My Ultimate Gacha System

Saturday, October 29, 2022

Demien's Apartment, Bergamo

11:47 PM

The apartment was quiet except for the faint hum of traffic outside, and Demien sat on the couch with his phone face-down on the coffee table while the television played some late-night Italian talk show with the volume low enough to be background noise rather than actual entertainment.

Sophia sat beside him with her legs tucked beneath her and her own phone in hand, and she scrolled through something with calm focus while the screen's glow lit her face in soft blue-white tones, and occasionally she smiled at whatever she was reading though she didn't share it aloud.

"You already saw the posts," Demien said finally, and it wasn't a question because her lack of reaction throughout the evening had made that obvious.

"Mm-hmm," Sophia confirmed without looking up from her screen, and her thumb continued scrolling while her tone stayed completely unbothered. "Saw them around ten this morning. Someone texted me screenshots asking if it was true."

"And?"

"And I told them yes." She glanced at him briefly with amusement in her eyes. "Why would I lie? We went to a club together. People took photos. That's how it works when you're in public."

Demien leaned back against the couch while processing her ease with the situation, and his own discomfort felt heavier by comparison because he wasn't used to this level of attention on his personal life, and the idea that thousands of strangers were discussing his relationship felt invasive even if the commentary had turned mostly positive.

"You're not worried?" he asked.

"About what?" Sophia set her phone down and turned to face him more directly. "People connecting the dots? That was always going to happen eventually. I've been dealing with this since I started modeling—cameras, gossip blogs, people speculating about my life. This isn't new to me."

"It's new to me," Demien admitted.

"I know." Her expression softened, and she reached over to lace her fingers through his. "But you'll get used to it. The first time is always the weirdest because you feel exposed. After that it just becomes background noise."

Demien didn't respond immediately, and instead he picked up his phone and unlocked it for the first time in hours, and the notifications had multiplied significantly since he'd checked in the locker room—forty-three Twitter mentions, seventeen Instagram tags, twelve text messages from numbers he didn't recognize.

He opened Twitter first because that's where his teammates had shown him the viral posts, and the @Football_Banter tweet was still gaining traction even twelve hours later—19,000 likes now, 5,200 retweets, over a thousand replies.

The top comments had shifted slightly since this morning.

@calcio_expert: People were criticizing him this morning, now everyone's praising him. Social media is wild.

@atalanta_fan88: Man scores against Fiorentina, trains all week, goes out ONE night, and suddenly he's unprofessional? Make it make sense.

@football_philosophy: The shift from criticism to admiration is peak internet behavior. Nobody actually cares about the clubbing—they care about the narrative.

@demien_updates: He hasn't posted anything, hasn't responded to anyone. That's how you handle this kind of attention. Just ignore it.

@serie_a_daily: Tomorrow against Inter will tell us everything. If he performs, nobody remembers the club. If he doesn't, it becomes the story.

Demien scrolled through several more replies without reading them carefully because the patterns were repetitive—jokes about his life, praise for Sophia, speculation about whether Gasperini was upset, predictions about tomorrow's match—and none of it required his input or acknowledgment.

He locked his phone and set it face-down on the table again.

"Not going to reply?" Sophia asked, and her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

"No point," Demien said. "Feeding the noise doesn't stop it. Just makes it louder."

"Smart." She squeezed his hand once before releasing it and picking up her own phone again. "Most people can't resist defending themselves or explaining. That's when it gets messy."

They sat in comfortable silence after that while the talk show transitioned to commercials, and Demien's mind drifted away from social media toward tomorrow's match because that was what actually mattered, and whether people on Twitter thought he was living the dream or making mistakes didn't change the fact that Inter would press aggressively and Bolu Marino would be hunting him all night if Gasperini put him in the squad.

Sophia yawned eventually—a genuine, unguarded sound—and she stretched her arms above her head before standing. "I'm going to bed. You coming?"

"In a bit," Demien replied. "Want to decompress first."

"Don't stay up too late." She leaned down to kiss him quickly. "You have a match tomorrow."

"I know."

She disappeared down the hallway toward the bedroom, and a few moments later he heard the door close softly, and the apartment settled into deeper quiet as the only remaining sounds were the television's low murmur and distant traffic outside.

Demien sat alone on the couch for several minutes without moving, and his thoughts stayed clear and focused rather than anxious because the social media noise was exactly that—noise—and it would fade the moment tomorrow's match started.

He took a breath and spoke quietly into the empty room.

"System."

The interface materialized instantly in his peripheral vision, familiar blue text appearing against the darkness with that same clinical precision it always carried.

「SYSTEM ONLINE」

「STATUS: READY」

No missions appeared. No rewards calculations. No currency updates. Just acknowledgment that the system was active and listening, waiting for input or simply confirming its presence.

Demien nodded once to himself, satisfied that everything was functioning properly, and the panel faded after three seconds without requiring dismissal.

He stood from the couch and turned off the television, and the apartment went completely silent while he walked toward the bedroom where Sophia was already asleep, and tomorrow would come early whether he was ready or not.

***

Sunday, October 30, 2022

Demien's Apartment, Bergamo

6:30 AM

Demien's alarm woke him at half past six, and the sound cut through the quiet apartment while grey morning light filtered through the curtains, and beside him Sophia remained asleep with her breathing slow and even.

He silenced the alarm immediately and sat up carefully to avoid disturbing her, and his body felt rested despite the week's accumulated training load because matchday adrenaline was already building in his chest even hours before kickoff.

The shower was hot and methodical—he stood under the water for ten minutes while his muscles loosened and his mind cleared—and when he stepped out the mirror showed someone who looked ready despite yesterday's distractions.

He dressed in comfortable clothes rather than training gear because the pre-match session wouldn't start until mid-morning, and while pulling on a plain black hoodie his phone buzzed twice on the bathroom counter.

He picked it up and unlocked the screen.

Twitter notifications appeared immediately—more mentions, more replies to the viral post, more commentary about his life—and he scrolled through briefly without reading carefully because the content was predictable.

@football_daily: Demien Walter living his best life before the biggest match of his season. Confidence or arrogance? We'll find out tonight.

@atalanta_insider: He hasn't said a word publicly about any of this. That's the right move. Let the football do the talking.

@calcio_banter: People calling him unstoppable on and off the pitch. Pressure's building for tonight's performance.

@inter_fan_official: Hope he's tired from his night out. Bolu's going to eat him alive if he's not sharp.

Demien locked his phone without responding to anything and set it back on the counter, and he finished getting ready while his mind stayed focused entirely on the evening ahead—Inter's compact midfield, their pressing triggers, the spaces that would open if Atalanta circulated quickly enough.

By the time he left the apartment at seven-fifteen the streets were still quiet, and the walk to Centro Bortolotti took twenty-five minutes through Bergamo's empty Sunday morning while the city slowly woke around him.

***

Sunday, October 30, 2022

Centro Bortolotti Training Complex

10:00 AM - 11:15 AM

The pre-match session was short and precise by design because Gasperini never overworked his squad on matchdays, and the players moved through activation drills on the main pitch while the morning sun climbed higher and burned off the last traces of fog.

Demien jogged through dynamic stretches beside Koopmeiners, and neither spoke while their bodies warmed gradually, and the routine felt grounding rather than tedious because it marked the transition from preparation week into performance day.

Light passing sequences came next—simple patterns, one-touch combinations, nothing that required heavy thought or physical strain—and the coaching staff watched without commentary while players found their rhythm.

Finishing drills followed with low intensity, and Demien took several shots from the edge of the box that the goalkeeper saved comfortably because the purpose wasn't scoring but feeling contact with the ball and confirming his striking technique was clean.

By eleven-fifteen Gasperini blew his whistle once, and the session ended without fanfare while the squad walked slowly toward the locker room knowing the real work would come tonight at San Siro.

Inside, players showered quickly and changed into travel clothes—club-issued tracksuits, comfortable sneakers, headphones already going in as routines kicked in—and the atmosphere stayed calm rather than tense because everyone understood what was coming.

Demien ate lunch in the dining area with several teammates, and the conversation stayed light while they consumed pasta and chicken prepared by the club's nutritionist, and nobody mentioned the social media noise from yesterday because that subject had exhausted itself in the locker room banter.

The afternoon passed slowly.

Some players napped. Others watched film on tablets. A few sat outside in the sun while listening to music. Demien did all three at different points, and by the time four o'clock arrived the energy had shifted from relaxed preparation into focused anticipation.

At four-thirty the team gathered in the main corridor, and the bus was already idling outside with its engine running.