta [VI]
He saw Chalobah stepping up aggressively, overcommitting to try and win the ball. He saw Chilwell narrow from left-back to cover the central area, marking space rather than a specific player. He saw Højlund making a diagonal run from right to left, cutting across Chalobah’s blindside where the defender couldn’t see him while focused on the ball.
A gap existed in Chelsea’s defensive shape—three yards of space between Chalobah who was pressing and the covering defender who was too far away to help. That was the pass, that was the moment, that was where the assist lived if his execution matched his vision.
Demien shaped his body as if he was going to pass right to Malinovskiy, leaning that direction while his shoulders turned to sell the fake completely.
Chalobah shifted his weight to follow the dummy, his body moving right to try and block the passing lane he thought was coming.
Then Demien struck the ball with the outside of his right boot instead, bending it slightly away from Chalobah’s outstretched leg that was reaching desperately, curving it around the defender’s body and into the path of Højlund’s run that was still developing across the penalty area.
The pass was perfect in every aspect—the weight allowed Højlund to take it in stride without adjusting his run, the curve took it away from the defender’s challenge, the timing meant it arrived exactly when the striker needed it. Højlund took one touch with his right foot to control the ball while still at full speed, set himself with that single touch, and finished low past Kepa with his left foot. The shot was placed rather than powerful, going inside the near post where the keeper couldn’t reach despite diving with his hand fully extended.
The ball hit the back of the net and the away section exploded.
Chelsea 3-2 Atalanta (68’)
"YESSS!" Højlund roared while sprinting toward the corner flag with his arms spread wide, his face showing pure joy mixed with the adrenaline of scoring at Stamford Bridge.
The away section erupted with a few hundred voices screaming as one, jumping up from their seats and hugging each other and waving their flags while the rest of Stamford Bridge sat in respectful silence, acknowledging quality even when it came from the opposition.
Demien stood still for a second while his brain caught up to what had just happened, processing the pass he’d just made and the goal that had just been scored, then Malinovskiy grabbed his head with both hands.
"WHAT A BALL!" the Ukrainian shouted directly into his face while his eyes were wide with excitement. "WHAT A BALL! That was perfect! The fake, the curve, the weight—everything!"
Højlund sprinted back from his celebration and wrapped Demien in a bear hug, lifting him completely off the ground while the rest of the team arrived to pile on. "I didn’t even see that run developing! You saw it before I did!"
Malinovskiy slapped his back hard enough to sting, Freuler ruffled his hair while grinning, Musah grabbed his shoulders and shook him, and the entire team mobbed him in the kind of celebration that happens when something special has just occurred. Demien tried to stay composed, tried to keep his emotions controlled like a professional should, but a smile broke through despite his best efforts and he felt something inside him shift.
Gasperini was applauding on the touchline with both hands raised, nodding with approval while his tactical mind appreciated the vision and execution he’d just witnessed. "Good! Very good! Keep working like that!"
In the Chelsea technical area Thomas Tuchel said something to his assistant while gesturing toward Demien with his hand, pointing at the young midfielder who had just created the goal. The assistant wrote something on his clipboard, making a note about number 28 for future reference.
The game restarted with Chelsea kicking off, and they responded with renewed urgency.
At the 75th minute Pulisic received the ball on the left wing from a throw-in, his first touch taking him inside away from Soppy, and he drove at Atalanta’s defense with his pace causing problems immediately. The American winger cut inside further onto his right foot while trying to create space for a shot or a pass.
Demien tracked back immediately without needing to be told, sprinting fifteen yards to get goalside of the ball while his legs pumped hard and his lungs burned from the effort. Pulisic tried to play a one-two with Werner who had dropped short, playing it to the striker and expecting it back, but Demien read the combination play before it fully developed. He saw where the return pass would go, saw the space Pulisic wanted to attack, and stepped across to intercept.
He won the ball cleanly with his positioning rather than a desperate tackle, and immediately looked forward rather than just clearing it to safety. Kolasinac was sprinting down the left touchline with his hand raised calling for it, and Demien played it into space ahead of the wingback with one touch, letting him run onto it at pace.
"Good work, Walter!" Gasperini shouted from the touchline while gesturing with both hands. "Both sides of the ball! Defending and attacking!"
Kolasinac’s cross from the byline was headed clear by Chalobah, but the intent was there and the effort was visible.
At the 82nd minute fatigue started setting in properly.
Demien’s legs felt heavier now with every step, his touches were slightly less sharp than they had been twenty minutes earlier, and his body was reminding him that this was his first full match at this intensity level. He’d covered significant ground over the forty-five minutes—pressing forward when Atalanta attacked, tracking back when Chelsea countered, finding space between the lines constantly—and the accumulated effort was showing.
He received a pass from Freuler in midfield, took a touch to control it while scanning for options, and tried to play a quick pass forward to Malinovskiy who was showing it twenty yards away. The intention was right but the execution wasn’t—the weight was slightly off, underhit by maybe five percent, and the ball didn’t have enough pace on it. His legs simply didn’t have the same snap in them anymore, and couldn’t generate the power his brain was asking for.
Barkley read it easily and intercepted before Malinovskiy could reach it, and Chelsea countered quickly down the right side with numbers pushing forward. Werner nearly scored when the ball reached him in the box, his shot heading for the bottom corner, but Sportiello made a brilliant diving save while throwing himself to his right and tipping it over the crossbar with his fingertips fully extended.
"DEMIEN!" Freuler shouted from twenty yards away while his voice carried frustration. "Stay sharp! Can’t give them easy possession!"
Demien raised his hand in acknowledgment while bending over with his hands on his knees for a moment, catching his breath and refocusing his mind. Twenty minutes left, maybe less with stoppage time, don’t drop your level now when the mission objectives are so close to completion.
At the 87th minute Atalanta won a free kick thirty yards from goal in a central position after Gallagher fouled Højlund who was shielding the ball.
Malinovskiy stood over the ball with his hands on his hips while calculating angles and distance, but Demien positioned himself at the edge of the penalty area rather than in the wall, looking for a rebound or a cutback opportunity if the initial shot was saved or blocked.
The Ukrainian struck it well with his right foot—low and hard with the ball staying below head height, dipping slightly as it approached the goal. Kepa read it and dove to his left with good positioning, his hands making contact with the ball and parrying it, but he couldn’t hold it and the ball spilled out to the edge of the area where bodies were converging.
Demien reacted first with his positioning and his reading of where the ball would land, getting there a split second before Gallagher could clear it to safety. He controlled it with his right foot while under pressure, shifted his body left to create half a yard of space and the angle he needed, and struck it with his left foot while still off balance.