"Lateral shuffles, right side first!"
They turned and began shuffling sideways across the pitch, feet never crossing, knees bent, and Demien’s thighs started burning within seconds because the senior players moved faster than he expected and he had to push himself to keep up.
"Switch! Left side!"
His legs protested as they changed direction but he gritted his teeth and maintained the pace.
They cycled through more movents—walking lunges that stretched his hip flexors, leg swings that loosened his hamstrings and groin, arm circles and torso twists—until his entire body felt loose and prepared.
"Good! Water break, one minute, then we start!"
Demien jogged to the sideline where water bottles were waiting and grabbed one, taking a long drink while Moretti appeared beside him breathing slightly hard.
"Told you," Moretti said. "And that was just the warm-up."
"Yeah, I’m seeing it."
The assistant coach’s whistle blew and everyone returned to the pitch where cones had been set up in a grid pattern, maybe twenty ters by twenty ters.
"Possession drill!" the coach called out. "Eight versus two! Two touches maximum! Defenders, if you win it, swap with the player who lost possession!"
The squad split into groups and Demien found himself in the first group with seven other players while de Roon and Tolói stepped into the middle as the defenders.
The drill started imdiately.
Zappacosta had the ball first and played it square to Koopiners with a crisp pass, and Koopiners let it run across his body before passing it back with his second touch as de Roon closed him down.
The ball moved to Pašalić on the opposite side, who controlled and imdiately played it to Éderson.
Éderson took one touch to the right and played it forward to Demien.
The pass ca at pace and Demien controlled it with his right foot, his first touch pushing it slightly forward as Tolói imdiately sprinted toward him.
His mind raced.
Two touches maximum.
Tolói was closing fast from the left.
Malinovskiy was showing for the ball on his right, ten ters away.
Demien used his second touch to play a simple pass to Malinovskiy’s feet, safe and secure, and Tolói adjusted his angle to press the Ukrainian instead.
"Good!" Malinovskiy called out, playing it first-ti to Zappacosta.
The ball continued circulating and Demien moved constantly to create passing angles, and within thirty seconds he received the ball again.
This ti it ca from Éderson on a diagonal, bouncing slightly as it arrived, and Demien had to adjust his body position quickly to control it cleanly.
His first touch was slightly heavy.
The ball rolled a bit too far in front of him.
De Roon saw the mistake and pounced, covering the three ters between them in an instant.
Demien panicked slightly and tried to play a rushed pass with his second touch, but de Roon got a foot to it and the ball deflected away out of bounds.
"Demien!" the assistant coach called out. "Cleaner first touch! If your control is good, you have ti!"
Demien nodded, frustration flashing through him, but he forced it down and kept moving.
The drill continued.
He lost the ball again two minutes later when his pass was slightly underhit and Tolói intercepted, and he had to sprint into the middle to beco one of the defenders as punishnt.
Being in the middle was exhausting.
The ball moved faster than he could close players down, always one step ahead, and by the ti his ninety seconds as a defender ended he was breathing hard and his legs were already feeling heavy.
When he returned to the outside and received the ball again, he forced himself to focus completely on his first touch, letting the ball arrive, cushioning it perfectly with the inside of his foot, and his second touch was a clean pass to Koopiners that kept possession smoothly.
"Better!" Malinovskiy called out.
The possession drill lasted fifteen minutes, and by the end Demien had lost the ball three tis total but also completed a dozen good passes, and when the whistle finally blew he was already sweating heavily.
"Next drill! Passing combinations!"
The squad broke into three groups of eight, each group forming two lines facing each other about fifteen ters apart with a mannequin placed in the middle.
"Pass to your partner, receive it back, play around the mannequin, sprint to the opposite line!" the coach demonstrated. "Keep it moving, no breaks!"
Demien joined the line on the left side, watching as the first players went through the sequence, and when his turn ca he focused entirely on execution.
He played a firm pass to Moretti across from him, and Moretti played it back first-ti.
Demien received it, pushed the ball forward with his second touch to avoid the mannequin, and accelerated into a sprint to join the opposite line.
"Again!"
They repeated it continuously, passes flying back and forth, players sprinting between lines, and the pace never let up.
After two minutes Demien’s lungs were burning and his legs felt like they were filled with lead, but the drill kept going.
Five minutes.
His calves cramped slightly.
Eight minutes.
He was gasping for air between repetitions.
Ten minutes.
When the whistle finally blew, he bent over with his hands on his knees, chest heaving, and Moretti collapsed onto the grass beside him.
"I’m dying," Moretti groaned.
"Sa," Demien managed between breaths.
"Water! Two minutes!"
Demien forced himself to stand upright and walk to the sideline, knowing that sitting down would make it harder to recover, and he drank water while trying to control his breathing.
Malinovskiy appeared beside him, barely winded despite doing the sa drill.
"You’re keeping up," the Ukrainian said. "That’s good. Your fitness will improve with ti."
"Hope so," Demien said, still breathing hard. "Because this is brutal."
"Welco to Serie A training."
The whistle blew again and they returned to the pitch where the coaching staff had set up a new drill, this ti with cones arranged in a long line creating gates that players had to dribble through at speed.
"Ball mastery drill! Dribble through the gates, tight control, quick feet! Go!"
One by one, players took turns dribbling through the cone gates, and Demien watched carefully to understand the pattern before his turn ca.
When the coach pointed at him, he collected a ball and accelerated toward the first gate.
His touches were good at first, the ball staying close to his feet as he weaved through the cones, but halfway through the course his legs were so tired that his coordination faltered slightly and the ball got away from him for a mont before he recovered.
He finished the drill but knew it wasn’t his cleanest work.
"Again! Everyone go twice more!"
By the third repetition, Demien’s ball control had improved because he’d figured out the rhythm, but his legs were screaming at him to stop and he had to push through pure determination.
When the ball mastery drill finally ended, the squad moved into positional work.
The defenders went with their coach to one side of the pitch to work on pressing triggers and defensive shape.
The forwards went with another coach to practice movent in the box and finishing.
The midfielders, including Demien, stayed in the center with Gasperini himself.
"Midfield!" Gasperini called out, his voice sharp and commanding. "We work on our pressing structure! When the opponent’s center-back has the ball, what do we do?"
Koopiners answered imdiately. "Central midfielder presses, wide midfielder cuts the passing lane to the fullback, striker drops to cover the other center-back."
"Correct. Let’s drill it."
Gasperini had the assistant coaches act as the opposing team with the ball, and the midfielders had to react to different scenarios.
When the ball went to the left center-back, Demien had to sprint forward to press while making sure he didn’t over-commit and leave a gap behind him.
When the ball went to the right center-back, he had to shift across to cut the passing lane to the opposing midfielder.
It was ntally exhausting because he had to read the situation quickly, make the right decision, and execute at full speed, and several tis Gasperini stopped play to correct his positioning.
"Demien! You’re too far forward! If he plays past you, there’s a gap! Stay compact!"
He adjusted and tried again.
"Better! Now angle your body to show him inside, not outside!"
He adjusted again, and this ti Gasperini nodded approval.
They drilled pressing triggers for twenty minutes, rotating through different scenarios, and by the end Demien’s tactical understanding had improved even though his body was completely exhausted.
Then ca the hardest part.
Small-sided gas.
The squad split into two teams of eleven for a match on the full pitch, with two balls running simultaneously to increase the intensity.
Demien played in midfield for his team alongside Koopiners and Éderson, facing a midfield of de Roon, Pašalić, and Malinovskiy on the opposite side.
The whistle blew and imdiately the pace was frantic.
Players pressed aggressively, challenges flew in hard, the ball moved quicker than anything Demien had experienced in U23 football.
Within thirty seconds he had to defend against a driving run from Malinovskiy, and the Ukrainian turned him easily with a clever touch before playing a pass that split the defense.
"Demien! Stay tighter!" Gasperini shouted from the sideline.
He gritted his teeth and refocused.
Two minutes later he won the ball cleanly with a well-tid tackle on Pašalić, and he imdiately played a forward pass to Muriel that started a counter-attack.
"Good! That’s what I want to see!"
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