My Ultimate Gacha System

Back at the hotel, the squad gathered for the final tactical meeting, Ten Hag pulling up Copenhagen’s expected approach on the big screen.

"This is not Old Trafford again," he said, opening straight with it. "Last time they let us solve their block because they were happy with the point they thought they could get. Tonight, at home, needing results — they come at us early."

The clips ran one after another. Copenhagen’s front players closing United’s center-backs high up the pitch rather than waiting. Lerager and Falk both told to attack second balls the instant United’s first pressure broke down. Elyounoussi drifting inside whenever a United fullback followed the wide runner too far. Achouri carrying directly at goal on any turnover rather than resetting play. Copenhagen’s own fullbacks pushed high, trusting the crowd to cover for it.

"They are organized, and they will be aggressive," Ten Hag said. "Not some invincible side. Aggressive. There’s a difference, and we need to treat it like one."

He looked around the room before continuing. "The biggest mistake we can make is matching their emotion in the first ten minutes instead of matching their structure. If they press hard, we move them. If the crowd gets louder, we keep the ball. If the first pass isn’t on, we restart. We do not force it just because the noise is telling us to."

Then, directly at Demien: "Without Case, you’re still one of the players holding the middle together. I don’t want you beating one man and then deciding that gives you permission to beat the next one too, just because you can."

"I know," Demien said.

"Do you, though," Ten Hag said, not unkindly. "Because that’s exactly what I corrected you for the first time we prepared for this team. This time it’s more advanced. You beat the first man — good. Now read what that actually changed. Sometimes you carry. Sometimes you release Marcus. Sometimes you switch it. And sometimes the right answer is give it back and make them press us another thirty meters before we try again."

"Understood," Demien said, and meant it.

No new mission opened. The preparation was already finished — this was reinforcement, not homework.

Dinner afterward ran normally, Demien eating with a group rather than off by himself, Højlund taking a bit of good-natured ribbing about his homecoming.

"You planning a celebration if you score against your old team?" Maguire asked, grinning.

"I don’t hate Copenhagen," Højlund said. "I just want to score because it’s the Champions League. Different thing entirely."

"Sure it is," Maguire said, unconvinced, and Højlund threw a bread roll at him that missed by a foot.

Demien laughed along with the rest of the table and eventually headed up to his room once the noise died down.

His phone showed the Mateo debate still moving underneath a much bigger graphic now — United’s own Champions League preview, his photo alongside Højlund’s and Bruno’s.

COPENHAGEN vs MANCHESTER UNITED — WEDNESDAY

A separate account had already stitched the two nights together, exactly the way Marco had warned him it would.

SALVATIERRA: Tuesday — Barcelona lose 1-0.

WALTER: Wednesday — Your turn.

He looked at it for a moment.

He didn’t repost it. He didn’t message Mateo — there was still nothing between them to send a message about.

He put the phone on charge and went to sleep.

Wednesday, November 8th, matchday, ran through its normal Champions League shape — breakfast, hydration checks, a short activation and mobility block, then free time before the afternoon’s real business began.

Demien spent some of it on his tablet, but kept it narrow and useful — where Falk turned when he received the ball, how quickly Lerager attacked second contacts, how fast Jelert moved the instant Copenhagen won possession back.

He closed the tablet once he’d seen enough.

Preparation had a ceiling, and he’d already reached his.

The pre-match meal ran quieter than dinner had, headphones out, portions eaten to the gram the staff had set out, conversation thinning as kickoff crept closer.

Højlund went quiet in a way that had nothing to do with nerves about the opponent and everything to do with what tonight meant to him personally.

Eriksen looked completely unbothered — he’d done this walk back into a Danish stadium enough times that it had stopped being anything but another away day.

Demien felt none of the tightness some of the younger players around the table clearly carried. He’d played bigger stages than this already, and whatever edge nerves might have given him once had long since been replaced by simple readiness.

The final team meeting confirmed the eleven.

MANCHESTER UNITED

Onana.

Dalot — Maguire — Evans — Shaw.

Amrabat — Demien.

Bruno — Rashford.

Garnacho.

Højlund.

"Don’t play cautious tonight," Ten Hag told Demien directly, in front of the group. "Recognize when the match needs you to control it, and recognize when the opening’s actually there. They’ll give you spaces if we beat that first press properly. When you see it — attack it properly. Don’t hold back just because I’ve spent all week telling you to be careful."

Once the lineup went in officially, the panel appeared.

「UEFA CHAMPIONS LEAGUE MATCH MISSION ACTIVATED」 「FC COPENHAGEN vs MANCHESTER UNITED」 「Complete 8 Line-Breaking Actions」 「Create 3 Clear Chances」 「Record 4 Defensive Recoveries」 「Maintain 90%+ Pass Accuracy」 「TEAM OBJECTIVE: Manchester United Win」 「Reward: +80 MP」

No goal requirement. No assist requirement.

Just his part of a result that still depended on ten other players doing theirs.

Supporters lined the road as the bus approached the stadium, more of them than the walkaround the night before had suggested would show up, flags and scarves catching the floodlights.

Inside, Copenhagen’s end was already loud during warm-ups, nowhere near full yet and still generating more noise than most stadiums managed at kickoff.

Whistles greeted United the moment they stepped out for their session, sharper and more personal whenever Højlund touched the ball.

Demien worked through his usual sequence — short passing, turning under mock pressure, a block of longer switches, a handful of shots on goal, one final burst of acceleration work to finish.

Nothing felt wrong in his legs. Nothing needed checking twice.

He glanced once toward Copenhagen’s end when a fresh wave of noise rolled down from the stands, taking a second to register the scale of it building before kickoff had even arrived.

Then he turned back to the ball in front of him and kept working.

In the dressing room, Ten Hag’s final words came without any theatrics attached to them.

"We are not here to survive Copenhagen," he said. "But respect their press. Respect the transitions. Don’t give this crowd cheap momentum through a bad pass or a stupid foul. Earn everything you concede — don’t hand it to them."

Bruno stood once Ten Hag finished, pulling the group in tighter around him. "Same jobs we trained," he said. "Nothing complicated. Win your first battle, then the next one. Let’s go."

Nothing more than that.

The tunnel call came, and Demien fell into line, Højlund several places ahead of him, Rashford close by, Copenhagen’s players lined up directly opposite in their own tunnel queue, close enough that a couple of nods passed between the two sides without a word said.

The Champions League anthem began somewhere beyond the tunnel mouth, that same rising, familiar sound.

The teams walked out into Parken.

The noise hit properly the second they cleared the tunnel — a wall of it, sharper and closer than the warm-up crowd had suggested, the whole bowl seeming to lean in around the pitch.

Demien took his position in midfield, Copenhagen’s front line already spreading out ahead of him into their shape.

The match mission sat quietly at the edge of his vision, waiting.

The referee checked both sides.

He raised the whistle.