The door handle turned hard as his mother pushed through before he could steady his voice.
"Demien, what happened?" Her eyes swept the room, as if she expected broken things.
He stood by the desk with both hands raised, his chest still heaving from the shout; he tried to make his face look calm when nothing inside him felt calm.
"Nothing, Mum." The word came out too fast. "I just felt like shouting."
She stopped two steps into the room, her shoulders tight as her gaze moved from his face to his hands to the chair he had knocked sideways.
"You felt like shouting." The pause sat between them like a test.
He nodded because lying took more energy than the truth, picking up the chair to give his hands something to do.
"Yeah." He set it straight. "It felt good."
Her mouth opened, then closed, and she crossed her arms while worry settled into the lines around her eyes.
"You seem distant, like you’re here but not really here."
His throat tightened because she was right, and he could not tell her why; the silence pulled at him until he broke it with the only truth he could give.
"Marco booked the trial. In Milan. The flight’s on Friday."
Her face softened, the tension in her shoulders easing as she stepped closer, something that looked like hope shining in her eyes.
"The Milan trial." Her voice lifted. "He finally got through to you."
"Yeah." He looked at the floor because meeting her eyes felt too heavy. "He did."
She reached out and touched his arm, the warmth of her hand making his chest ache because this was Demien’s mother, not his, and he was borrowing her love.
"I already packed your bags." A small smile broke through. "I trust Marco’s judgment, even when you don’t trust yourself."
He looked up at her, his throat feeling thick as he nodded slowly because words would crack.
"Thank you. I’ll bring back good results. I promise."
She studied his face for a long moment, her eyes glistening as she squeezed his arm once before letting go.
"It’s good to see you happy again."
The words landed like stones because he was not Demien, and this happiness was stolen; she deserved to know the truth even though he could never tell her.
"Come eat." She turned toward the door. "Breakfast is getting cold."
"I’ll be right there." He watched her step into the hall, her footsteps fading as the house settled.
The system panel still hovered by the desk, the two Golden Light cards pulsing at the bottom of the display; he closed the door quietly before turning back.
"Alright," he whispered. "Show me."
The first card flipped, golden light spilling across the room as text formed in sharp lines.
「LEGENDARY PLAYER SKILL UNLOCKED」
Andrea Pirlo: Deep-Lying Playmaker
Master the art of controlling tempo from deep positions, with enhanced vision, passing range, and composure when dictating play from midfield.
His breath caught because Pirlo was a name that carried weight; the description sat in his mind like a promise. Thɪs chapter is updatᴇd by 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦•𝘯𝘦𝘵
The second card turned, the light doubling as the text burned brighter.
「LEGENDARY STAT BOOST」
Permanent enhancement to every attribute, granted once per career.
"Oh my God." His knees felt weak, and he sat on the edge of the bed because standing took too much effort.
"UG." His hands pressed together. "Open the stats window."
The panel shifted, numbers filling the space as he leaned forward because seeing it made it real.
PLAYER PROFILE: FIFA SCHEMA
Nationality: English/Italian
Preferred Foot: Right
Position: CM (AM/RW capable)
Overall Rating: 63 (+10)
Acceleration: 72 (+10)
Sprint Speed: 76 (+10)
Positioning: 64 (+10)
Free Kick Acc.: 54 (+10)
Short Passing: 65 (+10)
Long Passing: 65 (+10)
Ball Control: 71 (+10)
Interceptions: 56 (+10)
Heading Accuracy: 54 (+10)
Def. Awareness: 60 (+10)
Standing Tackle: 55 (+10)
Sliding Tackle: 52 (+10)
• Andrea Pirlo: Deep-Lying Playmaker
• Curve Run Timing (Epic)
TRAITS (Shards Collected)
• Agent Negotiation Perk: 1/4
• Recovery Boost: 2/4
• Press Resistant: 1/4
• Speed Dribbler: 1/4
• Stamina Regeneration: 1/4
• Long Shot Taker: 1/4
• Set Piece Specialist: 1/4
He stared at the numbers, his pulse hammering in his ears as a small smile broke through because the system was real, Milan was real, and this second chance was not a dream.
"Sixty-three." The words came out under his breath. "I’m sixty-three overall."
「Correct. You are now at professional entry level. Continue training and match performance to progress further.」
He closed his eyes, the weight of it settling on his shoulders because this was not just about him anymore; it was about Demien’s mother, Marco’s belief, and the suicide note that would never be written again.
"I won’t waste this," he whispered.
「Then prove it in Milan.」
The system dimmed, the room returning to normal as he stood slowly because breakfast was waiting.
The kitchen smelled like toast and tea, his mother standing by the stove with her back to him as the kettle hissed on the burner.
He walked to the sink, picked up the dish soap, and started washing the plates from last night because the routine felt grounding.
"You don’t have to do that." She glanced over without turning.
"I know." The water ran over his hands. "But I want to."
She looked over her shoulder, something soft crossing her face as she nodded once before turning back to the stove.
They worked in silence, the clink of plates filling the space as the morning light slanted through the window while his mind stayed on Milan.
"Will you call me when you land?"
"Yeah. As soon as I get there."
"And eat something light before the trial." She turned off the stove. "Don’t go in on an empty stomach."
"I won’t." He set the last plate in the rack. "Marco already told me."
She brought two mugs to the table, sitting across from each other while steam curled between them.
His chest tightened, wrapping both hands around the mug because holding something helped.
"Thank you. For everything."
She smiled, her tired but hopeful eyes meeting his as they drank their tea without more words because some things did not need saying.
Night came quietly, and he stood in his room with his bag open on the bed, packing his boots slowly because each item mattered.
Training kit, spare laces, shin guards, water bottle; he checked each one twice, the list in his head running even when his hands stopped moving.
His phone buzzed, Marco’s name appearing on the screen.
"Remember: arrive early, listen more than you speak, show them your work ethic before your skill."
He typed back quickly.
"I will. Thank you for this chance."
"You earned it by saying yes. Now go earn the contract."
He set the phone down, zipped the bag closed, and looked at the mirror one more time because tomorrow would change everything.
"Goodnight, Mum," he called through the door.
"Goodnight, love." Her voice came from down the hall. "Get some rest."
He lay on the bed, the ceiling looking the same as it had that first morning; his mind replayed the stats window until his eyes closed.
The alarm buzzed at five in the morning, waking him with a clear head and a racing heart.
He dressed quickly, checking the bag one last time before walking to the kitchen where his mother already waited with toast and coffee.
"You’re up early." He set his bag by the door.
"I wanted to see you off." Her hands moved too fast around the counter.
They ate together, the silence feeling warm; when he stood to leave, she pulled him into a hug that lasted longer than usual.
"Be safe. And be yourself."
"I will." He meant it even though being himself was complicated now.
She let go, stepping back with a smile that held worry in her eyes.
"Go show them what you can do."
He picked up his bag, walking to the door and looking back once before stepping outside.
The morning air felt cool, the street empty as Marco’s car waited at the curb with the engine running.
He opened the door, Marco glancing over with a firm nod.
The car pulled away, his mother standing in the doorway waving as he watched her until the street turned and she disappeared.
Milan waited ahead, the trial waiting beyond that; his hands stayed steady on the bag in his lap because doubt was a choice he could not afford.
The highway stretched out, the city fading behind them as neither of them spoke because some journeys start with silence.
The airport came into view, Marco parking near the terminal as they walked inside with the bag between them.
"You have everything?" Marco stopped at the check-in counter.
"Yeah. Boots, kit, water."
"Good." Marco clapped his shoulder once. "Call me when you land. I’ll be waiting to hear how it goes."
"I will." The weight of Marco’s hand stayed on his shoulder for a moment longer.
"Believe in yourself, Demien. Even when it’s hard."
He nodded because words felt too small; Marco stepped back with a final nod before turning toward the exit.
The line moved forward as he checked his ticket, the weight of the moment settling in his chest.
Florence to Milan. Two days. One trial. Everything on the line.
He walked through security, the gate number glowing on the board as he found his seat by the window.
The plane filled slowly, the engines humming as he looked out at the runway while the sun climbed higher.
This was it, the door Marco had opened, the chance David never got, the future Demien thought he had lost.
The plane lifted, the ground falling away as the city became small beneath him while the sky opened ahead.
Milan waited. The trial waited. And for the first time in two lives, he felt ready.