At three-forty the opposition launched a counter-attack down England's left side after winning the ball in midfield, and Demien was supposed to track the overlapping fullback but his recovery run started half a second too late—just enough delay that the cross came in dangerous and low, and only excellent defending from Harvey Keane prevented a tap-in at the back post.

"WALTER!" Simon's voice carried frustration now rather than instruction. "That's your man! You have to track him faster! No holidays on the wing!"

Demien bent over with hands on his knees breathing hard, and the accumulation of fatigue from Sunday plus the unfamiliar demands of the winger role were making everything feel harder than it should, and doubt was creeping in about whether he belonged at this level.

Leo Merrick jogged past and tapped his shoulder without breaking stride, and his voice carried genuine encouragement.

"Keep your head up, mate. It's a learning week."

The encouragement helped marginally though Demien knew the reality—he was behind, and catching up in four days would be difficult when everyone else had years of experience in this system, and the clock was ticking faster than his adaptation.

By four PM when Carsley finally blew the final whistle Demien's shirt was soaked through and his legs felt like concrete, and the coaching staff gathered the squad for a brief cooldown followed by final instructions while players stretched in loose groups.

"Good intensity today," Carsley said while his eyes moved across the tired faces. "That's the standard we need all week. Tomorrow we work on attacking patterns and combination play. Be ready."

Wednesday, September 21, 2022

Training Pitch 1

2:00 PM

Wednesday's session brought sharper intensity as the coaching staff refined attacking patterns and worked on specific movements designed to exploit Italy's narrow midfield, and the atmosphere carried increased focus as players understood the starting XI would be decided soon.

Demien lined up on the left wing again, and the session began with pattern work—rehearsed movements where the ball progressed through specific sequences and everyone's positioning was choreographed—though the mechanical nature of the drills made mistakes more obvious when they occurred.

The first pattern involved the left-back overlapping while Demien cut inside, and the theory was simple: create a two-versus-one overload against Italy's right-back while the central midfielder provided a third option—but in practice the execution was harder than the whiteboard suggested.

Demien's timing on the inside cut was slightly off during the first three attempts, and each time the pattern broke down because he moved either too early or too late, and Simon's corrections came with increasing sharpness as patience wore thin.

"Read the fullback's movement! When he starts his run, that's your cue to cut inside! Not before, not after—when he moves!"

The fourth attempt finally worked—Owen Blake made his overlapping run from left-back while Demien cut inside at the exact moment, and the ball found him in space where he could turn and shoot—and the satisfaction of correct execution was immediate even though it had taken multiple tries to achieve.

"Better! That's the movement we need!"

But consistency remained elusive, and by the time they moved to live gameplay situations at three PM Demien's touches were decent but never outstanding, and the gap between adequate and excellent was the difference between making the starting XI and sitting on the bench.

When he did something good—a smart half-turn to receive facing forward, or a curved run that pulled the defender out of position—it was immediately overshadowed by Reece Darlow's explosive pace on the opposite wing or Leo Merrick's relentless pressing energy in midfield, and the comparison felt unavoidable as coaches took notes.

At three-thirty a defensive sequence exposed his weakness again when Italy's pattern play simulated their fullback overlapping, and Demien's tracking run was late enough that the cross came in dangerous, and only a last-ditch clearance prevented a goal that would have been entirely his fault.

Simon's voice carried across the pitch with clear frustration that bordered on disappointment.

"WALTER! You're overthinking! Stay wide, stay disciplined, track your man! Simplify your game!"

The words stung because he was trying harder than he'd tried at anything in weeks, but trying wasn't translating into execution, and the gap between understanding what to do and actually doing it felt wider than it should while time continued running out.

By four-fifteen when the session ended Demien walked off the pitch knowing he'd improved marginally but not enough, and the wing battle was becoming increasingly clear—Reece would start, and Demien would be the rotation option if he made the squad at all.

Wednesday Evening, September 21, 2022

St. George's Park - Room 214

7:45 PM

Demien returned to his room after dinner and found a large Adidas box waiting on his bed with a delivery note attached, and when he saw the three-stripe logo his pulse quickened slightly because this was the product shipment Marco had mentioned.

Owen was in the shower so Demien had the room to himself as he carefully opened the box, and inside he found everything laid out with precision—three pairs of Adidas X Speedportal boots in different colorways, training gear with his name embroidered on the chest, and a handwritten note from the Adidas design team.

Demien - Welcome to the family. These are yours. Make them legendary. - The Adidas Football Team

He lifted the first pair of boots from the box—the primary colorway in solar red with black accents—and the craftsmanship was immediately apparent as he turned them over in his hands, and the lightweight synthetic upper felt premium while the carbon fiber plate visible through the semi-translucent sole suggested explosive acceleration.

The second pair was the away colorway in core black with subtle grey details, and the third was a limited edition pair in cloud white with gold three-stripes that looked almost too beautiful to wear on a muddy pitch.

Demien sat on his bed holding the solar red pair and examined every detail—the textured zones for ball control, the asymmetrical lacing system designed to maximize striking surface, the stud configuration optimized for quick direction changes—and for the first time since arriving at St. George's Park he felt a genuine spark of excitement cut through the nervousness.

These weren't just boots.

They were a statement from a brand with 36 million followers that he belonged in their family, and wearing them tomorrow—if he got the chance to play—would mean something beyond just putting on footwear.

He carefully placed all three pairs back in the box and set it in his locker, and as he did his mind shifted forward to tomorrow's squad announcement because if his name was called for the bench at least he'd have the chance to lace up the Adidas boots for his first minutes in an England shirt.

Owen emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist and spotted the box immediately.

"That from Adidas?"

"Yeah. Just arrived."

"Let's see them then."

A/N

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