Tuesday morning, Demien landed back in Manchester with nothing glamorous waiting for him.
Ninety-plus minutes against City on Sunday. Paris on Monday. A ceremony that ran late into the night. A flight home after it.
The medical staff put him straight into recovery assessment instead of training.
His legs were healthy.
They were also heavy, and no scan was going to argue with that.
"You're not starting against Newcastle," Ten Hag told him, plainly, no ceremony in it at all.
Demien looked at him, waiting for the reason he already knew was coming.
"City was Sunday. This is Wednesday. Fulham is Saturday. Copenhagen away is the Wednesday after that," Ten Hag said. "You don't get to be treated like you can recover from anything just because your legs have held up so far this season."
Demien didn't argue.
That alone said something about how far he'd come.
Monday night he'd stood in a theater wanting to be the best player in the world.
