Chapter 68: Chapter 67: Recognition
Sunday, August 1st, 2022 - Post-Match
The mixed zone at Stamford Bridge was busy with journalists waiting for quick comments after the friendly, cameras ready while Thomas Tuchel walked through after speaking to his players. His hair was slightly disheveled from running his hands through it during the match, but he stopped when reporters called his name.
"Thomas, thoughts on the performance ahead of the Premier League starting next week?"
Tuchel nodded while his German accent came through clearly. "Pre-season is about building fitness and testing systems, and today we did both. The result is what it is—three-two, we win at home. More importantly I saw things from the squad that tell me we’re ready. The belief is there, the energy is there."
Another reporter pushed forward. "The second half was more difficult than the first. What did you make of Atalanta’s response?"
"Atalanta are a very good team with clear identity under Gasperini," Tuchel responded while his hands gestured briefly. "In the second half they pressed us well, were brave with the ball, and made it testing for us. That’s good for both teams in preparation."
Then his expression shifted slightly, almost like something amusing had just occurred to him, and he added with a small smirk. "That Demien boy caught my eye out there in the second half."
A few journalists chuckled at the unexpected praise for an opposition player, and before another question could come Tuchel nodded once. "Thank you."
He walked on toward the team bus, leaving the reporters scribbling notes about the young Atalanta midfielder he’d just name-dropped.
******
The away dressing room was quiet except for the sound of breathing and water bottles being drained. Players sprawled on benches or stood in small groups while changing out of their kits, the exhaustion from ninety minutes at Stamford Bridge showing on faces and in body language.
Demien pulled off his sweaty jersey and sat down heavily on the bench, his legs still feeling the burn from forty-five minutes of constant movement. Ben Chilwell’s Chelsea shirt sat folded beside him—they’d swapped on the pitch after the final whistle with just a nod and a handshake, the way these things usually went. No conversation, just mutual respect between professionals.
Gasperini walked into the center of the room and waited, his presence enough to quiet the scattered conversations. Players turned their attention to the coach who stood with his arms crossed, his expression showing satisfaction despite the loss.
"Gentlemen, good performance today," he began while his voice carried authority without being loud. "We competed well against quality opposition, showed character when we went behind, and created chances in the second half. That’s the mentality I want to see."
He paused while looking around the room.
"The result doesn’t matter in pre-season, but the effort does. You gave me effort today, you gave me intensity, and when the league starts next Saturday against Sampdoria at home, I need that same commitment for ninety minutes when points are actually on the line."
His tone shifted slightly, becoming more direct.
"We’re heading to the airport now to fly back to Bergamo tonight. Tomorrow you have off to recover properly. Those who played today, rest well. Those who didn’t get minutes, your chance is coming. We have a long season ahead and I’ll need everyone."
The team responded with nods and agreement, the energy shifting from tired satisfaction to focused anticipation for what was coming.
"Get changed and on the bus in fifteen minutes," Gasperini finished. "Well done today."
*******
Tuesday, August 3rd, 2022 - Rest Day
Demien slept in for once, his body taking full advantage of the rest day after playing forty-five intense minutes at Stamford Bridge followed by the travel back to Bergamo. His alarm didn’t go off until ten in the morning, sunlight streaming through the window of the apartment he shared with Luca, and when he finally dragged himself out of bed his legs still felt heavy from accumulated fatigue.
Luca was already gone, off to play in an U23 league match that had been scheduled despite the first team having a rest day, and the apartment was quiet in that comfortable way that came from living alone temporarily.
Demien made coffee in the small kitchen, standing at the counter in just his shorts while the machine hissed and dripped, and he pulled out his phone to check what he’d missed while sleeping. Messages from his mother asking how the match went, and then something that made him stop scrolling.
A message from Marco with a screenshot attached: "Look what’s going viral. Tuchel’s post-match interview. You’re already generating interest from scouts."
Demien clicked the image and saw the video clip showing Thomas Tuchel saying "That Demien boy caught my eye out there" with thousands of views and comments beneath it.
A grin spread across his face despite trying to stay composed about it. A top manager who had won the Champions League just last year had recognized his work in forty-five minutes of football, had specifically name-dropped him in a press conference unprompted, and that validation carried weight beyond what statistics could show.
He screenshot the image and sent it to his mother with a simple message: "Guess who Chelsea’s coach noticed."
Her reply came back within seconds: "I KNEW IT! So proud of you baby!"
Demien set his phone down and took a sip of coffee, letting the warmth spread through his chest that had nothing to do with the drink and everything to do with the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he was actually building something real here.
Later that afternoon Luca returned from his match looking exhausted but satisfied, dropping his bag by the door and collapsing onto the couch. "We won three-one," he announced without preamble.
"Nice," Demien said while looking up from his phone. "How’d you feel out there?"
"Good. Really good, actually," Luca replied with genuine satisfaction. "I scored one and got an assist. The team’s clicking well together, everyone’s sharp."
"That’s what you need," Demien said. "Keep that form going."
Then Luca’s expression shifted slightly, becoming more serious. "Yeah, Thanks"