Atalanta's defenders stood frozen for a moment—Tolói shaking his head, Djimsiti with hands on hips, Musso retrieving the ball from the net with his jaw tight—while the away section fell silent except for a few voices still chanting desperately.

Tolói turned to Djimsiti, his voice sharp. "We need to be tighter! No space behind!"

"I had Giroud!" Djimsiti shot back, frustration clear. "The rebound—"

"Doesn't matter now," Koopmeiners interrupted, jogging over. "Reset. We're still in this."

Musso placed the ball on the center spot and clapped his hands twice. "Dai ragazzi! One goal! We equalize and we're back!"

On the touchline, Gasperini was already on his feet, hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted instructions that were barely audible over the celebration.

"PUSH UP! HIGHER LINE! DON'T SIT BACK!"

His assistant showed hand signals—pressing triggers, defensive shape—and Gasperini's face showed no panic, only calculation as he processed what needed adjusting.

Demien jogged back to his position, and Lookman fell in beside him.

"Keep doing what you're doing," the Nigerian said quietly. "Next chance goes in."

"Yeah," Demien replied, though his chest felt tight with pressure.

Pasalic clapped once from midfield. "Let's go! Show them we're not done!"

The away section found their voice again—two thousand Atalanta supporters refusing to surrender—and their chant of "Forza Atalanta! Forza Atalanta!" cut through Milan's celebration like a blade.

In the premium seats, Sophia's heart sank as she watched Demien jog back to his position with his head down, and she wanted to reach through the glass and tell him it wasn't his fault, that Milan were just better, that he'd played well despite the circumstances.

But she could only sit there and watch, her hands gripping the armrest tighter, while Milan's celebrations continued and the scoreboard burned bright with numbers that felt wrong.

39th Minute -

Atalanta kicked off to restart play, Højlund tapping the ball back to Demien who immediately drove forward with urgency, and Gasperini was screaming from the touchline—demanding his team push forward and attack while Milan's defensive shape was still resetting.

Demien's first touch was clean, and he drove toward the halfway line as Díaz closed to press, but the Spanish midfielder was still celebrating mentally—half a second slow—and Demien accelerated past him with a sharp touch that exploited the momentary lapse in concentration.

Milan's defensive line was high, expecting Atalanta to reset cautiously after conceding, and suddenly Demien had space—genuine space for the first time all match—as he crossed into Milan's half with the ball at his feet.

Tonali scrambled to recover, closing the gap but still five yards away, and Demien's eyes scanned the pitch as the Özil technique activated—showing him every run, every gap, every passing lane in crisp detail.

Lookman had burst forward down the left channel, his pace taking him past Calabria who'd been caught square, and Højlund was checking short to the edge of the box with Kjær tracking his movement, and Malinovskyi was drifting inside from the right wing.

Three options, and Demien's decision came in less than a second.

He drove diagonally toward the right half-space, attacking the gap between Tomori and Calabria, and as Tomori stepped out to challenge, Demien's right foot executed a lofted dink pass over the centerback's head—the ball floating with perfect backspin toward Højlund's run at the near post.

The Danish striker had peeled away from Kjær perfectly, timing his movement to arrive just as the ball dropped, and his first touch redirected it toward goal with the inside of his right foot.

The shot was on target, bottom corner, but Maignan somehow reacted—throwing himself left with his right hand fully extended—and his fingertips deflected the ball just wide of the post.

Corner to Atalanta.

Commentator: "OH! How has that stayed out?! Maignan with ANOTHER incredible save to keep Milan ahead. The French goalkeeper is having a phenomenal performance."

Co-Commentator: "Atalanta respond immediately after conceding. Good urgency from Gasperini's side, but Maignan is absolutely inspired tonight."

Højlund held his head in his hands, disbelief written across his face, while Demien jogged over and tapped his temple twice—good run, keep going, next one goes in.

41st Minute

Atalanta's corner came in from Malinovskyi, the Ukrainian's delivery aimed toward the penalty spot where Tolói had charged forward from defense.

But Milan's zonal marking was disciplined—Tomori attacking the ball from his position and heading clear with authority—and the clearance reached Tonali who immediately looked to counter.

His pass went wide to Calabria who'd recovered his position, and the right-back drove forward with purpose before finding Díaz centrally.

The Spanish midfielder received under pressure from Koopmeiners but managed to turn and drive two yards before laying it off to Bennacer.

Milan were back in control, circulating possession with the confidence of a team that knew the goal was theirs to protect now, and Atalanta's press was less intense than it had been—legs heavy from forty minutes of chasing shadows.

43rd Minute

Milan built patiently through midfield, Tonali to Bennacer to Díaz to Theo, the ball moving in triangles that pulled Atalanta's defensive shape wider and created gaps centrally.

Díaz received in the hole again, his low center of gravity allowing him to turn past Pasalic with a shoulder drop, and his through ball toward Leão was weighted perfectly.

But Tolói had learned from the earlier goal—instead of committing to the challenge he showed Leão outside, using his positioning to force the winger wide where the angle was tighter.

Leão's cross came in with pace but Djimsiti read it well and headed clear to the edge of the box where Koopmeiners was positioned.

The Dutchman controlled and immediately looked to counter, finding Demien who'd dropped deep again to receive.

Demien's first touch was clean but Tonali was on him within two seconds, and rather than forcing something risky he played safe back to Tolói who circulated to Musso.

45th Minute

The fourth official raised his board showing two minutes of added time, and Milan controlled possession in Atalanta's half—playing keep-away with passes that circulated from defense to midfield and back, never forcing anything but also never allowing Atalanta to win the ball.

Maignan had the ball at his feet, no pressure from Højlund who'd given up pressing fifty yards from goal, and the goalkeeper's distribution went short to Tomori who found Calabria who switched to Theo who passed back to Bennacer.

The clock ticked past forty-five, then forty-six, and still Milan kept the ball, their players showing off with unnecessary tricks—Díaz performing a roulette turn that drew applause from the home crowd, Theo playing a no-look pass that found Leão perfectly.

The ball circulated, time drained away, and Atalanta could only watch.

45'+2' - Half-Time Whistle

The referee checked his watch one final time before raising the whistle to his lips.

Fweeeeeeeeeeet!

HALF-TIME

AC MILAN 1-0 ATALANTA

38' - Rafael Leão

The whistle brought relief and frustration in equal measure—relief that the first forty-seven minutes were over, frustration that Atalanta were behind despite defending well and creating two excellent chances.

Demien walked toward the tunnel with his head down, replaying every moment in his mind—the passes that didn't quite connect, the runs Tonali cut out before they developed, the two chances he'd created for Højlund that Maignan had somehow saved.

The system notification appeared as he entered the tunnel, and the text glowed in his peripheral vision.

「HALF-TIME PERFORMANCE ANALYSIS」

「Current Match Rating: 6.9」

「Assists: 0」

「Mission Progress: BELOW TARGET」

「Second Half Required: Rating 8.7+ AND 1 Assist to reach 7.8 average」

Demien's jaw tightened as the numbers burned in his vision.

6.9 rating. No assists. The mission was slipping away, and forty-five minutes remained to somehow achieve what felt impossible against opposition this good.

In the premium section, Sophia watched him disappear into the tunnel, and her heart ached because she could see the frustration in his body language, could see the weight of expectation pressing down on shoulders that were still only eighteen years old.

Come on, she thought again, and this time she said it aloud—quiet enough that the Milan fans around her couldn't hear, but loud enough that she believed the universe might listen.

You can do this.

The San Siro stands began emptying as fans headed for concessions and bathrooms, the half-time break offering fifteen minutes of respite before the second half would determine whether Atalanta could find a way back into the match.

Or whether Milan would extend their lead and put the game beyond reach.

Forty-five minutes remained.

Everything still to play for.

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