My Ultimate Gacha System

Friday, September 6th, 2022

Bortolotti Training Complex 9:48 AM

Gasperini stood at the front of the tactical room with the projector displaying Cremonese's 3-5-2 formation, his arms crossed and his expression focused as the squad settled into their seats around him.

"Cremonese away tomorrow," he began, his voice carrying authority without volume. "They're newly promoted, sitting bottom of the table, but that makes them dangerous. They have nothing to lose, they'll fight for every ball, and they'll pack ten men behind the ball the moment we have possession."

The screen changed to show Cremonese's defensive structure, tight and compact across the eighteen-yard box.

"We break them down through width and patience," Gasperini continued, his finger tracing the spaces on either flank. "Hateboer and Maehle push high, stretch their wing-backs, create space centrally for Walter to operate. Lookman and Malinovskyi stay wide initially, then cut inside when the channels open."

Demien sat in the second row beside Koopmeiners, his notebook open on his lap with tactical notes scribbled across the page, and he nodded slightly as Gasperini's eyes swept across the room and landed briefly on him.

"Højlund, you hold the ball up top, bring others in, don't try to beat three defenders alone," Gasperini said, and the Danish striker nodded once from the back row. "De Roon and Koopmeiners control the tempo. Walter, you find the pockets between their lines and make them choose—press you or cover the runners."

The briefing continued for twenty minutes covering set pieces and defensive transitions and what to do when Cremonese tried to counter, and by the time Gasperini dismissed them the squad understood exactly what was expected.

Training followed immediately—a light session focused on sharpness rather than intensity because tomorrow was match day and nobody needed heavy legs—and the drills moved quickly through passing patterns and positional play before finishing with a short-sided game that ended when Gasperini's whistle cut through the morning air.

As players walked off toward the locker room, one of Atalanta's media team staff members—a woman in her thirties with a clipboard and a camera crew behind her—called out toward the pitch.

"Demien! Tolói! Højlund! We need you three for a quick shoot!"

Demien exchanged glances with the other two, and Tolói shrugged with a grin while Højlund was already walking toward the camera setup near the sideline.

"What's this for?" Demien asked as they approached.

"YouTube content," the media staff member explained, gesturing to three chairs positioned in a row facing the camera. "Guess the teammate game. We read descriptions, you three guess who we're talking about. Easy, fun, takes ten minutes."

"Do we get paid extra for this?" Tolói asked, and his deadpan delivery made the staff member laugh before she realized he was serious.

"No. But you get to embarrass each other on camera."

"Good enough," Højlund said, dropping into the middle chair and stretching his long legs out in front of him.

Demien took the left seat and Tolói settled on the right, and the camera operator counted down from three before the media staff member held up the first card and read it aloud with a smile.

"Okay, first one: This player once showed up to training wearing two different boots—one black, one white—and didn't notice until halftime of the practice match."

All three of them looked at each other.

Højlund spoke first. "That's got to be Lookman. He's always rushing."

Tolói shook his head. "No way. Lookman is too careful with his appearance. I say Hateboer."

Demien thought for a moment, then grinned. "Zapata. Definitely Zapata."

The media staff member flipped the card around to show the answer.

DAVIDE ZAPPACOSTA

"Close!" she said, laughing. "Zappacosta, not Zapata."

"I said Hateboer!" Tolói protested, throwing his hands up. "That's basically the same person!"

"They're not even slightly similar," Højlund said, and Tolói shot him a look that made the camera crew laugh.

"Next question," the staff member said, holding up a new card. "This player is known for singing opera in the showers after wins—badly—and refuses to stop even when teammates beg him to."

Demien didn't even hesitate. "Muriel."

"Muriel," Højlund agreed immediately.

"Has to be Muriel," Tolói added, nodding with certainty.

The card flipped.

LUIS MURIEL

All three of them cheered and high-fived like they'd just scored a goal, and the media team was grinning behind the camera because the energy was exactly what they wanted.

"Next one," the staff member said, barely containing her own laughter. "This player once ate an entire family-size pizza by himself thirty minutes before a match and still played the full ninety."

Højlund's eyes widened. "That's disgusting."

"That's dedication," Tolói corrected.

Demien leaned forward, thinking. "That sounds like something stupid enough to be real, so... Pasalic?"

Tolói shook his head. "No, Pasalic is too professional. I'm saying... De Roon."

"De Roon is the captain!" Højlund said, laughing. "He would never. I'm going with... Scalvini. He's young and dumb enough."

The card flipped.

MARTEN DE ROON

"WHAT?!" Højlund shouted, and Tolói was already doubled over laughing while Demien sat there trying to process the mental image of the captain eating an entire pizza before kickoff.

"When was this?" Demien asked, looking at the media staff member.

"Three years ago, apparently," she said, wiping tears from her eyes. "He claims it was an accident."

"How do you accidentally eat a family pizza?" Tolói managed between laughs.

"Next question," the staff member said, recovering. "This player has a lucky pair of underwear he's worn to every single match for the past two seasons and refuses to wash them."

Silence.

All three of them stared at the card with identical expressions of horror.

"That's foul," Højlund said quietly.

"That's a health violation," Tolói added.

Demien shook his head slowly. "I don't even want to know who that is."

"Guess anyway," the staff member said, grinning.

"Koopmeiners," Højlund said without confidence.

"Definitely not Koopmeiners," Demien said. "He's too clean. I'm saying... Djimsiti."

Tolói thought for a moment. "Maehle. Final answer."

The card flipped.

TEUN KOOPMEINERS

"NO!" Demien shouted, and Højlund was already standing up from his chair in disbelief while Tolói just shook his head with his hands over his face.

"I sit next to him in the dressing room!" Demien said, genuinely disturbed. "Every match! That's disgusting!"

The camera crew was laughing so hard they had to stop filming for thirty seconds to recover, and by the time they composed themselves all three players were still processing the information they'd just learned.

"Last question," the staff member said, holding up the final card. "This player secretly practices dance moves in the gym when he thinks nobody's watching and has a full TikTok choreography memorized."

Demien pointed at Højlund immediately. "You."

"What? No!" Højlund protested, but his face was already going red.

"It's definitely you," Tolói said, grinning. "I've seen you doing weird movements in the weight room."

"That's stretching!"

"Stretching doesn't involve hip thrusts to a beat," Demien said, and the camera operator nearly dropped the equipment laughing.

The card flipped.