He looked up at the mirror and saw the reflection of someone he'd once considered his best friend, someone he'd trusted completely, someone who'd destroyed that trust in the worst possible way.
Adriano Ventresca stood in the doorway wearing Fiorentina's purple kit with the number ten on his chest, and his appearance was exactly as Demien remembered: sharp features, confident posture, and that easy smile that had once seemed genuine but now looked poisonous.
Adriano was a wonderkid, the media called him that constantly, and top clubs across Italy were supposedly watching him with interest while Fiorentina's first team had already called him up for training sessions multiple times, and at just eighteen, he was everything the academy had hoped Demien would never become.
They'd met when Demien was fourteen and Adriano was the same age, both joining Fiorentina's academy in the same intake, and for three years they'd been inseparable as training partners, roommates on away trips, and friends who understood the pressure of trying to make it as professional footballers.
Then everything had shattered.
Demien had introduced Adriano to Elena, his girlfriend at the time, and what should have been a simple introduction between his best friend and the girl he cared about had turned into betrayal when he'd walked into Adriano's room unannounced one night and found them together in bed.
The image had burned itself into his memory: Elena's shocked face, Adriano's casual shrug, and the words that followed that had cut deeper than any rejection from coaches ever could.
That betrayal had been one of the weights that pushed Demien toward the edge when Fiorentina released him months later, one more confirmation that he wasn't good enough for anything: not for the academy, not for keeping the people he loved faithful, not for surviving in the world that demanded more than he could give.
And now Adriano stood here in the restroom doorway with that same easy smile while saying, "When I heard you were playing for Atalanta, I told some of the players in the U19 and some of us who moved up to the U23."
Demien turned off the water and grabbed a paper towel while keeping his expression neutral, and he asked, "What do you want, Adriano?"
Adriano stepped further into the restroom and let the door swing shut behind him while his smile stayed in place, and he said, "Nothing serious, just shocked that you're here, you know? After everything that happened, I didn't think you'd still be playing."
The words carried multiple layers of meaning, and Demien heard all of them clearly as he dried his hands slowly while considering how to respond.
"I've been apologizing to you since it happened," Adriano continued while leaning against the sink counter with casual familiarity, and he added, "You keep rejecting my apologies, and I get that you hate me, but it was Elena's fault really, she came onto me."
Demien crumpled the paper towel and tossed it into the trash while something cold settled in his chest, and he met Adriano's eyes directly before saying, "Is that what you came here to tell me?"
"She was nice though," Adriano said with a slight shrug, and his tone was almost conversational as if discussing the weather rather than destroying someone's relationship, and he finished with, "But still, you can't blame me for it."
David Drinkwater's thirty-seven years of experience screamed at Demien to walk away, to not engage, to save his energy for the pitch where revenge could be taken properly, and that veteran wisdom warred with the eighteen-year-old's anger that wanted to plant a fist in Adriano's smug face.
Professionalism won.
"If that's what you want to say," Demien said while moving toward the door, and his voice came out flat and controlled as he added, "see you on the pitch, I'm not here for all this chit-chat."
He reached for the door handle, but before he could open it, the door swung inward, and another figure stepped into the restroom.
Coach Marco Silvestri, Fiorentina's U19 coach who'd been promoted to U23 this season, stopped short when he saw Demien, and recognition flashed across his face immediately followed by a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Demien," Silvestri said while his tone carried false warmth, and he continued, "Wow, nice to see you."
Demien looked at the man who'd sat in meetings with Coach Baldini when the decision was made to release him, who'd nodded along when they said he wasn't good enough, who'd never once advocated for giving him more time or another chance.
He said nothing.
Silvestri's smile faltered slightly as silence stretched between them, and he added, "It's good that you found another club, Atalanta's a good place for development."
Demien pushed past him without responding and moved into the corridor while leaving both Adriano and Silvestri behind in the restroom, and he walked back toward the locker room with his jaw clenched and his hands flexing unconsciously at his sides.
The locker room was louder when he returned as players had moved into their pre-match rituals with music playing, voices calling out encouragement, and nervous energy filling every corner of the space.
Coach Rossi was standing near the tactical board talking with his assistant when he noticed Demien enter, and he gestured for him to come closer while other players continued their preparations around them.
Demien approached, and Rossi put a hand on his shoulder before saying quietly, "I know this is your former team, and I know there's history here."
Demien nodded but didn't speak as Rossi continued, "Don't be scared of playing against them, go out there and show them they made a mistake cutting you, let your performance do the talking."
"Make a statement," Rossi finished while his grip on Demien's shoulder tightened briefly before releasing, and his eyes held firm belief as he added, "Show them who you really are."
"Yes, Coach," Demien said, and his voice came out stronger than he felt while something in his chest loosened slightly at the words of support.
Five minutes later, Coach Rossi called the entire team together for the final pre-match talk, and players gathered in a tight circle around him while he looked at each face individually before speaking.
"This is your moment," Rossi said while his voice carried authority and belief, and he continued, "Some of you are playing against teams that cut you, some of you are playing to prove you belong at this level, all of you are playing for Atalanta now."
He paused to let the words sink in before adding, "We don't play scared, we don't play small, we play our game, and we show them what we're capable of, now let's go."
The team shouted in unison as they broke the circle and moved toward the tunnel, and Demien felt adrenaline surge through his system as he joined the line forming behind Riccardo, who was carrying the captain's armband with quiet intensity.
The tunnel was cool and dim as both teams lined up side by side, and Demien found himself standing across from Adriano, who glanced over with that familiar smirk before looking away, and the referee stood at the front checking his watch while both teams waited for the signal to walk out.
Then the doors opened, and sound rushed in like a wave.
The stadium wasn't full since this was a friendly between youth teams, but several hundred people filled sections of the stands, and Demien's eyes immediately found his mother sitting in the lower tier wearing her Atalanta scarf and waving when she saw him looking.
His chest tightened with emotion as he raised a hand in acknowledgment before scanning the rest of the crowd, and he spotted Gasperini sitting in the directors' box with his assistant beside him taking notes while both men watched the pitch with professional focus.
Then his eyes found Sophia sitting three rows behind his mother, and she was wearing sunglasses despite the late afternoon light and looking every bit the Instagram influencer with her styled hair and designer clothes, and Demien felt surprise register as he turned to Luca beside him and said, "What's your sister doing here?"