My Ultimate Gacha System

29' - 35' |

The match settled into a pattern that felt almost cruel in its predictability—Atalanta circulating possession in wide arcs, Cremonese chasing shadows and rarely touching the ball, and the Gewiss Stadium creating noise that ebbed and flowed with every attacking move.

At thirty minutes Demien received from Tolói near halfway and immediately spotted Mæhle's overlapping run down the left flank, his positioning perfect as Sernicola struggled to track both the wing-back and cover the channel, and the forty-yard diagonal pass flew with perfect weight and curve, dropping onto Mæhle's left foot without the Danish player breaking stride.

Mæhle drove toward the byline and whipped a low cross toward the near post, but Bianchetti read it well and slid in to clear before Muriel could connect, the ball spinning out for a corner that Djimsiti headed wide.

Commentary

"Seventy-one percent possession for Atalanta now, and it feels like Cremonese are just trying to survive until halftime. Every time they win the ball back, they just hoof it forward and hope for the best."

"That's all they can do, Marco. Atalanta are a level above—technically, tactically, physically—and Walter's orchestrating everything from that number eight position. Every attack seems to flow through him."

At thirty-two minutes Cremonese finally managed to string five passes together in their own half, Meïté finding Castagnetti who played it square to Lochoshvili, but when the Georgian tried a long ball forward toward Dessers, Tolói read it perfectly and headed clear without being challenged, and the ball dropped straight back to De Roon who recycled possession immediately.

The away section tried to generate some noise—"Forza Grigiorossi!"—but it died quickly, drowned out by the home support's sustained chanting, and the three hundred travelling fans looked deflated already, slumped in their seats while their team chased leather across the Gewiss pitch.

34' |

Atalanta pushed everyone forward on the left flank, trying to force a third goal before halftime, and Lookman received from Demien before cutting inside onto his right foot, but his shot from eighteen yards deflected off Vásquez's outstretched leg and spun behind for a corner.

The corner was cleared by Bianchetti's header, and suddenly the dynamic shifted.

Meïté won a cheap foul thirty yards from his own goal when Malinovskyi clipped his heel, and the referee's whistle blew sharp as the Cremonese midfielder went down clutching his ankle, and Gasperini's immediate reaction was to scream toward his defenders.

"GET BACK! COMPRESS THE SPACE!"

Because this was exactly the kind of moment where teams got caught—pushing too high, committing too many forward, leaving gaps at the back—and he could see it developing before the free-kick was even taken.

35' | Cremonese's One Dangerous Moment

The free-kick was taken quickly—illegally quickly, some Atalanta players would argue later—and Zortea received it on the right touchline before taking a fast throw-in to Tsadjout who was standing with his back to Scalvini just inside the Atalanta half.

The Cameroonian striker cushioned it with his chest, his first touch perfect, then dropped his shoulder left while his body weight went right, and Scalvini bit on the feint completely, his feet getting tangled as Tsadjout spun him in one smooth motion, and suddenly the striker had five yards of space and nothing but grass ahead.

Demien was already sprinting back toward his own box, his legs burning because he'd been so far forward when the attack broke down, and he could see the danger developing in real-time as Tsadjout drove straight at the heart of the defence with pace and purpose.

Tolói slid across from his center-back position to cover, but he couldn't get tight enough without committing to a tackle that might result in a penalty, and Tsadjout kept driving forward, entering the box with Djimsiti scrambling to recover on the other side.

The striker's right foot drew back and he tried to slide it low past Musso's left leg, aiming for the bottom corner with the kind of finish that had probably worked for him at lower levels.

But Musso was Serie A quality.

The goalkeeper spread himself across the ground like a starfish, his right boot extending at the last possible moment, and the block was perfect—ball against leather with a dull thump—and it looped up in the air toward the six-yard box where Tolói had continued his recovery run.

The Italian defender jumped highest and headed it clear with power that sent the ball fifty yards downfield before any grey shirt could react, and the danger was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Commentary

"QUICK THINKING FROM CREMONESE—TSADJOUT SPINS SCALVINI AND HE'S THROUGH! MUSSO WITH A HUGE SAVE! THAT COULD HAVE MADE IT INTERESTING!"

"Credit to Cremonese for trying, Marco, but that's top-class goalkeeping from Musso. He made himself big, got the timing perfect, and Tolói was there to clear the rebound. That's championship-winning defending."

Curva Nord

Nervous groans rippled through the section as Tsadjout entered the box, collective breath held for that split second between shot and save, then instant relief and applause exploded when Musso blocked it.

"MUSSO! MUSSO! MUSSO!"

Sustained clapping for the goalkeeper who jogged back to his line with one raised fist acknowledging the support, his expression calm despite the close call because he'd done his job and that was that.

Touchline

Gasperini's face was thunder.

"GIORGIO!" he screamed toward Scalvini, his voice cutting through everything. "DON'T BITE ON THE FEINT! SHOW HIM OUTSIDE!"

The young defender raised one hand in acknowledgment, his face flushed with embarrassment because getting spun like that in Serie A was the kind of mistake that ended up in lowlight compilations, and he reset his position with jaw tight and eyes focused.

The assistant made a note on the tablet: 35' - Scalvini beaten 1v1, positioning poor, needs work on defensive duels.

36' - 42' |

Atalanta's response to the scare was immediate and brutal, the kind of sustained pressure that broke teams mentally before they broke physically, and for the next six minutes Cremonese barely touched the ball as wave after wave of black and blue attacks crashed against their defensive line.

Thirty-seventh minute: Koopmeiners played a diagonal ball over the top toward Muriel, but the pass was fractionally overhit and Carnesecchi collected it comfortably before launching a goal kick long.

Thirty-eighth minute: Demien received between the lines and immediately turned, driving forward five yards before playing a through ball toward Lookman's run, but Bianchetti made a crucial interception and cleared for a corner that Djimsiti headed wide again.

Thirty-ninth minute: Mæhle overlapped down the left and whipped a low cross toward the near post where Højlund was attacking the space, but Vásquez slid in to clear just before the Danish striker could connect, the ball spinning out for another corner that Cremonese defended desperately.

Fortieth minute: Malinovskyi cut inside from the right and struck a curling shot from twenty-two yards that Carnesecchi tipped over the bar with fingertips, his sixth save of the match and each one more desperate than the last.

Commentary

"Atalanta absolutely relentless here, Luca. Cremonese are pinned in their own box, can't get out, can't breathe. It's only a matter of time before the third goal comes."

"They're exhausted, Marco. You can see it in their body language—shoulders dropping, legs heavy, every clearance weaker than the last. And Atalanta aren't even at full intensity yet. This could get ugly in the second half."

41' |

Carnesecchi's goal kick from Malinovskyi's corner was poor—too short, not enough height—and the ball dropped near halfway where bodies converged immediately.

Vásquez jumped highest but only managed to head it straight back toward the center circle where Tolói was positioned perfectly, and the Italian defender rose above two grey shirts and nodded it down with control that set up the next phase.

Demien had already dropped deep between Scalvini and Tolói, his positioning fluid as always, and he could see Lochoshvili and Vásquez sprinting toward him with clear intent because they'd learned nothing from the first forty minutes, still trying to bully him physically rather than cut off passing lanes.

The ball dropped onto his chest.

Lochoshvili's shoulder arrived first, a solid barge that would have knocked most players off balance, then Vásquez's hand grabbed his shirt and pulled backward, trying to prevent the turn, and for a split second Demien felt the pressure building from both sides like a vice closing.

Then Press Resistant (2/4 shards) activated.

His body moved before his brain finished processing the threat, spinning 180 degrees in one fluid motion while his chest controlled the ball and brought it down to his feet simultaneously, and suddenly he was facing forward with forty-five yards of grass ahead and both defenders stumbling behind him because they'd committed too hard to the physical battle and lost the positional one.

One quick scan.

Andrea Pirlo: Deep-Lying Playmaker showed him everything—Lookman starting his run from the halfway line, still onside by half a boot, the tiny gap between Bianchetti and Vásquez that existed for maybe half a second, Carnesecchi's positioning slightly too far forward anticipating a shorter pass.

Single touch to set—right foot, ball rolling forward six inches.

Second touch—Mesut Özil: Eye-of-the-Needle (Legendary) activated and his right boot struck through with perfect weight and trajectory, the ball staying low and spearing forward with pace that ate up the forty-five yards in three seconds flat.

The pass threaded the eye perfectly, splitting the two center-backs with millimeter precision, and Lookman's run was timed immaculately, his acceleration taking him from onside to clear in four strides, and the ball arrived at his feet just as Carnesecchi rushed off his line in desperation.

The goalkeeper committed himself fully, diving forward with both arms spread wide like he was trying to smother a grenade, but Lookman's first touch was already lifting the ball with the outside of his right boot—delicate and perfect—a chip that floated over Carnesecchi's outstretched hands and dropped just under the crossbar before nestling in the back of the net.

3-0.