My Ultimate Gacha System

Wednesday, October 18th, and the hat-trick followed Demien home.

It played on every sports channel he passed through the airport, the same three replays looping under different anchors.

His phone had stopped buzzing sometime around midnight and started again the moment he switched it back on.

England qualification headlines sat stacked three deep across every app.

A knot of reporters waited outside Carrington’s gates when the United internationals filtered back in, cameras already up before his car had fully stopped.

He walked into the building with his England bag over one shoulder and the marked match ball tucked under his arm.

McTominay reached him first, taking the ball and turning it to read the times written across it. "Twenty-two, twenty-seven, thirty-two," he read aloud. "That’s disgusting."

"Midfielders scoring hat-tricks," Højlund said, shaking his head. "It’s becoming a real problem for the rest of us."

"Did Italy forget they were allowed to tackle you?" Bruno asked.

Demien laughed and pulled the ball back before McTominay could start bouncing it off his foot in the middle of the dressing room.

Ten Hag caught him near the physio room. "Good week," he said, and nothing more than that. "Go see the staff — we’ve got Sheffield United in three days."

United’s performance staff already had his England data pulled up before he’d finished changing — GPS load, sprint counts, distance covered across Australia and Italy both.

A physio pressed into the bruise on his ankle from the Baccus challenge.

Still tender, still stable.

They tested his calves and hamstrings next, then ran him through mobility and strength screening.

No injury anywhere.

Just weight — Brentford, Australia, Italy, three matches inside twelve days, all of it sitting in his legs whether the scans showed it or not.

Ten Hag and the staff made the call together.

Demien wouldn’t feature against Sheffield United unless the squad situation forced it.

Copenhagen was Tuesday.

City was the following Sunday.

Nobody framed it as anything but protecting him for both.

He didn’t argue.

A year ago he might have.

Now his body told him exactly why they were right before anyone had to explain it to him.

Thursday ran light — recovery work, minimal ball involvement, legs kept moving without load.

Friday’s tactical session had him training with the group but positioned outside Sheffield’s intended starting shape for most of the main work, finishing with a short block of passing and finishing drills to keep him sharp without adding to the total.

The Ballon d’Or noise kept running underneath all of it, never quite the center of attention, always somewhere on a screen.

BALLON D’OR — PARIS, OCTOBER 30

MESSI, HAALAND, MBAPPÉ LEAD THE DEBATE

WALTER’S ENGLAND HAT-TRICK ADDS TO THE BUZZ

KOPA TROPHY RACE ENTERS FINAL DAYS

Nobody on the panels claimed the hat-trick had changed the actual voting — the season under consideration was already closed, the case already made. What it did was put his face on more screens heading into the ceremony.

Marco called after Friday’s recovery session.

"Paris needs real attention now," Marco said. "France Football’s event team has confirmed your attendance — I need to lock travel, because the ceremony’s the day after the derby, and that’s tight. Formalwear needs final sign-off this week. Media will be organized around the carpet and the gala itself."

"Fine," Demien said.

"I need the names for your party," Marco said. "Who’s coming."

"My mum," Demien said immediately. "Isabella."

"And Sophia?"

Demien went quiet for a second.

Not uncertainty.

Asking her to walk into the biggest individual night of his career felt like something bigger than inviting her to a match.

"I’ll ask her myself," he said.

"Fine by me," Marco said. "Just don’t leave it too late."

Friday night, Demien called her.

"There he is," Sophia said before he’d said a word. "I can’t turn on the television without seeing your face anymore. Three goals in ten minutes — you’re getting insufferable."

"You love it," Demien said. "How’s work?"

She told him about a deadline that had eaten her whole week, and he listened properly, asking follow-up questions rather than waiting for his turn to talk.

Eventually he said, "Marco’s finalizing my Paris arrangements."

"Your travel, you mean," Sophia said.

Demien paused.

"Come to Paris with me," he said.

Silence for a beat — she understood exactly what she’d be walking into if she said yes, not a match, not a normal night out, the Ballon d’Or itself.

"Yes," she said. "Obviously yes."

"Isabella’s coming too," Demien said.

"Good," Sophia said, and he could hear she meant it. "I’d rather share the night with her than have it be just us under all those cameras anyway."

"Marco’s handling the details."

"I’ve got less than two weeks to stop you picking your own suit," Sophia said. "That’s terrifying."

"Marco would never let that happen," Demien said. "You know that."

She laughed, and they stayed on a while longer before hanging up.

Saturday, October 21st — Bramall Lane, Sheffield United vs Manchester United.

Demien traveled with the squad, jacket zipped over his training kit, settling into the bench area rather than the dressing room bench.

Before kickoff, the day’s real weight arrived — news of Sir Bobby Charlton’s death had broken, and both sets of players stood for a minute’s applause, United’s squad wearing black armbands, the traveling support singing his name in waves that carried across the away end.

Demien hadn’t known him the way the older United figures had.

He was still new to all of it.

But he watched what it did to the people around him — McTominay unusually quiet beside him, Rashford’s eyes fixed on the away end through the whole tribute, staff speaking in lowered voices near the tunnel.

He stood with the rest of them and said nothing, letting the moment belong to the people it belonged to.

Sheffield United came out aggressive.

McBurnie forced an early save out of Onana.

Archer threatened again minutes later, Onana equal to it.

Demien watched from the bench as United struggled to find any control in the opening exchanges.

McTominay gave United the lead not long after, a scrappy, hard-fought finish that had the away end up on its feet.

Sheffield United answered from the penalty spot, McBurnie sending Onana the wrong way to level it.

United sent a couple of players out to warm up after the equalizer, Demien among them for a few minutes, but Ten Hag kept him wrapped up on the bench — the plan hadn’t changed just because the scoreline had.

United found their control in the second half, Amrabat rattling the woodwork, Maguire’s passing helping them push higher, and Dalot eventually curling one into the top corner from outside the box.

Sheffield United 1 — 2 Manchester United

Demien came off the bench the moment Dalot’s shot went in, grabbing the nearest substitute and shouting toward the pitch, fully part of the celebration without setting foot on the grass.

Full time, the tribute took over again — players applauding the traveling support, Dalot and Maguire speaking about Sir Bobby afterward, United leaving Bramall Lane with the win on a night that had carried more weight than the scoreline alone.

No match panel opened for Demien.

He hadn’t played.

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