My Ultimate Gacha System

Friday, October 21, 2022

Isabella’s House, Florence

𝕗𝐫𝚎𝗲𝘄𝐞𝕓𝐧𝕠𝘃𝕖𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝚖

9:15 PM

Demien sat on the couch in the living room with his phone face-down on the cushion beside him, and the television played quietly in the background showing some cooking show his mother enjoyed while she moved between the kitchen and dining room cleaning up from dinner.

His stomach was still full from pasta carbonara and chicken parmigiana, and the familiar comfort of his childhood home settled around him like a blanket even as his mind drifted toward Sunday’s match, and when he closed his eyes for a moment he could almost hear the roar of the Artemio Franchi crowd.

Isabella emerged from the kitchen with a dish towel in her hands, and her voice carried that particular satisfaction that came from feeding her son properly. "You want more tiramisu, tesoro? There’s plenty left."

"I’m full, Mamma," Demien said while opening his eyes and smiling at her. "I can’t eat another bite."

"You’re too thin," she insisted while draping the towel over her shoulder. "They don’t feed you enough in Bergamo."

"They feed me fine. You just cook too much."

She waved her hand dismissively before sitting in her favorite armchair across from him, and her expression softened as she watched him with that particular look mothers reserve for moments when their children are actually present rather than distant. "It’s so nice having you home. The house feels alive again."

"I’ll visit more often," Demien promised, and he meant it even though the season’s demands made that difficult. "After the season calms down."

The doorbell rang suddenly, and both of them looked toward the front door with identical expressions of confusion because nobody visited this late without calling first, and Isabella stood slowly while glancing at the clock on the wall. "Who could that be at this hour?"

"I don’t know," Demien said, and something uneasy stirred in his chest though he couldn’t identify why.

Isabella walked to the door and opened it without checking the peephole because this neighborhood was safe and familiar, and when the door swung open she froze completely for a full second before her face transformed into pure surprise.

"Adriano!" Her voice rose with genuine delight, and she stepped forward immediately with her arms already moving toward a hug. "Adriano Ventresca! Oh my God, look at you!"

Demien’s entire body went rigid on the couch.

No. Not now. Not here.

From the doorway, Adriano’s voice carried that same smooth confidence it always had, though now it held a maturity that three years had added. "Signora Walter. It’s been too long."

"Too long?" Isabella pulled him into a hug that Adriano returned, and when she stepped back her hands stayed on his shoulders as tears formed in her eyes. "It’s been three years! Three years and you never visited, never called—I thought you and Demien had a fight, I thought he pushed you away like he did with everyone after Fiorentina let him go."

She stopped herself, but the implication hung in the air.

After the academy rejection.

After he shut everyone out.

"I’m sorry," Adriano said, and his voice carried genuine regret. "I should have stayed in touch. Things got complicated."

"Complicated," Isabella repeated while wiping her eyes, and she pulled him inside while closing the door behind him. "Come in, come in. You look so different! So grown up! I see you on television now, playing for Fiorentina’s first team—I’m so proud of you, Adriano. Your parents must be over the moon."

"They are," Adriano confirmed, and his eyes had already found Demien sitting frozen on the couch.

Isabella turned and called toward the living room with pure maternal innocence, completely unaware of the tension already suffocating the space. "Demien! Your friend is here! Adriano came to see you!"

Demien stood slowly, and his legs felt heavy as he moved toward the hallway, and when he reached the point where he could see Adriano properly standing in his mother’s house—wearing a dark jacket and jeans, looking older and sharper and unmistakably real—his face went pale.

Adriano’s expression showed similar shock at the encounter despite being the one who’d come here, and for three full seconds neither of them spoke while Isabella looked between them with growing confusion.

"What’s wrong?" she asked, and her voice carried concern as she noticed the tension immediately. "Why are you both acting so strange?"

"Nothing, Mamma," Demien managed to say, and his voice came out rougher than intended. "We’re fine."

"You’re clearly not fine," Isabella said while her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t push because she’d learned over the years when to give her son space. "I’ll make coffee. You two talk."

She walked toward the kitchen while glancing back once with obvious worry, and when she disappeared around the corner the silence that filled the hallway felt heavy enough to collapse the walls.

Adriano spoke first, and his voice stayed low and controlled. "Can we talk? Properly?"

Demien’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached, and every instinct screamed at him to say no, to throw Adriano out, to end this before it started. But something else—something deeper than anger—made him nod once.

"Living room," Demien said, and he turned without waiting for a response.

They walked into the living room and sat on opposite ends of the couch with the television still playing quietly in the background, and Demien grabbed the remote to turn it off because whatever this conversation would be, it didn’t need background noise.

The silence stretched for ten seconds.

Fifteen.

Twenty.

Adriano broke first, and his voice came out careful but direct. "I’m sorry."

Demien’s head snapped toward him, and his expression was hard. "For what specifically? Because the list is pretty fucking long."

"For all of it," Adriano said without defensive edge, and his eyes met Demien’s directly. "For Sarah. For how things happened. For the timing. For everything."

The name hit Demien hard even though he’d known it was coming, and his hands clenched into fists on his knees while his breathing stayed controlled through sheer willpower. "Don’t say her name in my mother’s house."

"You’re right. I’m sorry." Adriano’s expression showed genuine remorse rather than performative guilt. "But we need to talk about this. Properly. Because I can’t—we can’t keep avoiding it."

"I moved on," Demien said flatly, and the words felt true even if the scar still ached. "Three years ago. I moved on completely."

"I know you did," Adriano replied, and he leaned forward slightly with his elbows on his knees. "I saw you at the U23 friendly. Saw how you played. You’ve moved on in every way that matters. But I haven’t properly apologized, and you haven’t properly heard it, and tomorrow we play against each other in Serie A while this is still sitting between us."

"What do you want me to say?" Demien’s voice rose slightly before he caught himself and forced it back down. "That it’s fine? That I forgive you? That we’re good?"

"I want you to hear the truth," Adriano said, and his tone stayed steady. "I loved her. I still love her. What happened between us wasn’t planned, wasn’t calculated to hurt you—but it did hurt you, and I knew it would, and I did it anyway. There’s no excuse for that. None."

Demien stared at him while processing the admission, and the honesty was almost worse than defensive justification would have been because it forced him to confront the reality he’d been avoiding: Adriano hadn’t stolen Sarah out of malice. He’d fallen in love with her. And she’d fallen in love with him.

"She’s my fiancée now," Adriano continued, and he pulled his left hand from his pocket to show a simple gold band on his ring finger. "We’re getting married next summer. After the season ends."