My Ultimate Gacha System

The air was warm from too many people in too small a space, carrying mixed scents of perfume and cologne and alcohol and sweat, and Sophia moved through it all with complete confidence while Demien stayed close beside her, his hand resting lightly on her waist because losing her in this crowd seemed like a real possibility.

Heads turned as they passed.

Not everyone—most people were too absorbed in their own nights to notice—but enough that Demien felt the attention tracking them, and a few people stared openly once recognition clicked, though the club's unspoken etiquette seemed to discourage direct approaches in a way the street outside hadn't.

Sophia led them up a set of stairs to one of the elevated sections where the music was slightly less overwhelming and the lighting was more controlled, and as they approached a reserved area Demien could see a group already seated—four women and two men, bottles on the table, glasses half-empty, conversation flowing with the energy of people who'd been there long enough to settle in.

The moment Sophia came into view with Demien beside her, the conversation stopped.

Christabel saw them first.

Her eyes went to Sophia initially, widening with the greeting that friends share, and then they slid to Demien and froze completely, and Demien watched recognition hit her face in stages—initial confusion, growing realization, complete shock—and her mouth opened slightly while one of the other girls followed her gaze and went equally still.

"Holy shit," someone said, the words slipping out involuntarily. "That's Demien Walter."

The silence that followed lasted exactly two seconds before it exploded.

"WHAT?" another girl practically shouted, though the club's noise swallowed most of it.

"Sophia, are you SERIOUS?" Christabel said, and she was already standing while laughter mixed with disbelief in her voice. "THIS is the boyfriend you've been talking about?"

"Hi Chris," Sophia said calmly, clearly enjoying their reactions while she slid into the booth and pulled Demien down beside her.

Christabel sat down slowly, still staring at Demien like he might disappear if she blinked, and the other girls were doing the same—sneaking glances at him while trying not to be obvious about it but failing completely—and one of them leaned over to whisper something to her friend that made both of them giggle.

"Hi everyone," Demien said, keeping his tone polite and calm despite feeling completely out of his element. "I'm Demien."

"We KNOW who you are," one of the girls said, and her voice carried genuine excitement. "You scored against Fiorentina last week. That pass to Hateboer was insane."

"Thanks," Demien replied, and he appreciated that the comment was about football rather than celebrity gossip.

Christabel shook her head slowly while looking at Sophia with mock accusation. "You've been hiding THIS from us? For how long?"

"A while," Sophia admitted, and her smile was unapologetic.

"A while? MONTHS, Sophia. Months!" Christabel laughed and turned to Demien. "She talks about you constantly but never shows us pictures. Now I understand why—she wanted to keep you to herself."

"Can you blame me?" Sophia asked, and her hand found Demien's under the table while her thumb brushed against his knuckles.

The group bombarded Sophia with questions after that—half-joking, half-serious, talking over each other while sneaking glances at Demien to confirm he was actually real—and he sat quietly beside her while she handled them with practiced ease, deflecting the more invasive questions and answering the harmless ones, and gradually the initial shock faded into something more sustainable as the group settled back into the rhythm of their night.

Someone ordered another round of drinks, and when the server arrived Sophia ordered two glasses of juice without alcohol while ignoring the teasing from her friends, and Demien appreciated the gesture because staying sober was non-negotiable with training in fourteen hours.

The night progressed naturally from there.

Sophia danced with her friends, pulling Demien onto the floor at times though he protested that he didn't really know how to dance, and she laughed and told him it didn't matter because nobody was watching technique in a place like this, and he found himself moving awkwardly at first before eventually relaxing into the music's rhythm while Sophia moved beside him with complete confidence.

He didn't drink—just held his glass of juice, sipped occasionally, stayed present—and he laughed more than he'd expected to because Christabel was genuinely funny when she wasn't shocked into silence, and the other girls gradually stopped treating him like a celebrity and started including him in conversations like a normal person.

The music was loud enough that talking required leaning close, and the lights blurred everything into motion and color, and for once football wasn't the center of the room though it was never far away either because people approached occasionally—nods of recognition from across the floor, quiet comments from passing strangers, one guy who asked for a quick photo which Demien took politely before returning to the group.

He stayed grounded throughout it all, never letting the attention get to his head because David Drinkwater's thirty-seven years of experience whispered that fame was fleeting and fickle, and the moment you started believing your own hype was the moment everything fell apart.

Around midnight the energy started shifting.

The crowd was thinner than earlier, the music slightly less aggressive, and when Sophia caught his eye across the table Demien could see the question there—ready to go?—and he nodded once with genuine relief because the night had been fun but exhausting in ways football never was.

They said their goodbyes without making a scene, Christabel hugging Sophia and telling her to bring Demien around more often, and the other girls waved enthusiastically while one of them called out that he'd better take care of their friend or they'd find him, and Demien smiled and promised he would before following Sophia back down the stairs toward the exit.

Outside, the October air felt cold and sharp after the club's warmth, and Sophia made another quick call while they waited, and within three minutes the Lamborghini Urus pulled smoothly up to the curb with the same professional driver behind the wheel.

They slid into the backseat without speaking, and the door closed behind them with a soft sound that sealed away the noise and chaos, and as the car pulled into traffic Demien leaned back against the leather while exhaustion settled into his bones.

Sophia's head rested on his shoulder, her hand still holding his, and neither of them spoke during the ride home because words felt unnecessary after the noise of the club, and the city lights continued sliding past the windows while Bergamo's streets grew quieter the further they moved from the center.

Friday, October 28, 2022

Demien's Apartment, Bergamo

12:47 AM

When they finally reached his apartment building the street was silent except for distant traffic, and they climbed the stairs slowly while Demien's legs reminded him that standing and dancing for four hours was different from running on a pitch, and when he unlocked his door and stepped inside the familiar space felt impossibly quiet after everything that had preceded it.

Sophia kicked off her heels immediately and sighed with relief, and Demien smiled while locking the door behind them and turning on a single lamp that cast warm light across the living room.

"That was fun," she said, though her voice carried exhaustion beneath the contentment.

"It was," Demien agreed, and he meant it despite the tiredness and the unexpected attention and the photographer whose images were probably already being uploaded somewhere. "Thank you for inviting me."

"Thank you for coming," Sophia replied, and she walked over to kiss him softly before heading toward the bathroom. "I'm going to wash up. Don't fall asleep before I get back."

"I'll try," Demien said, and he collapsed onto the couch while pulling out his phone to set an alarm for tomorrow morning because training waited for no one, and the system would register another session regardless of how little sleep he got tonight.

The apartment was quiet now, the night winding down naturally, and Demien sat there in the lamp's soft glow feeling grateful for the calm after the noise while outside his window Bergamo continued its Friday night without him, and somewhere in the distance a church bell rang once to mark the hour before silence returned completely.