My Ultimate Gacha System

The ball traveled from Onana’s boot toward Mertens on the screen, and Ten Hag paused it there without raising his voice, letting the silence in the room do the first part of the work.

Nobody spoke while the frame sat frozen, Mertens still blocking the route into Casemiro, Oliveira standing close enough to shadow Demien, and Onana already committed to a pass that no longer had anywhere safe to go.

Ten Hag moved his pointer between the two closed lanes and the open space near the touchline that nobody had used. "Onana’s pass is the mistake everyone remembers," he said, "but look here — nobody offers him a new angle once the first one disappears."

Onana sat with his hands clasped between his knees, his jaw tightening as the replay ran forward again, and he watched the ball travel all the way to Mertens without looking away from it once.

"I forced it," he said, keeping the words short. "The pass was already gone before I played it."

Demien leaned forward and pointed at his own frozen figure on the screen. "Once Oliveira followed me inside, I should’ve drifted wider," he said. "That gives you the safer ball instead."

Ten Hag let the admission sit for a moment before he switched the footage to a different opponent entirely, Brentford pressing a match from earlier in the season.

Mbeumo curved his run toward the center rather than sprinting at the ball, and Wissa closed from the opposite side the moment a midfielder turned with his back to goal.

"Brentford will have watched this mistake," Ten Hag said, tapping the frozen frame of Onana’s pass again. "They will look for the same moment. Any of you receiving with your back to your own goal."

The review moved into Brentford’s pressing structure in full.

Mbeumo began several yards from the ball rather than chasing blindly, waiting until the pass reached midfield before curving his run to cut off the backward option.

Wissa closed from the other side the instant the receiver’s body turned away from goal.

Nørgaard held his position behind them both, ready to sweep up any loose touch rather than joining the first wave of pressure.

Demien watched the receiver rather than the ball on each clip, and the pattern showed itself quickly enough. "They only press hard when we’re facing our own goal," he said. "If we’re already facing forward, they stay compact."

Ten Hag nodded and switched to a wider shot of Brentford’s shape without the ball, showing Ajer, Pinnock, and Collins settling into a back three while the wingbacks tucked in to form a line of five in front of their own box, Mbeumo and Wissa staying high enough to sprint into the channels the moment possession changed hands.

"The space is behind the wingbacks," Demien said, already seeing it.

"It is," Ten Hag agreed, "but it closes fast. If we’re slow moving the ball, five defenders are already back before it arrives."

Recovery came next, the low hum of Carrington’s medical wing settling over the room as the group filed in from the pitch — bikes lined against the glass, massage tables spaced along one wall, compression sleeves and resistance bands laid out, physios already moving between the players who’d gone the full ninety.

Demien lowered himself onto the bike carefully, the soreness around his ribs and hip still sharp enough to make him wince as he bent.

A physio pressed along both areas and asked whether either spot produced anything sharp.

"Just tender when there’s pressure on it," Demien said, honest rather than performing toughness he didn’t need to perform.

Across the room, staff pulled Varane aside from the main group entirely, checking a tightness he’d reported that morning, the conversation quiet enough that nobody else could hear what it meant yet.

Demien worked through his controlled cycling and mobility without another system prompt interrupting him, the real test still waiting for the tactical session later.

Højlund pedaled on the bike beside him, the Player of the Match award sitting on a nearby table where he’d clearly placed it on purpose.

"Everyone’s talking about your goal-line clearance," Højlund said, "and I scored twice."

"You missed the one that would’ve made it four-two," Demien said.

Højlund pointed at the award without any further argument, and Demien laughed despite himself.

Across the room, Onana worked with the goalkeeper coaches, taking pressured back-passes again and again, checking both shoulders before playing wide whenever the central route closed off. Demien watched him repeat the exact situation rather than avoid it, and something in that steadied him more than any apology would have.

Thursday morning, a cluster of players checked their phones near the changing-room entrance once the recovery session ended, waiting on the two o’clock England squad announcement for the October fixtures against Australia and Italy.

One of the English lads found the list first and called Demien’s name across the room.

Demien took the phone and scrolled through it himself rather than reacting to secondhand news, and what mattered wasn’t the shock of being included — this wasn’t his first call-up — it was that his name had stayed in the squad past September, that Southgate’s plans for him hadn’t been a one-off experiment after all.

The smile came slowly rather than all at once.

Højlund clapped him on the back and asked immediately whether he’d be allowed to score against Italy.

"They have to select me for the match first," Demien said.

"They already have," Højlund said, pointing at the squad list.

"Selected for the camp isn’t the same as starting the qualifier," Demien said, and Højlund waved the distinction off as though it didn’t matter, though Demien kept rereading the two fixtures anyway — Australia first, a friendly, and then Italy, the real qualifier — his focus sharpening the second time he saw Italy’s name, because he understood exactly how Southgate might use the friendly to test players before trusting the stronger side to the ones who’d already proven themselves.

Sophia called once the announcement went fully public.

"Congratulations," she said, then immediately teased him for pretending he hadn’t been checking the clock since morning.

"I wasn’t checking," Demien said, then glanced down at the squad list still open on his screen. "I wanted the confirmation, that’s all."

"Which one do you want more?" she asked.

"Italy," he said, without needing to think about it. "Wanting it doesn’t mean Southgate trusts me with it, though."

He asked about her work before the call could turn entirely toward him, and she told him about a specific problem sitting on her desk that afternoon, and he asked one useful question about it rather than offering automatic encouragement he hadn’t earned.

Garcia called not long after Sophia hung up, confirming that the Ballon d’Or ceremony was set for Monday, October 30th, at the Théâtre du Châtelet in Paris, where the Kopa Trophy and the full rankings would both be revealed on the night.

Garcia didn’t hint at where Demien stood in either list.

He only explained what needed preparing — travel documentation, the media schedule, clothing arrangements, guest information — and Demien found himself sitting straighter, stopping mid-step in the hallway the moment Paris came up.

"You’re a nominee. You’re attending. That’s what you know right now," Garcia said, warning him plainly against discussing any expected result in public.

"When do you need my guest?" Demien asked.

"After the international break is fine," Garcia said, and left it there.