My Ultimate Gacha System-Chapter 276 - 266: The Week Between

Thursday, April 6, 2023

Gewiss Stadium, Bergamo

10:47 PM

The tunnel was loud with footsteps and voices bouncing off concrete walls, and Demien walked toward the away dressing room while Bologna’s players moved in the opposite direction toward their bus, and most passed without acknowledgment because two-nil down in a semifinal didn’t encourage friendly exchanges.

One of their midfielders—Dominguez—brushed past and his voice came low in Italian while his eyes stayed forward.

"Non è finita," he said.

Demien didn’t respond and he continued walking while the noise from the stadium filtered down through the ceiling, and supporters were still celebrating despite the match having ended minutes earlier.

The cameras caught it—broadcast producers always positioned equipment near tunnel exits specifically for moments like this—and within an hour the clip would be circulating on social media with captions speculating about what had been said and whether tension existed beyond the scoreline.

Inside the mixed zone where media gathered after matches, reporters stood behind barriers with microphones extended toward passing players, and Demien moved quickly without making eye contact because post-match interviews weren’t mandatory for substitutes who hadn’t played the full ninety.

Gasperini stood twenty meters ahead speaking with the main Italian broadcaster, and the coach’s posture was controlled rather than relaxed while his hands stayed in his jacket pockets and his expression showed nothing resembling satisfaction.

The reporter—a woman in her forties holding a microphone with RAI Sport branding—gestured toward the scoreboard still showing 2-0 and her question came clearly enough that Demien heard it despite the distance.

"Mister Gasperini, is a two-goal advantage safe going into the second leg at Bologna?"

Gasperini’s response came without hesitation and his tone was flat and matter-of-fact rather than defensive or cautious.

"It’s April," he said, and his eyes stayed on the reporter’s face while he spoke, "and nothing is safe in semifinal football."

The answer wasn’t dramatic but the lack of reassurance was notable, and the reporter immediately followed up asking whether he was concerned about complacency, but Gasperini had already turned away toward the dressing room because the interview was finished whether she had more questions or not.

Demien reached the away dressing room door and pushed through into the controlled chaos of post-match routine where teammates were already changing and showering while music played at moderate volume from someone’s phone, and the atmosphere was satisfied because professional teams didn’t celebrate first-leg advantages like final victories.

He moved to his locker and began unlacing his boots while Lookman sat beside him doing the same, and the English winger’s breathing was still elevated from ninety minutes of work while sweat dripped steadily from his hair onto the concrete floor.

"Good goals tonight," Lookman said between breaths, and his voice was conversational rather than effusive because they’d been teammates long enough that excessive praise felt unnecessary.

"Thanks," Demien replied while pulling off his right boot, and he set it down carefully before reaching for the left.

"Second leg’s gonna be different though," Lookman added while toweling his face, and his tone carried knowing rather than concern because away matches in knockout competitions always brought different pressure than home fixtures.

"Yeah," Demien agreed, and he didn’t elaborate because the point didn’t require expansion.

De Roon walked past toward the showers and his hand briefly squeezed Demien’s shoulder once without words, and the gesture said what needed saying because the captain understood contributions beyond statistics.

Demien showered quickly under water that was almost too hot, and he let the heat work into his shoulders and legs while the noise from the dressing room became background, and by the time he finished and dressed in his travel clothes most teammates had already moved toward the bus.

The system interface materialized as he walked through the corridor toward the parking area, and the blue text appeared with its usual efficiency.

「MATCH COMPLETE」

「Coppa Italia – Semifinal (First Leg)」

「Performance: 2 Goals, Defensive Contribution」

「+50 MP」

「+30 TP」

「Current Balance: 480 TP | 3 SP | 279 MP」

The notification held for three seconds before fading, and Demien dismissed it mentally without celebration because fifty match points and thirty training points represented professional compensation for professional work rather than anything worth dwelling on.

The team bus idled outside with its engine running and exhaust visible in the cool April night, and players filed on in small groups while carrying kit bags and phones, and the vehicle’s interior lighting was dimmed to allow rest during the forty-minute drive back to Bergamo.

Demien found a seat near the middle beside Koopmeiners who had already settled in with headphones around his neck, and when the bus pulled away from the stadium the noise outside gradually faded as distance increased and the streets emptied of supporters returning to their cars.

Nobody spoke much during the ride because late-night travel after matches encouraged silence over conversation, and most players either dozed lightly or scrolled through phones while the highway stretched ahead through darkness.

Demien stared out the window at passing lights and his mind wasn’t replaying the goals or analyzing the performance—it was already moving forward toward what came next because first legs created advantages but second legs determined outcomes, and Bologna wouldn’t accept elimination quietly.

Friday, April 7, 2023

Centro Bortolotti Training Complex

9:34 AM

The morning session was light because recovery after midweek matches required managing fatigue rather than building fitness, and when Demien arrived at Zingonia the coaching staff had already separated the squad into two groups based on minutes played.

Starters who’d completed seventy-plus minutes—Musso, Djimsiti, Tolói, De Roon, Koopmeiners, Lookman, Højlund—were directed toward the recovery area where bikes, ice baths, and massage tables waited, and their morning would involve circulation work and stretching rather than anything resembling intensity.

The remaining players including substitutes and those who hadn’t featured were sent to the far pitch where a full training session would proceed normally, and the division was standard protocol but the visual separation always created subtle awareness that minutes mattered in ways beyond just match contribution.

Demien moved toward the recovery group because eighty-five minutes against Bologna qualified him for the lighter program, and he found an open stationary bike beside Hateboer who was already pedaling at easy resistance while his legs moved in slow circles.

"Legs feel dead?" Hateboer asked without looking over, and his Danish accent made the question sound almost rhetorical because everyone’s legs felt dead the morning after competitive matches.

"Pretty dead," Demien confirmed while adjusting the bike’s seat height, and he started pedaling at similarly low resistance while his muscles protested the movement briefly before loosening.

"Second leg’s in three weeks," Hateboer continued while maintaining his steady rhythm, and his tone was conversational rather than analytical because he was stating fact rather than offering tactical insight, "so plenty of time to forget how good we felt last night."

The comment landed heavier than intended because the truth beneath it was obvious—three weeks between legs meant momentum disappeared and confidence could erode if league form wavered, and Bologna would spend every training session preparing specifically for the return match while Atalanta had to balance cup preparation with maintaining their Serie A position.

Demien didn’t respond because acknowledging the point would only reinforce what everyone already understood, and he kept pedaling while the bike’s digital display tracked distance and time with mechanical precision.

Across the room Lookman was submerged to his waist in an ice bath with his arms folded across his chest, and his face showed the discomfort that came from sitting in near-freezing water while his body temperature dropped to reduce inflammation and accelerate recovery.

"This never gets easier," Lookman said to nobody in particular, and his voice was tight because speaking while cold was difficult, "and every time I think I’m used to it the first minute proves I’m not."

De Roon laughed from a nearby massage table where a physio was working on his calves, and the captain’s voice carried across the room with genuine amusement rather than mockery.

"You say that every week," De Roon replied while the physio’s hands pressed into tight muscle, "and every week you still get in anyway because you know it works."

"Doesn’t mean I have to like it," Lookman shot back, and the exchange had the rhythm of teammates who’d had this exact conversation dozens of times before.

The recovery session continued for ninety minutes with players rotating through stations—bikes to stretching mats to ice baths to massage tables—and the atmosphere was relaxed but purposeful because recovery was work even if it didn’t look like traditional training.

Demien finished on a foam roller working through his hip flexors and quads, and the pressure hurt in the way that indicated tight muscles releasing rather than injury, and by the time he stood to leave his legs felt better though still far from fresh.

The system notification appeared as he walked toward the locker room.

「TRAINING SESSION COMPLETE」

「Quality: Recovery Protocol」

「+10 TP」

「Current Balance: 490 TP | 3 SP | 279 MP」

Inside the locker room the television mounted on the wall was showing Italian sports news, and the volume was low enough that individual words were hard to distinguish but the graphics made the content clear—league tables, upcoming fixtures, analysis panels discussing the title race and Champions League qualification battle.

One graphic showed Atalanta in fourth place with fifty-three points from twenty-seven matches, and Milan in fifth were just one point behind with a game in hand, and the margin for error had compressed to the point where every result mattered significantly.

Another segment showed highlights from the Bologna match with Demien’s two goals featured prominently, but the commentary wasn’t celebratory—it was measured and focused on the return leg rather than treating the first leg as decisive, and one pundit specifically mentioned how Bologna had competed well despite the scoreline and how the away match would be "completely different" with their home support behind them.

Koopmeiners stood near the television watching while drying his hair with a towel, and when the segment finished he turned toward Demien with an expression that was thoughtful rather than concerned.

"They’re not wrong," Koopmeiners said while gesturing toward the screen, "because Bologna at home are tough and three weeks is long enough for them to convince themselves two-nil isn’t impossible to overcome."

"Yeah," Demien agreed, and he didn’t need elaboration because the tactical reality was obvious—Bologna would press higher at home, their supporters would create hostile atmosphere, and Atalanta would need to defend the aggregate lead without inviting pressure that could shift momentum.

The conversation died naturally as both players moved toward their lockers, and the unspoken understanding between them was that first-leg advantages meant nothing if second-leg performances collapsed.