Chapter 391: Chapter 64: First Training Session

Tuesday, July 11, 2023

Lowry Hotel

7:00 AM BST

The alarm went at seven and Demien’s eyes opened before the sound finished because his mind had been half-awake since six waiting for this day to start, and through the window Manchester’s morning showed grey clouds that hadn’t decided whether to rain yet while the River Irwell moved below.

He swung his legs off the bed and sat on the edge for a moment while running through the mental checklist—training schedule said nine AM sharp, Ten Hag didn’t tolerate late arrivals, driver would be outside at eight-thirty which meant he had ninety minutes to eat and prepare.

Room service arrived fifteen minutes later with breakfast he’d ordered last night—scrambled eggs, wheat toast, sliced fruit, black coffee—and he ate methodically at the desk while reviewing the training document Marco had left yesterday that outlined United’s pre-season structure and expectations.

Full squad present. Ten Hag runs sessions personally. Intensity high from day one. No easing into it.

The shower after breakfast was hot enough to loosen his shoulders and by eight-fifteen he was dressed in casual clothes with his training bag packed—boots, United training kit that had been delivered to his room yesterday, water bottle, towel, ankle tape.

His phone showed messages from overnight.

Sophia: First training day. You’ll be great. Text me after.

Isabella: Mi amor, show them what you can do. Te amo.

He sent quick replies to both before pocketing his phone and heading downstairs where the driver was already waiting outside the main entrance in a black Mercedes with tinted windows.

8:30 AM —

The driver nodded when Demien climbed into the back seat and pulled away from the Lowry without asking for directions because he’d made this trip hundreds of times before with other United players.

"First day?" the driver asked while merging into morning traffic.

"Yeah."

"Nervous?"

"A bit."

"Everyone is. You’ll settle in quick enough. Ten Hag’s intense but fair. Show you can work and he’ll give you chances."

The conversation died there and Demien watched Manchester pass outside the window—red brick buildings and modern construction mixed together, morning commuters filling sidewalks and bus stops, the city waking up properly now that rush hour was starting.

Twenty minutes through traffic that moved steadily despite the hour and then the urban density thinned as they reached the outskirts where Carrington sat on seventy acres of training facilities and pitches.

Security gate ahead. Guard checked ID, glanced at Demien in the back seat, waved them through.

The main building appeared with the Manchester United crest mounted on the facade in red and gold, and multiple training pitches spread out behind it where the grass looked perfect even from a distance because Premier League clubs maintained their facilities to standards Serie A clubs couldn’t match.

Car parked in the designated area and Demien grabbed his bag before heading toward the entrance where Steve McNally was waiting just inside the glass doors with a clipboard.

"Morning," McNally said without preamble. "Kit’s in your locker, number fourteen. Squad’s already in the dressing room getting ready. Follow me."

8:50 AM — First Team Dressing Room

The corridors were lined with United history—black and white photos of the Busby Babes, color images of the Treble-winning team, framed shirts from Fergie’s era, recent trophy photos with Ten Hag lifting the Carabao Cup.

McNally pushed open the dressing room door and the noise inside dropped immediately when Demien entered behind him.

"Lads, this is Demien Walter," McNally said to the room. "Joined from Atalanta, cleared medical yesterday, training with us starting today."

Two seconds of silence while eyes assessed him and then Bruno Fernandes stood from his locker and walked over with his hand extended.

"Welcome," Bruno said, and his Portuguese accent shaped the word differently but his handshake was firm. "Good to have you."

"Thanks," Demien said.

Handshakes went around quickly—Marcus Rashford nodded from across the room where he was lacing boots, Casemiro said something in Portuguese that sounded friendly while gripping Demien’s hand hard enough to test his strength, Luke Shaw made eye contact and smiled briefly before returning to his pre-training routine.

Mason Mount appeared from the bathroom area and walked straight over with a grin that suggested he understood exactly what Demien was feeling.

"New boys together," Mount said. "How long you been in Manchester?"

"Since Saturday."

"I got here three weeks ago. Still feels weird sometimes but it gets easier. Week one’s the hardest."

Demien found his locker with the nameplate already installed—WALTER 14 in white letters on black background—and the training kit was folded neatly inside with red shirt on top, black shorts beneath, white socks at the bottom.

He changed quickly while conversations resumed around him—Rashford and Sancho discussing something about yesterday’s recovery session, Bruno and Casemiro talking tactics in Portuguese mixed with English, Mount asking Diogo Dalot about a restaurant recommendation.

The Predator boots went on last and the familiar weight settled against his feet while he tied the laces tight, and when he stood McNally was checking his watch near the door.

"Right, everyone out to Pitch One," McNally called. "Gaffer’s waiting."

The squad filed out and Demien followed near the back with Mount beside him, and neither spoke because the same nervous energy was running through both of them even if Mount had been here longer.

9:00 AM —

Erik ten Hag stood at the center of the pitch with his assistants Steve McClaren and Mitchell van der Gaag flanking him, and the squad gathered in a semicircle while the Dutch manager waited for complete silence before speaking.

"Good morning," Ten Hag said, and his accent was clipped but his English was precise. "Two faces today—Mason you know, Demien joined yesterday. Both integrate immediately. Same standards as everyone else. Pre-season tour in nine days, everyone needs to be ready."

He didn’t elaborate or welcome them warmly, just turned to McClaren. "Steve, warm-up."

McClaren took over and ran them through fifteen minutes of dynamic stretching—high knees down one side of the grid, butt kicks back, lateral shuffles across, hurdle walks through cones.

Demien worked alongside Mount and Jadon Sancho, matching their pace while feeling his body wake up properly, and the movements were identical to what Gasperini had used at Atalanta because football warm-ups didn’t vary much at elite level.

Possession rondo next. Groups of seven, five versus two in tight grids marked by cones.

Demien’s group included Bruno, Casemiro, Christian Eriksen, Diogo Dalot, and Kobbie Mainoo who looked about seventeen and moved with the quiet confidence academy players developed when they’d been at a club since childhood.

Two defenders in the middle. Touch, move, receive.

Bruno set the tempo immediately—one-touch passing, constant communication in Portuguese and English, pointing where he wanted the ball before it arrived, demanding decisions happen faster than comfortable.

"Demien, show," Bruno called, and the pass came hard and low.

Demien’s first touch killed it dead and his second played it into Eriksen who’d moved into space, and the sequence continued without breaking rhythm.

Casemiro pressed him when he was in the middle defending, closed the space fast and forced quick thinking, and Demien shifted the ball to his left foot before Casemiro could tackle and found Dalot on the edge of the grid.

Casemiro nodded once—no words but the acknowledgment was clear.

「TRAIT ACTIVE」

Press Resistant

Twelve minutes before Ten Hag’s whistle cut through. "Transition drill. Two teams. Win possession, attack within five seconds or recycle and probe again."

The explanation came with a tactical board—win the ball, identify forward option immediately, exploit space before the opposition reorganized, if no option existed within three seconds then keep possession and wait for the next opening.

Teams divided. Demien played with the second unit initially—Mount, Sancho, Scott McTominay, Aaron Wan-Bissaka, Harry Maguire, Victor Lindelof, academy players filling gaps.

First unit had possession and the second unit pressed, and Demien operated as the left-sided eight with instructions to receive in the half-space and progress play forward when the ball turned over.

The drill started and possession moved quickly—Bruno controlling tempo, Casemiro covering, Eriksen finding pockets—and then Mount pressed high and won the ball from Maguire’s heavy touch.

Mount’s head came up immediately and he spotted Demien making the run between Eriksen and Bruno, and the pass threaded through with perfect weight.

Demien received on the move and Eriksen was already closing from behind, and his first touch took it past the challenge while his body turned and Sancho was wide left in space.

「LEGENDARY SKILL ACTIVATED」

Andrea Pirlo — Deep-Lying Playmaker

The pass came off his right foot with the weight that put it exactly where Sancho needed it, and the winger controlled and played forward to the academy striker who finished into the empty net.

Five seconds from turnover to shot.

Ten Hag clapped once. "Good. That’s the speed we need."

The drill continued and roles rotated—first unit became second unit, everyone experienced both sides—and Demien’s positioning caught Ten Hag’s attention multiple times because his movement into space was instinctive from years of Gasperini’s training and his decision-making under pressure came from having eighty-five overall with stats that made seeing passing lanes easier than most midfielders managed.

"Demien!" Ten Hag shouted during one sequence. "You had Bruno free on your third touch. Why wait for fourth?"

"Saw it late," Demien called back.

"See it earlier. Think one touch ahead always."

The correction was direct but not harsh, and Demien adjusted immediately in the next sequence by releasing the ball faster when Bruno showed.

Water break at ten-fifteen. Players scattered in small groups, drank from bottles, toweled sweat off faces despite the cool morning.

Bruno approached while Demien was drinking.

"You play quick," Bruno said. "Good. Erik likes that. But he’ll demand you think faster than you move. Always one step ahead in your mind."

"Noticed."

"You’ll get used to it. He’s strict but fair. Deliver what he asks, you’ll play."

Bruno walked away to talk with Casemiro and Demien stood alone for a moment while processing the feedback—think faster, anticipate earlier, release quicker.

The corrections made sense and none of them were about ability, just about adaptation to Ten Hag’s specific demands.