"Speak of the devil," Marco said quietly. "Here they come."
The Atalanta and Sampdoria scouts were walking toward them from different directions. The Atalanta scout moved fast, his steps quick and purposeful. The Sampdoria scout stayed back about ten feet, arms crossed over his chest.
Marco straightened beside him. His face shifted into something professional, controlled.
The Atalanta scout stopped in front of them and stuck his hand out to Demien first, not Marco. Demien noticed that. It meant something.
"Demien," the scout said. His grip was firm. "That was exceptional. Both days."
"Thank you," Demien replied. He kept his voice steady even though his legs still felt heavy from the match.
The scout glanced at Marco, then back at Demien. His jaw was tight, like he was holding words back.
"We told Marco we’d contact him next week," the scout started. He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen a few times. "But I sent the match video to Zingonia right after the final whistle."
He turned the phone toward them. An email thread filled the screen, timestamps all within the last hour.
"Our academy director personally called me twenty minutes ago." The scout’s voice dropped lower. "He wants you at our U23 facility next week Monday morning. Two week trial."
Demien felt Marco shift beside him.
"Monday?" Marco asked. "That’s four days from now."
"I know it’s fast," the scout said. He pocketed his phone. "But we don’t want to wait. Not with this."
He looked at Demien again, direct eye contact.
"You know Atalanta’s reputation, right? We develop players. We don’t hoard them. Dejan Kulusevski came through our system, moved to Juventus. Franck Kessie went to AC Milan. Alessandro Bastoni to Inter. We polish talent and give players the platform to reach the top clubs in Europe."
Demien’s mind was already running the numbers. He knew exactly where Atalanta would be in five years, ten years. The club that always punched above its weight, that sold players for massive fees, that gave young players real minutes.
David Drinkwater’s thirty seven years of experience whispered in his head. This is it. This is the move.
Footsteps approached from behind before he could respond.
The Sampdoria scout stepped forward. His mouth was tight.
"Hold on," the man said. His tone had an edge to it. "Demien, we’re offering a U23 trial too. Two weeks, same deal."
He shot a look at the Atalanta scout, then focused back on Demien.
"But let me tell you something. Sampdoria has history. We’ve been in Serie A for decades. We’re a name people respect. Atalanta?" He gestured dismissively. "They’re a selling club. You’ll develop there, sure, then you’ll be shipped off the moment someone waves cash. With us, you can build a real career. Stability. A legacy."
The Atalanta scout’s jaw tightened. He didn’t interrupt.
The Sampdoria scout kept going, his voice getting louder.
"We give players time to grow without the pressure of being sold every transfer window. You want to be a product on a conveyor belt, or do you want to be part of something lasting?"
Demien glanced at Marco. His agent’s face was neutral, but his eyes asked a question. What do you want?
Marco cleared his throat and stepped between the two scouts.
"Gentlemen," he said. Both hands came up in a calming gesture. "I appreciate both offers. But I need thirty minutes to discuss this privately with Demien. This is important."
The Atalanta scout nodded right away. "Of course. Take your time."
The Sampdoria scout hesitated, then shrugged. "Fine. But don’t take too long. We have other players to talk to."
He walked away first, heading back toward the stands with quick, irritated steps.
The Atalanta scout stayed for a moment. His expression softened.
"Think it over," he said to Demien. "But know this. We see something special in you. And we want to help you reach your ceiling."
Then he turned and walked toward the parking area, giving them space.
Marco let out a slow breath and turned to Demien.
"Alright," he said. "Let’s talk."
Demien was already shaking his head.
"I don’t need thirty minutes."
Marco blinked. "What?"
"I’m choosing Atalanta."
"Demien, you should think about this. Sampdoria has a point about stability, and..."
"Marco." Demien’s voice came out calm but firm. "I’ve thought about it."
He looked toward the Atalanta scout standing near the edge of the pitch, waiting patiently.
Inside, David Drinkwater’s experience was loud in his head. Atalanta was right. Not because of stability or legacy, but because they gave young players real chances. They trusted their system. They developed talent and didn’t trap it behind politics and egos.
If he performed well at the U23 trial, he’d get real minutes. Real coaching. Real competition.
Sampdoria might offer stability, but stability without growth was just waiting around.
"I trust my instincts," Demien said quietly. "And my instincts say Atalanta."
Marco studied his face for a long moment. Something passed through his expression, like he was reading between the lines. Then he nodded slowly.
"Alright," he said. "If you’re sure."
Marco clapped him on the shoulder, then waved toward the Atalanta scout.
The man jogged back over. His expression was cautious but hopeful.
"We’ve made our decision," Marco said. "Demien accepts Atalanta’s offer."
The scout’s face broke into a wide smile.
"Excellent." He pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to Marco. "I’ll send the paperwork to you tonight. Everything official. Travel arrangements, accommodation details, the whole package."
He turned to Demien and shook his hand again. The grip was firmer this time.
"You made the right choice, kid. I promise you that." This update ıs available on 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗅•𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾•𝗇𝖾𝗍
Then he glanced toward the parking lot where the Sampdoria scout was talking to another player.
"By the way," the Atalanta scout said. His voice dropped slightly. "Summer break ends this Saturday. Preseason friendlies and training start next week. The trial timing works perfectly. You’ll get to show us what you’ve got when it matters most."
Demien nodded. "I’ll be ready."
The scout grinned. "I believe you."
He shook Marco’s hand one last time, then walked away toward his car. His steps were lighter now, satisfied.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Marco turned to Demien with a small smile.
"I’m happy for you, man. Finally."
Demien let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The weight of the decision settled over him. It felt right. It felt like the beginning of something real.
Marco glanced across the field toward where Luca Bianchi was standing near the bench, talking to another player.
"Hey," Marco said. His tone shifted to business. "Does Luca have an agent yet?"
Demien followed his gaze. "I’m not sure. Why?"
"I saw the Atalanta scout approach him before they came to us. If he doesn’t have representation, I should talk to him."
"Yeah, go for it," Demien said. "He’s solid."
Marco nodded. "Alright. You go freshen up and pack your bags. We’re leaving tonight."
"Yeah. I want to get back to Florence and start sorting out your paperwork. The sooner we handle everything, the better."
Demien smiled. "Alright. I’ll be ready."
Marco patted him on the back, then headed toward Luca with purpose in his stride.
Demien watched him go for a moment, then turned and walked back toward the facility building. His legs still felt tired, but his mind was clear.