At fifty-nine minutes, de Roon switched the play with a diagonal ball to Lookman on the left wing, and the English winger brought it down perfectly before cutting inside onto his right foot, his eyes scanning for a shooting opportunity, but three white shirts blocked his path so he played it square to Demien instead.

The pass came to Demien's right foot and he controlled it facing forward, and this was the position he'd played from for years in David Drinkwater's body—central midfield, twenty-five yards from goal, time and space to pick a pass.

He could see everything developing: Højlund checking back centrally, Hateboer overlapping right with space ahead, Koopmeiners drifting into the right half-space between Sampdoria's lines.

The choice was obvious once he saw it—Koopmeiners arriving late where they weren't tracking him. Demien opened his body toward the right and swept a forty-yard diagonal across the field, the weight perfect as it dropped into Koopmeiners' path.

"Walter plays it through to Koopmeiners, good vision there..."

Koopmeiners took one touch forward and shot from the edge of the box, his technique clean, but Audero saved well at his near post, palming it away for a corner that Djimsiti headed wide.

The corner was cleared at the sixtieth minute and Sampdoria tried to counter, but Scalvini intercepted Djuricic's attempted through ball and immediately launched Atalanta forward again with a long pass toward Højlund.

The Danish striker held it up well under pressure from Nuytinck, laying it off to de Roon who'd sprinted to support, and the captain played it wide to Mæhle on the left before the Danish wing-back's cross was headed clear by Zanoli.

Atalanta were dominating possession now, 60-40 in their favor according to the stats displayed on the big screen, and every attacking move seemed to find Demien somewhere in the buildup, his positioning exactly where it needed to be, his passing simple but effective, his movement intelligent.

And with each involvement, his confidence grew incrementally, the nerves that had gripped him when he first came on gradually replaced by the comfortable rhythm of professional football.

The goal that put Atalanta back in front at the sixty-first minute started deep in their own half when Djimsiti won a header from Gabbiadini's flick-on, and the ball dropped to de Roon who turned and immediately spotted Demien in space near the center circle.

The captain played it hard across the turf, and Demien killed it while pivoting to face forward, scanning as the ball settled—and there it was: Lookman's run down the left, timing perfect, Zanoli slow to react.

Now. Right now.

His right foot swept through with the inside, body leaning forward, and the pass flew low between Nuytinck and Zanoli into exactly the space Lookman wanted.

"Walter plays it through, LOOKMAN'S IN BEHIND!"

Lookman met it in full stride, took it away from Zanoli's recovering run, and when Audero rushed off his line the winger cut inside onto his right foot with one sharp movement.

"LOOKMAN SHOOTS—"

The finish was clinical, pure class, the ball curling past Audero's outstretched hand and inside the far post with just enough pace to beat the goalkeeper's dive, and the net rippled as the Gewiss Stadium exploded.

"GOOOOOOOAL! LOOKMAN AGAIN! And what a pass from Walter, absolutely brilliant vision and execution, that's the youngster's first Serie A assist!"

ATALANTA 2-1 SAMPDORIA ⚽ Lookman 61' (Assist: Walter)

Lookman wheeled away toward the corner flag with his arms spread wide, and Demien just stood there for a second, processing what had just happened, before his legs started moving and he sprinted after Lookman, his teammates converging from all directions.

Koopmeiners got there first, grabbing Lookman in a bear hug, and then Demien arrived and jumped on the pile, and suddenly he was buried under celebrating bodies while the stadium noise washed over everything.

「PROGRESS UPDATE」 「Assists: 1/1 ✓」 「All objectives completed. Calculating final rating...」

When they finally separated, Lookman grabbed Demien's face with both hands and said something that was lost in the noise, but the expression said enough—quality pass, mate—and they jogged back toward their positions while the away section sat in stunned silence.

Up in the stands, Marco was on his feet screaming, Isabella had both hands over her mouth with tears streaming down her face, and Luca was jumping up and down like a madman, all three of them embracing as other supporters around them offered congratulations.

In the commentary booth, the lead commentator was still replaying the goal.

"That's special from Walter, that's real quality, the weight on that pass was absolutely perfect, and Lookman did the rest but the vision to see that run and execute it under pressure, that's impressive for any midfielder let alone an eighteen-year-old making his debut..."

The next nine minutes passed in a blur of tactical adjustments as both teams pushed forward with renewed urgency, Sampdoria desperate to equalize again and Atalanta eager to extend their lead, and the match opened up in that way games do when both sides commit bodies forward.

At sixty-four minutes, Sampdoria won a free kick thirty yards from goal when Scalvini fouled Djuricic, and Malinovskyi's delivery was dangerous, curling toward the near post where Gabbiadini attacked it, but Musso came through traffic and punched clear with both fists.

Two minutes later at sixty-six minutes, Atalanta countered quickly when de Roon intercepted a loose pass, and the captain drove forward before playing it wide to Hateboer who crossed toward Højlund, but the Danish striker's header was straight at Audero who caught it comfortably.

At sixty-eight minutes, Fernandez received the ball on the right wing and tried to beat Mæhle again with the same move that had worked earlier, but this time the Danish wing-back was ready and forced him back toward his own goal, and when Fernandez finally got his cross away it was rushed and overhit, sailing out for a goal kick.

At seventy minutes, Atalanta worked the ball patiently across their back line as Sampdoria's press became more disorganized, and when Tolói found space to step forward he played a long diagonal ball toward Lookman who chested it down beautifully before being fouled by Zanoli, the yellow card coming out as Gasperini screamed for stronger punishment.

The free kick came to nothing when Koopmeiners' delivery was headed clear by Nuytinck, but Atalanta won it back immediately and continued pressing, the momentum firmly with the home side now.

The goal that gave Demien his first professional strike came in the seventy-first minute, starting from a Sampdoria goal kick when Audero launched it long toward Gabbiadini, but Djimsiti read it perfectly and headed clear toward the right touchline where Hateboer collected it under no pressure.

The Dutch wing-back drove forward thirty yards before being forced wide by Augello's defensive positioning, so he crossed early toward the near post, but Nuytinck got there first and headed clear with power, the ball spinning high into the air.

"Cleared away, but only as far as the edge of the box..."

The clearance dropped perfectly for Malinovskyi who was arriving late from his wing position, and the Ukrainian's first touch controlled it on his thigh before it fell to his feet, and without hesitation he drove it back toward goal with his right foot.

The shot was goal-bound and powerful, but Zanoli threw himself in front of it and the ball cannoned off his shoulder, deflecting away from goal toward the corner of the penalty area where bodies were scrambling to react.

It fell to Koopmeiners.

Koopmeiners controlled it despite the awkward height, turned left as his body shifted right, and when he looked up he saw Demien arriving at the edge of the box—perfectly positioned, completely unmarked because Sampdoria's defense was still reacting to the initial shot.

"Koopmeiners lays it off, WALTER!"

The ball came and everything slowed as thirty-seven years processed the situation: set with one touch, shoot low through the crowd. He pushed it forward and right—opening the angle—then his laces connected clean, body over the ball to keep it down.

The shot was clean and powerful, and it flew toward the bottom right corner through a forest of bodies, players from both teams blocking the goalkeeper's view, and just as Audero started to dive the ball clipped the inside of a defender's boot—not enough to stop it, just enough to alter its path by six inches.

The deflection sent it bouncing past Audero's outstretched hand and into the net with just enough pace left to ripple the netting.

GOAL. ATALANTA 3-1 SAMPDORIA ⚽ Walter 71'

For a moment, Demien just stood there, frozen, unable to process that it had actually happened, and then the stadium erupted and reality crashed down around him like a tidal wave.

"GOOOOOOOAL! WALTER! THE DEBUTANT HAS HIS FIRST PROFESSIONAL GOAL!"

His legs carried him toward the corner flag without thinking, arms spread wide, pure disbelief written across his face as his teammates chased after him. Koopmeiners got there first, grabbing him, and then the others piled on—Højlund, Lookman, de Roon—all of them shouting congratulations that were lost in the stadium noise.

Up in the stands, Isabella had both hands over her mouth with tears streaming down her face, and Marco was hugging her from one side while Luca jumped up and down on the other, all three of them celebrating together.

When the pile finally separated, Demien looked up toward where he knew they were sitting and raised both arms, pointing toward his mother, and she waved back frantically, still crying, her smile visible even from this distance.

"First one, yeah?" de Roon said, grabbing his face with both hands. "You'll remember this forever."

"Can't believe it," Demien managed to say, his voice shaking.

"Believe it," the captain grinned. "Now let's get another."

The celebration lasted maybe thirty seconds before the referee gestured for them to return to their positions, and Demien jogged back toward the center circle with his heart still hammering, glancing once more at the scoreboard.

ATALANTA 3-1 SAMPDORIA 71' Walter ⚽

His chest felt tight with emotion he couldn't quite name, and he touched the Atalanta crest on his shirt once before taking his position as Sampdoria prepared to restart.

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