My Ultimate Gacha System

By the time Demien left Old Trafford that evening, both legs stretched slightly forward in the back of the car because bending his knees only made the fatigue worse.

His phone carried match messages, England reporting details, and clips of both assists already circulating.

He opened Sophia’s voice note first.

"Do you and United plan to make every home match unbearable until the last minute?"

He laughed despite himself and called rather than typing anything back.

"What did it feel like when the winner went in?" she asked.

He didn’t reach for a tactical answer first. "I stopped thinking completely the second his header crossed the line. I just remember running toward the pile."

"Proud of the assists?"

"Yes," he said, no hedging in it. "The first half still annoys me, though — we trained specifically against the turnover that caused their goal."

"Both things can be true," she said, echoing him back to himself.

He asked about her day before the call could turn back toward him, and she walked him through whether the supplier issue had resolved itself, and he listened properly rather than steering it anywhere near football.

Before hanging up, she reminded him he reported to England on Monday and needed sleep instead of rewatching the match until morning.

"I’m only watching the last four minutes once," he said.

"I know you’re lying," she answered, and he was still smiling when the call ended.

Sunday, October 8th, Carrington ran a recovery session rather than anything resembling full training — bikes lined in front of the performance screens, treatment tables occupied, players working through mobility drills, physios logging soreness, a handful of substitutes doing higher-intensity top-up work off to one side.

Demien pedaled at low intensity with the resistance controlled entirely by staff, his legs still heavy from three matches in eight days, though the screening came back clean.

The physio cleared him to report to England while sending his workload numbers on ahead to the national team’s medical staff.

McTominay worked through a short top-up session nearby, repeated box runs since he’d only played the final minutes.

"That header should count as this week’s high-intensity work," he called over.

"Ten minutes of football doesn’t replace training," Demien told him.

"Two goals should count as twenty minutes each," McTominay answered, and Demien laughed despite himself.

During mobility work, the final minutes of the match ran silently on a nearby screen.

When the equalizer replayed, McTominay complained the pass had come in too hard.

"A softer one lets Collins close you down," Demien said.

When the winner replayed, McTominay claimed the delivery had been nearly too high.

"Jump earlier next time," Demien told him, and a nearby physio finally told them both to stop analyzing a goal that already counted.

Marco called once recovery finished.

He confirmed the Ballon d’Or ceremony for Monday, October 30th, at the Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris, though he didn’t waste time re-explaining the nomination itself — Demien already knew he was one of the thirty names on the list.

He didn’t claim to know where Demien stood in the rankings, or whether the Kopa Trophy was his.

"France Football has confirmed the date and the attendance arrangements," Marco said. "We need to sort your travel with United’s operations staff, and clothing and media come closer to the night. Don’t suggest publicly that you know any result — because you don’t."

"Who am I bringing?" Marco asked.

"My mum, if it’s possible," Demien said, then paused. "Sophia too." He said her name again, firmer, when Marco asked him to repeat it.

"Noted, both," Marco said. "I’ll find out what can be arranged before you need to decide anything else."

Demien stayed seated in the emptying recovery room for a few seconds afterward, staring at October 30th on his calendar, before an England reporting notification covered the screen entirely.

Monday, October 9th, his car pulled through the security gate at St George’s Park, the long tree-lined drive and the glass-fronted main building no longer anything new to him.

What felt different was the way people treated him now.

Security recognized him without checking twice, photographers beyond the barrier called his name, and a player walking in behind him asked about the Brentford finish before Demien had even reached the door.

A player-liaison staffer checked him in, confirmed his room, and pointed him toward the medical wing given his recent match load, and Demien moved through the corridors without needing directions, past the analysis rooms he already knew, straight to the medical suite.

Staff reviewed the workload data United had already sent over, asking about his calves, his ribs, and the contact points still lingering from Galatasaray.

He answered honestly, worked through the movement screening, hydration checks, and a short wellness questionnaire, and was cleared for Tuesday’s main session.

His room hadn’t changed — same setup, same roommate.

Kalvin Phillips looked up from his phone the second Demien walked in. "Has McTominay stopped talking about the two goals yet?"

"He hadn’t by the time I left Carrington," Demien said.

"He won’t stop for the rest of his life," Phillips said, and neither of them needed to make more of it than that.

In the dining hall, Declan Rice got to him first, asking what it had felt like playing alone at the base after halftime.

"Manageable while we had the ball," Demien said. "Much less manageable every time they cleared it toward two forwards with nobody behind me."

"Did you enjoy it, though?" Rice asked.

"Yeah," Demien admitted. "I did."

Jude Bellingham dropped into the seat across from them. "Two stoppage-time assists, and now he’s going to spend the whole week pretending he’s a defensive midfielder."

"One of them was a free kick," Demien said. "That’s got nothing to do with the position."

"That makes it worse, not better," Bellingham said, and Rice laughed hard enough that Demien gave up arguing the point.

Harry Kane stopped by long enough to shake his hand and offer a short line of congratulations before turning back to a conversation with the forwards, nothing ceremonial in it, just captain’s business as usual.

Monday evening’s opening team meeting filled a compact analysis room, players carrying notebooks or tablets, the Australia and Italy fixtures displayed side by side on the screen while Southgate stood near it with his staff.

Australia at Wembley, Friday the 13th.

Italy, the European Championship qualifier, Wembley, Tuesday the 17th.

Southgate laid out the difference without disrespecting either opponent — Australia organized, physical, hard to break down; Italy the one that actually mattered on the table.

"Friday’s an opportunity for players pushing for bigger roles," he said, careful not to call anyone a reserve before training had even started. "Staff will speak with you individually through the week. Tomorrow starts with recovery groups before we move into tactical work."

He didn’t announce either lineup that night.

Demien studied the two midfield diagrams on the screen instead.

Australia’s shape carried several rotational names.

Italy’s had Rice anchoring the base and Bellingham pushed higher, the third midfield spot left blank.

He didn’t let himself assume it belonged to him — Phillips, Henderson, and others were still very much in the squad, and the pressure sat on the role itself, not on whether he still had a place in this group.

Tuesday morning, October 10th, the squad filed out for England’s first full session of the camp — damp grass, equipment already set out, GPS vests under training tops, coaches arranging mannequins and small goals, photographers restricted to the opening stretch.

Southgate opened with dynamic work and possession drills, and Demien moved through it comfortably now, trading one-touch passes with Rice, talking to Bellingham before the cameras had even left, no longer chasing one moment to impress anybody.

Once the media portion ended, staff split the group into tactical units.

An assistant started steering Demien toward the unit preparing Friday’s structure against Australia, the group carrying the larger roles for that match.

Southgate stopped him before he got there.

"You’re starting against Australia," he said, plainly enough that there was no uncertainty left in it. "That match is about minutes, not about proving you belong here."

He explained that Demien would spend the first tactical block with the Australia group, but also work through the shape being prepared for Italy — Rice screening the transitions, Bellingham given freedom to attack beyond the front line, and Demien responsible for progressing possession, escaping Italy’s press, and recovering alongside Rice the moment the ball was lost.

"I’m weighing whether that gives us more control than a second holding midfielder would," Southgate said, and Demien understood it for exactly what it was — a decision about balance, not a question of whether he was good enough.

The Australia block ran first, Demien working as the right-sided midfielder, combining with the winger, helping the rotational side move the ball through a compact simulated press.

Once the block ended, the players broke for water.

Demien expected to rejoin the same unit.

Instead, an assistant pulled his training bib and handed him the color worn by England’s stronger attacking group.

Across the pitch, Rice was already standing at the base of midfield, Bellingham a few yards ahead of him, Kane waiting with the forward line, and Phillips walking the other way, toward the group Demien had just left.

Demien looked over at Southgate.

Southgate pointed him toward the space beside Rice and behind Bellingham.

"Friday, you start. For this block, you’re with Declan and Jude."