The medical table's padding had left imprints on Luka's back, those temporary indentations that would fade in minutes but currently felt like proof he'd been lying there for hours. Dr. Braun stepped back, removing the last of the sensors that had been monitoring his cardiovascular response to various movements.
"You can sit up now," Dr. Braun said, making notes on his tablet with the focused attention he brought to everything. "Take your time."
Luka pushed himself upright, the slight head rush reminding him that his body had been horizontal for the better part of forty minutes while they ran through assessments. The medical facility's fluorescent lighting felt harsh after staring at the ceiling for so long, creating afterimages that floated across his vision when he blinked.
"So?" Luka asked, reaching for the water bottle someone had left on the adjacent table. "Everything still functioning properly?"
Dr. Braun looked up from his tablet, and something in his expression shifted, not quite a smile, but close to it. "They really did an incredible job on you in Romania. I've been reviewing the baseline measurements from before your injury, comparing them to current data, and honestly..." He paused, seeming to search for appropriate phrasing. "The improvements go beyond simple recovery. Even your cardiovascular efficiency has increased slightly."
"Is that normal?"
"No. But what you underwent wasn't traditional rehabilitation, hence the cost." Dr. Braun set his tablet down, leaning against the examination table with the posture of someone settling into a longer explanation. "They made good things better. It's... quite remarkable, actually."
Luka swung his legs off the table, feet finding the cool tile floor.
"Any concerns?" Luka asked, pulling his training shirt back on.
"None medically. Just maintain your current recovery protocols and listen to your body." Dr. Braun picked up his tablet again, already moving to his next task. "You're cleared for full training intensity. Go make Real Madrid regret showing up."
Outside the medical facility, Dortmund's training complex sprawled under overcast skies that threatened rain but hadn't yet delivered. Luka walked toward the main building feeling lighter than he had in days.
The tactical meeting room was already half-full when he arrived, players settling into their usual spots while coaching staff prepared the video equipment. Rose stood at the front beside a massive screen, reviewing something on his tablet while Sebastian Geppert organized folders of printed material.
"Right then," Rose said as the last few players filed in. "Before we start, anyone have questions from yesterday's defensive work? Positioning, responsibilities, anything unclear?"
The room was quiet for a moment. Guerreiro raised his hand slightly. "When their fullback overlaps and we're transitioning back, do I track him or hold my line?"
"Depends on where Emre is. If he's dropped to cover, you track the overlap. If he's still in midfield, you hold and let him deal with it. Communication is key there." Rose looked around. "Anything else?"
Silence.
"Good. Let's talk Real Madrid."
Rose tapped his tablet and the screen came alive with footage from Madrid's recent Champions League semifinal. The image showed their full formation during a goal kick, players positioned across the pitch in their characteristic 4-3-3 shape.
"This is what we're facing on Saturday. Now, I'm going to show you exactly how they operate, how they create danger, and how we're going to stop them. No interruptions, save questions for the end unless something's genuinely unclear."
He advanced to the next slide, showing Madrid's attacking structure with tactical overlays highlighting player positions and movement patterns.
"Their system is built around control. They don't rush anything. Average possession in the Champions League this season is sixty-three percent. They probe, they rotate, they wait for you to make mistakes." Rose used a laser pointer to highlight specific areas. "But here's what's important—their possession isn't random passing. Watch."
The video played, showing Madrid building from the back. Rose let it run for thirty seconds without commentary, allowing the players to observe the natural flow.
"See how Modrić drops between the lines here—" he rewound and paused "—that's not accidental. He's creating a passing option while simultaneously dragging his marker forward. Now Kroos rotates left to fill the space Modrić vacated. Casemiro drops deeper to provide the safety option. It's constant rotation, constant adjustment."
Rose switched to a tactical board view, using magnetic pieces to demonstrate the movements. He moved the Modrić piece forward, the Kroos piece left, the Casemiro piece back. "This rotation creates problems because you can't mark space and man simultaneously. Imagine if Jude follows Modrić, this space opens—" he indicated the area "—and Kroos receives unmarked. If Jude holds position to cover space, Modrić gets time on the ball in a dangerous area."
He advanced the video again, showing the same rotation pattern from multiple angles and matches. "They do this constantly. Twenty, thirty times a game. Probe the structure, create small advantages, exploit them when you overcommit."
The next sequence showed Benzema's movement. Rose paused on a frame where the French striker had dropped deep toward midfield.
"Benzema. Thirty-four years old, playing the best football of his career. He's not a traditional nine anymore, he drops, he links play, he creates space for others. Watch what happens when he receives here—"
The video showed Benzema collecting a pass with his back to goal, thirty-five yards out. Two things happened simultaneously: Vinícius made a diagonal run from left to center, and Rodrygo drifted inside from the right.
"See the problem? Benzema occupies our midfield by dropping deep. His movement creates space behind our defensive line. Now Vinícius and Rodrygo are attacking that space from different angles. If Mats or Nico follow Benzema, we're exposed in behind. If they don't follow, Benzema turns and has time to pick a pass."
Rose moved to the tactical board, physically demonstrating with the magnetic pieces. "So here's our solution. Mats, Nico. you don't follow Benzema beyond this line…" he drew an invisible horizontal line across the board "That's roughly our midfield's defensive zone. If he drops deeper than that, he's Emre's problem or Jude's problem, depending on positioning. You maintain your line, protect the space behind."
He pulled up more footage, showing Benzema dropping deep in various scenarios. "Watch what happens in this match when their center-back follows him deep. Space opens, Vinícius runs through, goal. Now watch this match where they don't follow. Benzema receives under pressure from their midfielder, forced backward, attack breaks down."
The demonstration continued with ruthless efficiency. Rose showed clip after clip, each one illustrating specific tactical points without asking for input or confirmation. The players absorbed the information, studying the patterns, the movements, the spaces that opened and closed based on positioning.
"Now, Vinícius. Twenty-one years old, fastest player in their squad, their primary goal threat this season in terms of creating space." Rose pulled up a compilation of Vinícius's goals and assists. "He doesn't stay wide. He comes inside constantly, looking for that channel between fullback and center-back."
The video showed Vinícius receiving the ball wide left, taking one touch inside, then exploding past his defender with pure acceleration.
"That's his game. Receive, one touch to set, accelerate into space. The first step is genuinely rapid, quicker than most defenders can react. So Julian or Ry, " Rose looked at Meunier and Ryerson "You're not pressing him aggressively when he receives. That's what he wants. That's when he'll kill you."
Rose moved to the tactical board again, positioning a piece representing Meunier against a piece representing Vinícius. "Instead, you show him here—" he moved both pieces "—force him wide toward the touchline where his options are limited. Give him the wide areas, protect the inside channel. Emre will be shifting across to provide cover, so you're never isolated."
He demonstrated the positioning multiple times, moving the pieces through various scenarios. "If he goes wide, he has to either cross, which favors us with our height, or cut back inside where Emre's waiting. If he tries to drive through you toward goal, you're showing him onto his left foot, which is weaker."
The video evidence supported every point. Rose showed matches where defenders pressed Vinícius aggressively and got destroyed. Then matches where defenders contained him patiently, forcing him wide, limiting his influence.
"Their right side is different. Rodrygo is more of a technical player than an explosive one. Good with both feet, he'll drift inside, link with Modrić and Kroos, look for combination play rather than taking you one-on-one."
More footage, more demonstrations. Rose showed how Rodrygo operated in the half-spaces, how he combined with Carvajal's overlapping runs, how he created overloads on that side of the pitch.
"Rapha, this is your responsibility. Rodrygo plus Carvajal creates a two-versus-one situation if we're not careful. So when their buildup is coming down the right, you need to recognize early, is Carvajal pushing high? Then you need to be deeper, ready to deal with both threats. Is Carvajal holding back? Then you can press Rodrygo more aggressively because you know there's no overlap coming."
Rose spent fifteen minutes on their midfield triangle, showing how Modrić, Kroos, and Casemiro rotated positions, how they controlled tempo, how they transitioned between defensive and attacking phases. The demonstrations were detailed, showing specific passing sequences, specific movement patterns, specific spaces they tried to exploit.
"Now here's our defensive structure." Rose pulled up a tactical diagram showing Dortmund's formation. "When we don't have the ball, we're setting up in a 4-2-3-1 that becomes a 4-4-1-1 in deeper areas. Compact, organized, difficult to break down."
He used the magnetic board again, this time arranging Dortmund's pieces into their defensive shape. "The key is compactness, no more than thirty-five meters between our defensive line and Erling. That's tight enough that their midfield can't operate comfortably in the spaces between lines."
Rose demonstrated what he meant, measuring the distance between pieces with his hand. "Too spread out, and Modrić gets time in that pocket between midfield and defense. Too compact, and we invite pressure. Thirty-five meters is the sweet spot."
He pulled up footage from previous matches, showing the times Dortmund used the defensive structure against other possession-based teams, which wasn't many times. "See how we maintain that compactness? See how the lines move together, when the back four pushes up, the midfield pushes up. When the back four drops, the midfield drops. We move as a unit."
The next section covered transitions. Rose showed multiple examples of Madrid losing possession, highlighting how they reacted.
"This is critical. The moment they lose the ball, they immediately press. Five seconds of aggressive pressure to try to win it back. If they don't recover it in those five seconds, they drop into shape. So we need to survive those first five seconds, and then we have space to attack."
He demonstrated with the tactical board, showing how Madrid's players would immediately close down the ball carrier. "If you receive under this pressure, you need to have your next action planned before the ball arrives. Quick combination play, or get it forward quickly. No dwelling on the ball, no trying to dribble through pressure."
But then Rose's energy shifted slightly. "However, and this is where we hurt them, if you can break that initial press, look what happens."
The video showed Madrid's shape after their press was bypassed. Six players ahead of the ball, four players behind.
"For three, maybe four seconds, we have numbers. This is our moment." Rose showed multiple clips of teams counter-attacking successfully against Madrid. "Quick decisions, direct running, exploiting the space before they can recover. Luka, Malen, Hazard, Brandt, Cole, Erling, Reyna, every attacker—this is when you make the difference."
He pulled up a specific sequence and paused it. "Look at this. Madrid lose possession here. Six players ahead of the ball. The counter-attacking team plays one pass forward," he advanced frame by frame "And suddenly their three attackers are facing four defenders. That's actually favorable for the attackers if they're decisive."
The final section covered set pieces. Rose showed Madrid's corner routines, their zonal marking system, the specific players who attacked which zones. Then Dortmund's corner routines, who would mark whom, the movement patterns they'd use.
The session had run for almost ninety minutes. Rose finally set down his marker and looked around the room.
"Saturday, we're facing a team that's won this competition thirteen times. They have more experience in finals than we have in total Champions League appearances. But experience doesn't score goals. Quality, decision-making, desire, that's what scores goals. We have enough quality. We're showing you the decision-making framework. The desire? That's on you."
He paused, letting that settle.
"Questions?"
Can raised his hand. "When Casemiro drops between their center-backs, does the attacking midfielder push up to press him or hold position?"
"Hold position unless Erling can press effectively from the front. If you push up and they play around you, we're exposed. Let them have it deep, maintain the compact shape."
Jude spoke next. "If Modrić is pulling me out of position constantly, when do I stop following?"
"Good instinct. If you're getting dragged beyond our midfield line, pass him to the attacking midfielder. Call it out, make sure someone else picks him up. Don't get isolated chasing him around the pitch."
A few more tactical clarifications, nothing major. Rose answered each one briefly and moved on.
"Right. Everyone clear on responsibilities?" Heads nodded around the room. "Good. Let's get on the pitch."
—
Outside, the training pitch waited in its usual pristine condition, grass cut to exact specifications, lines painted with geometric precision. The threat of rain had passed, leaving behind air that felt cleaner somehow, carrying the scent of earth and growing things.
The session started with passing drills—simple patterns designed to build rhythm and touch. Luka moved through them with increasing confidence, each successful connection between foot and ball reinforcing the sense that his timing was returning.
They progressed through several drill variations, gradually increasing complexity and tempo. Luka found his body responding naturally, the enhanced proprioception allowing him to feel exactly where teammates were positioned without always needing visual confirmation.
"Alright," Rose called out after fifteen minutes of passing work. "Let's do some attacking patterns. First team against reserves!"
They organized quickly, muscle memory dictating positions and responsibilities. Luka found himself on the left wing, the position he'd occupy against Madrid if Rose kept him in the starting eleven.
The first few sequences were decent but not spectacular. Luka's touch was reliable, his movement intelligent, but something still felt slightly off. Not wrong, just not quite at the level he knew he was capable of reaching.
Then the ball came from Kobel, a long distribution driven high toward Luka's position. The trajectory was difficult—too high for a clean chest control, arriving with pace that made timing crucial.
Akanji was closing from behind, probably expecting Luka to let it bounce or try to chest it down. But Luka had already calculated the angles, already knew what he wanted to do before the ball arrived.
He adjusted his run, timing his jump perfectly. Instead of trying to control it conventionally, he flicked his head backward, sending the ball looping over Akanji's advancing position. The Swiss defender tried to adjust mid-stride, but the movement had caught him completely wrong-footed.
Luka landed, accelerated, and was through with the ball dropping perfectly for his next touch.
"Oh!" Palmer's voice carried across the pitch, recognizing quality when he saw it.
Reyna was closing from the right now, trying to provide defensive cover. Luka shaped his body as if preparing to pass inside toward Haaland, his right foot positioning suggesting the ball was going central.
Reyna bought it completely, shifting his weight to intercept the anticipated passing lane.
The fake was devastating. Luka's right foot swept across the ball without making contact, selling the pass so convincingly that Reyna had already committed before realizing his mistake. Then Luka's left foot struck through cleanly, the connection sweet and pure.
The ball took off like it had been launched from a catapult, curling viciously toward the top corner with the kind of spin that made goalkeepers look helpless. Kobel dove, fully extended, fingertips stretching desperately toward the ball's trajectory.
PANG.
The sound of ball against post echoed across the training ground, that distinctive metallic ring that signaled near-perfection. The ball ricocheted away from goal, bouncing harmlessly toward the touchline.
"Dannnn!" Palmer elongated the word into something between admiration and disbelief. "Oh my days, Luka! That's filthy!"
Several players stopped what they were doing to acknowledge the attempt. Even Akanji, who'd been beaten by the initial skill, was grinning and shaking his head. Haaland jogged over, slapping Luka on the back.
"Save some of that for Madrid, yeah?" the Norwegian said.
"The post saved that," Kobel called from his goal, already resetting for the next sequence. "I wasn't getting there."
Rose was clapping from the sideline, his expression suggesting genuine satisfaction. "That's what I'm talking about! That's the quality that changes matches!"
They continued training for another hour, working through various patterns and scenarios. Luka's sharpness continued improving with each repetition, his decision-making becoming more automatic, less conscious. The passing drills felt natural again, his touch reliable, his vision for space and movement returning to something approaching his usual levels.
By the time Rose called them in, Luka felt genuinely optimistic for the first time since the conversation with Jenna. The personal issues weren't resolved—they'd need to actually talk, work through whatever had surfaced—but at least his professional performance was recovering.
They'd fly to Paris in three days for final preparations. The Champions League final was exactly one week away.
The Puma photoshoot was scheduled for late afternoon at a converted warehouse in Dortmund's industrial district, the kind of space that had probably manufactured machine parts or processed steel before someone recognized its potential for creative purposes. Now the interior was all exposed brick and dramatic lighting, cameras positioned at strategic angles to capture whatever commercial vision the brand had developed.
Luka arrived to find the space already buzzing with activity—stylists organizing racks of clothing, photographers adjusting equipment, various assistants managing logistics that would transform raw footage into advertising campaigns worth millions. The smell of fresh coffee mixed with expensive cologne, creating an atmosphere that somehow felt both creative and corporate.
"Luka!" The creative director spotted him immediately, a woman in her forties whose enthusiasm seemed genuine despite this probably being her fifth similar shoot this month. "Perfect timing. We're just finishing setup. Hair and makeup are ready for you."
He was guided toward a corner where stylists waited with the kind of professional patience that suggested they'd learned to deal with athletes who weren't always comfortable being treated like models. The process took thirty minutes—hair product applied with precision, subtle makeup to ensure he photographed well under harsh lighting, wardrobe selection from Puma's latest collection.
The shoot itself was straightforward enough. Stand here, look there, show the boots, now the training gear, more serious expression, now smile, hold that pose. The photographer worked efficiently, understanding that athletes generally preferred quick sessions over lengthy artistic explorations.
Luka found the process oddly meditative. Following instructions, holding positions, letting his mind wander while his body performed its required functions. No decisions needed beyond where to look and how to stand.
"That's perfect! Hold that—yes, exactly!" The photographer fired off several shots in quick succession. "Now turn slightly to your left, show us more of the boot detailing."
An hour in, they broke for adjustments and equipment changes. Luka grabbed water from the craft services table, grateful for the pause. That's when he saw Jorge Mendes enter the warehouse, his agent somehow making even casual entrance look calculated and purposeful.
The Portuguese agent spotted him immediately, navigating through the controlled chaos of the photoshoot with the confidence of someone who'd been in similar environments thousands of times. His suit was immaculate despite the June heat outside, his phone already in hand as he approached.
"Jorge!" Luka's greeting was genuine, relief flooding through him at seeing someone whose sole job was solving problems. He crossed the space quickly, embracing Mendes with enthusiasm that surprised them both.
"Easy there," Jorge laughed, returning the hug before stepping back to study Luka's face with professional attention. "Save that energy for Madrid. How's the shoot going?"
"Good. They're efficient, should be done soon." Luka took another sip of water. "How was Lyon?"
"Productive. Very productive." Jorge's expression carried satisfaction that suggested successful negotiations. "Set up some very promising arrangements for after the season ends. But we can discuss details later. Right now, I want to talk about Saturday."
They moved to a quieter corner of the warehouse where conversations wouldn't be interrupted by photographers shouting instructions or assistants managing equipment. Jorge settled into one of the leather chairs that had been arranged for talent waiting between shots, his posture relaxed but his attention focused entirely on Luka.
"So," Jorge began, his tone shifting from casual to serious. "Real Madrid. You ready?"
"Yeah, I think so. Training's been good today, much better than yesterday."
"Much better than yesterday?" Jorge's eyebrows raised slightly. "What was wrong with yesterday?"
"Nothing major, just... timing felt off. Probably just needed to clear my head."
Jorge nodded slowly, processing this information without immediate comment. "You know they're beatable, right? Madrid. They're not invincible."
"I know."
"Do you? Because I need you to really understand this." Jorge leaned forward slightly, his intensity increasing. "You're seventeen years old, and you're already performing at levels that players twice your age never reach. Thirty-seven goals, thirty assists across all competitions this season. Those aren't developmental numbers, Luka. Those are elite, world-class numbers that put you in conversations with the best players on the planet."
He paused, making sure Luka was really listening. "Benzema is thirty-four years old. Modrić is thirty-six. Kroos is thirty-two. They've won everything there is to win, yes. But you know what you have that they don't anymore? Hunger. Raw desire to prove yourself on the biggest stage. That kind of motivation makes players transcend their normal limitations."
"They've been in bigger matches than this," Luka pointed out.
"So what?" Jorge's conviction was absolute, brooking no argument. "Experience means they know how to manage pressure, how to control their emotions under stress. But it doesn't make them faster. Doesn't make them more talented. Doesn't make them immune to being beaten by someone who wants it more."
He let that settle for a moment before continuing. "You're the best young player in the world, Luka. Not the most promising. Not the highest potential. Actually the best. Now you just need to show everyone watching that this isn't hype or marketing—this is genuine, undeniable quality."
The words carried weight that felt both encouraging and pressuring simultaneously. Luka found himself nodding, accepting the framing that Jorge was providing.
"Madrid will try to control the game," Jorge continued, his tone becoming more analytical. "They'll dominate possession, probe for weaknesses, wait for you to make mistakes. That's their system, that's what they do. But the moment you get the ball in attacking positions, the moment you start running at their defense with that speed and skill?" He smiled. "That's when their experience becomes a liability. Older legs can't recover like young legs. Older minds second-guess where young minds just react."
"Rose basically said the same thing. Hurt them in transition, don't try to match their possession game."
"Because Rose understands football at the highest level. He knows that playing to your strengths is infinitely more important than trying to neutralize their strengths." Jorge checked his watch, probably calculating how much time remained before Luka needed to return to the photoshoot. "One week from now, your life changes regardless of the result. But winning? Winning puts you in an elite category. Winning means every negotiation I have on your behalf becomes exponentially easier. Every commercial opportunity, every endorsement deal, every transfer discussion—everything shifts when you're a Champions League winner at seventeen."
There was a pause, a shift in atmosphere that Luka recognized as Jorge transitioning from business to something more personal. His agent's expression changed subtly, becoming less coach-like and more concerned.
"So," Jorge said carefully, watching Luka's reaction. "How are things with Jenna?"
The question caught Luka off guard despite knowing that Jorge probably heard about everything in his life eventually. His agent had sources everywhere, connections that provided information whether Luka volunteered it or not.
"It's..." Luka started, then stopped, unsure how to articulate the complexity. "It's cool."
Even saying the words, he knew how unconvincing they sounded. The flatness in his own voice betrayed the casualness he was trying to project.
Jorge's eyes narrowed slightly, his expression suggesting he recognized deflection when he heard it. He said nothing for a long moment, just studied Luka's face with the same attention he probably brought to contract negotiations, reading signals and implications beneath surface statements.
"Alright," Jorge said finally, his tone making clear that this was absolutely not alright but he was choosing to address it properly rather than ignore it. "Let's talk."