Chapter 62: The Silence After Victory
The Philips Stadion had fallen silent. Not the respectful hush that follows an anthem, but the hollow emptiness that lingers after an unexpected turn of events. Four-nil. Four goals that sliced through PSV’s defense as if it were nonexistent. Four moments that had shifted the narrative.
Demien walked the corridor beneath the stadium, his steps steady and unhurried. No smile—just determination. The echo of his shoes against the concrete matched the rhythm of his thoughts. He had witnessed this before, or something akin to it, in another time, another life.
Behind him, the players’ voices rose and fell like waves—D’Alessandro speaking rapid Spanish to Morientes, Giuly’s laughter cutting through the chatter, Xabi responding thoughtfully to questions no one else had yet considered. They had earned this moment, though none truly grasped the significance of their achievement.
They had altered the course of history.
At the corridor’s end, Adebayor’s distinctive voice rose above the rest, his laughter infectious. "Did you see their faces after the third goal? Like they’d seen a ghost!" He mimicked a shocked expression, eyes wide and mouth agape. Plašil chuckled, his usually reserved demeanor momentarily forgotten in the afterglow of victory.
Rothen nudged Evra with his elbow. "That cross you made in the seventy-fourth minute? Pure silk." He mimed the movement, his arm swinging gracefully. "That’s going in the highlight reel."
Evra shrugged, but his smile betrayed his pride. "Just doing my job. Ask the coach—he’s the one who told me to attack that space."
Stone waited at the corner, phone pressed to his ear, his expression carefully composed. When he spotted Demien, he ended the call with a quick, "I’ll call back."
"The president sends his congratulations," Stone said, falling into step beside him. "Four goals. Away from home. In the Champions League." He let out a low whistle. "The papers are already calling it a statement."
Demien didn’t break stride. "It’s just one match."
"It’s more than that, and you know it." Stone glanced sideways. "Monaco hasn’t started a European campaign like this in... well, maybe ever."