Monday, September 19, 2022

London Gatwick Airport

11:52 AM

The plane touched down seven minutes late and Demien walked through the arrivals gate with his carry-on slung over one shoulder, his legs still heavy from yesterday's ninety minutes at the Stadio Maradona and the minimal sleep before his early flight.

The terminal was busy with Monday morning travelers, though he spotted the FA liaison immediately—a woman in her thirties holding a tablet with "WALTER - ENG U21" displayed on the screen, and she wore the official England staff polo that made her impossible to miss.

She smiled professionally as he approached.

"Demien Walter?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Excellent. I'm Claire Matthews, FA player liaison. Welcome to England." She gestured toward the exit. "Car's just outside. Let me take you straight to St. George's Park."

They walked through the terminal while Claire spoke efficiently about logistics, her voice carrying the practiced calm of someone who'd done this dozens of times.

"Your luggage was checked through to our vehicle already, so we're all set. The drive is about two and a half hours depending on traffic. You can rest in the car if you need—I know you played last night."

"Appreciate it," Demien said, and his voice came out rougher than he intended because exhaustion was settling deeper now that adrenaline had worn off completely.

The car was a black Mercedes sedan parked in the pick-up zone, and a driver stood beside it wearing the same FA polo while loading Demien's kit bag into the trunk.

Claire opened the rear door and Demien slid inside, the leather seats immediately comfortable as he settled against the headrest.

The driver pulled away from the airport smoothly and merged onto the motorway heading north, and Claire turned slightly in the front passenger seat to address him.

"Quick schedule rundown for today—we'll arrive around two-thirty, you'll check in at reception, then straight to medical for a post-match assessment. After that you're free to settle into your room and rest. No training today since you played yesterday. Tomorrow morning is when the full squad session starts."

Demien nodded while processing the information, and his eyelids felt heavy though he forced himself to stay alert.

"Meals are communal in the main dining hall. Breakfast from seven to nine, lunch twelve to two, dinner six to eight. Your room assignment and schedule will be in your welcome packet at check-in."

The car settled into the flow of traffic and Claire went quiet, apparently recognizing that Demien needed rest more than conversation, and he stared out the window watching the English countryside pass by in shades of green and grey under overcast skies.

His mind drifted between thoughts about yesterday's match—the struggle, the breakthrough, the frustration of losing despite the comeback—and what waited ahead at St. George's Park with players he'd never met but whose names he knew from highlight reels and transfer rumors.

The motorway stretched ahead endlessly.

St. George's Park

2:38 PM

The car turned off the main road onto a tree-lined drive that led to St. George's Park, and Demien sat up straighter as the facility came into view—modern buildings arranged around perfectly maintained pitches, all of it designed with the clinical efficiency expected of England's national training center.

The driver pulled up outside the main reception building and Claire stepped out first before opening Demien's door.

"Welcome to St. George's Park. Let's get you checked in."

Inside, the reception area was spacious with polished floors and England Football Association branding on every wall, and a staff member behind the desk smiled as they approached.

"Demien Walter checking in," Claire said.

The receptionist typed quickly before pulling out a folder and sliding it across the desk.

"Room 214, second floor. Key card is inside along with your schedule and facility map. Medical assessment is in fifteen minutes—Building C, down the corridor and turn right."

"Thank you," Demien said while taking the folder.

Claire guided him through the facility toward Building C, and as they walked down a wide corridor with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking training pitches, voices carried from a common area ahead.

The common area opened on their left—sofas arranged around a large television, pool table in the corner, several players in England tracksuits scattered throughout the space—and the conversation paused slightly as Demien walked past.

He recognized faces immediately because these weren't anonymous youth players but names he'd seen in Premier League team sheets and European competition lineups.

Reece Darlow sat on one of the sofas wearing Arsenal training gear under his England tracksuit, the nineteen-year-old winger's lean frame and sharp features matching the highlight videos Demien had watched where he skinned fullbacks with double stepovers before cutting inside to shoot.

Beside him was Jamal Whitmore, the Borussia Dortmund midfielder whose composed presence in Germany's youth setup had earned comparisons to Jude Bellingham, and his dark skin and close-cropped hair matched the photos from articles predicting he'd be a future England starter.

Near the pool table stood Tommy Grayson, the tall Manchester United goalkeeper whose Europa League debut had made headlines when he saved two penalties in a shootout, and his six-foot-five frame made him impossible to miss even from across the room.

Reece leaned toward Jamal and spoke quietly though his voice carried enough to be heard.

"That's the Atalanta kid."

Jamal's eyes tracked Demien for a moment before he gave a short nod, apparently remembering something, and his expression showed recognition without particular interest.

The attention lasted maybe three seconds before the group returned to their conversation, though Demien felt the weight of being assessed even in that brief moment.

Claire led him past the common area toward the medical wing, and the voices faded behind them as they turned down another corridor.

Medical Assessment

2:55 PM

The medical room was clinical and efficient with examination tables, computer stations, and equipment for various tests, and two staff members in England medical polo shirts greeted him professionally.

"Demien Walter?"

"Yes."

"I'm Dr. Patterson, head physio for the U21s. This is James, our sports therapist. We need to do a quick post-match assessment since you played yesterday. Standard protocol—just making sure you're fit to train tomorrow."

The assessment took twenty minutes and covered everything systematically—flexibility tests for major muscle groups, palpation checks for tender spots or potential injuries, range of motion evaluations for ankles and knees that had absorbed ninety minutes of contact.

"Any soreness?" Dr. Patterson asked while testing Demien's hamstring flexibility.

"Legs are heavy but nothing sharp. Just normal fatigue."

"Good. We'll have you do ice baths tonight and tomorrow morning before training. Your GPS data from yesterday's match shows you covered just over eleven kilometers, so the load was significant."

After the physical examination came routine checks—blood pressure, heart rate both resting and after a brief jog on the treadmill, lung function tests—and James made notes on a tablet throughout while Dr. Patterson explained each result.

"Everything looks good," Dr. Patterson said finally. "You're cleared for full training tomorrow. Make sure you hydrate properly tonight and get proper sleep. Your room should have compression boots—use them before bed."

"Will do. Thank you."

"Welcome to camp. If anything feels off during the week, come see us immediately. Don't wait."

Demien left the medical wing and walked back through the corridor toward reception to collect his bags, and as he passed the common area again he heard different voices this time.

Two players were engaged in animated banter near the windows—one was Elliot Ford, the Southampton right-back whose quick feet had earned him first-team minutes in the Championship, and the other was Leo Merrick, the Wolves midfielder famous for posting dribbling videos that accumulated millions of views.

"I'm telling you, that nutmeg was clean," Leo was saying while demonstrating the motion. "Ref should've let it go."

"You got booked because you celebrated like you'd scored the winner," Elliot shot back. "Maybe don't do a knee slide after a tackle in midfield."

Their laughter carried genuine familiarity that came from years of youth camps together, and several other players nearby smiled at the exchange because apparently this was an ongoing story everyone knew.

Demien kept walking without engaging, though he registered the dynamic—these players had history, shared experiences, inside jokes that came from growing up through England's youth system together.

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