Demien stared at the screen as his overall had jumped to seventy-one.
Seventy-one.
He stood up slowly and immediately felt the difference as his legs—which had ached from yesterday's match just minutes ago—felt lighter and stronger, like the soreness had been stripped away and replaced with coiled energy.
He clenched his right fist and the movement felt sharper, more controlled, as his body responded faster than before, more precise.
Seventy-one. That's a sign of a wonderkid starter level. That's real.
Not a trialist hoping for a chance, not an academy reject scraping for opportunities, but a professional-level midfielder.
And the Marseille Roulette? That was Zidane's signature move, elite technique, the kind of skill that separated good players from great ones.
He rolled his shoulders, testing the new strength stat, and felt solid, grounded, like he could shield the ball against anyone.
After yesterday's 9.1 match rating and now this—seventy-one overall with an epic technique—maybe visibility wasn't such a bad thing after all.
He sat back down and picked up his phone before texting Marco.
Demien: Just created the Instagram. Handle's @demienwalter.
The reply came thirty seconds later.
Marco: Perfect! I'll tag you in the agency post. Get ready for some visibility.
Demien set his phone down for a moment, thinking about how visibility meant exposure to scouts, clubs, maybe even sponsors down the line, and after yesterday's performance—nine-point-one rating, two key passes that led to goals, controlling the game against double-marking—maybe it was time to stop hiding.
He opened Instagram again and stared at his blank profile showing zero posts, no picture, just a name.
Might as well do this properly.
He scrolled through his camera roll and found a decent photo from training last week—nothing flashy, just him in his Atalanta kit with ball at his feet, focused—and set it as his profile picture.
Better.
Now it was time to explore this world Marco kept talking about.
He typed "Luca Bianchi" into the search bar and the first result had a blue checkmark.
luca.bianchi
10.2K followers
Demien's eyebrows shot up as he thought, Ten thousand?
He clicked the profile and photos filled the screen—Luca on a yacht, Luca at fashion events, Luca with his arm around models—while the comments were full of fire emojis and praise.
Demien tapped "Follow."
He scrolled through the posts, smiling at the contrast between Luca's online life and the guy who'd been nervous before yesterday's match.
Then he noticed a comment on one of Luca's recent photos.
sophia.bianchi: you're so ugly 😂
Demien blinked as he thought, Sophia? Luca's sister?
He tapped her profile.
sophia.bianchi
304K followers
Three hundred thousand.
Her bio read: Model | Designer | DM for collabs
Links to fashion brands filled her profile along with photos of her at Milan Fashion Week, Paris, New York, professional shoots, magazine covers, and brand partnerships.
Demien scrolled, slightly stunned since this was a different world.
His thumb hovered over the "Follow" button.
Should I?
Before he could decide, his thumb slipped.
Following sophia.bianchi
"Shit," he said immediately, moving to unfollow.
But then a notification popped up.
sophia.bianchi started following you
Demien froze.
Another notification appeared.
Message Request from sophia.bianchi
He tapped it, heart beating faster than it should.
Sophia: Hi Demien 😊
He stared at the screen, thinking What do I say? as his fingers hovered over the keyboard, wondering if he should explain the accidental follow, apologize, or pretend it was intentional.
Just be normal.
Demien: Hey
He cringed immediately, thinking That's it? Just "hey"?
Before he could send something else, three dots appeared as she was typing.
Sophia: So you accidentally followed me or...? 👀
His face heated, thinking Of course she knew.
Demien: Honestly? Yeah. Was looking at Luca's profile and my thumb slipped
Sophia: lol at least you're honest
Sophia: Most guys who follow me pretend it was on purpose
Demien: Would've unfollowed but you followed back too fast
Sophia: I know 😏
Sophia: Wanted to see if you'd panic
She was messing with him, and Demien couldn't help but smile.
Demien: Mission accomplished then
Sophia: Anyway congrats on yesterday! Luca wouldn't shut up about how good you were
Demien: He's exaggerating
Sophia: He showed me the clips. You made it look easy
Sophia: That pass in the first half? 60 yards right on target
Demien: Got lucky with the bounce
Sophia: Stop being modest lol it's annoying
Sophia: Take the compliment
Demien: Alright. Thanks. It was a good pass.
Sophia: Better 😌
Sophia: Also that run Luca made for the third goal? He's been rewatching it all morning
Sophia: I had to threaten to break his phone
Demien laughed out loud, thinking that sounded exactly like something Luca would do.
Demien: He earned it. Beat two defenders
Sophia: Don't encourage him 😭
Sophia: His ego's bad enough already
There was a pause before she sent another message.
Sophia: Good luck with your trial btw
Sophia: I know how much this means to him
Sophia: Probably means a lot to you too
Something about the way she wrote that—simple, genuine—made Demien's chest tighten.
Demien: Yeah. It does.
Sophia: Then I'm rooting for you
Sophia: Both of you actually
Sophia: Just don't tell Luca I said that. He'll be insufferable
Demien: Your secret's safe with me
Sophia: Good 😊
Sophia: Anyway I have a shoot in 20 so I gotta go
Sophia: See you around footballer boy
Before he could respond, she went offline and he set the phone down, his chest feeling lighter since that had gone surprisingly well.
Across the room, Luca stirred with a groan as he sat up and asked, "What time is it?"
"Almost ten."
"Why didn't you wake me?"
"You looked dead."
Luca rubbed his face and said, "Feel dead," before grabbing his phone from the nightstand and immediately starting to scroll, then saying, "Oh, you followed me."
"Yeah. Just set up my Instagram."
"Finally," Luca grinned before saying, "Welcome to the modern world," and kept scrolling before stopping suddenly and adding, "Wait. You followed my sister?"
Demien's face heated as he said, "It was an accident."
"An accident," Luca's grin widened as he repeated, "Sure."
"I was about to unfollow, but she followed me back."
"Oh?" Luca's eyebrows lifted as he said, "Interesting."
"It's not—"
Luca's phone buzzed and he glanced at it before his expression shifted as he said, "Huh."
"What?"
"Text from the coaching staff," Luca read it aloud while saying, "Just so you know, your next friendly is on Wednesday against Fiorentina."
Demien went very still.
Fiorentina.
His phone buzzed with the same message.
From: U23 Assistant Coach
Just so you know, your next friendly is on Wednesday against Fiorentina. More details tomorrow at training.
Demien stared at the screen, thinking about the club that had rejected him, called him not good enough, and cut him loose six months ago without a second thought.
Luca was saying something, but the words sounded distant as he asked, "That's going to be intense, right? Playing against your old academy?"
"Yeah," Demien's voice came out flat as he said, "Intense."
Coach Baldini sitting behind his desk, not even looking up from the papers. "You're not good enough for Fiorentina. We wish you well in your future endeavours."
The memory hit like a punch to the gut.
"You okay?" Luca asked, concern creeping into his voice.
"Yeah," Demien forced his face neutral before adding, "Just... wasn't expecting that."
"Must be weird, going back there."
"Yeah," Demien set his phone down carefully as he said, "Weird."
But deep down, David Drinkwater's thirty-seven years of experience whispered one word: Perfect.