Alex walked in at seven forty five. It was not the usual Monday morning tiredness. It was not the happy buzz of a win.
It was quiet. It was sharp. It was cold.
Bastian was in the locker room, at his locker. He was not stretching. He was not reading. He was just... staring. He was watching a video on his tablet.
Alex got closer. He could hear the sound of a crowd. Roaring. Angry.
On the screen, two players in red and white were screaming at a player in all white.
"Morning, Professor," Bastian grunted. He did not look up.
"Morning, Bastian. What are you watching?"
"Homework," Bastian said. He pointed at the screen. "This is from last year. The derby. I got a red card. It was... a good red card. He tried to kick Antoine."
Alex just stood there. Bastian, the calm, giant rock... got a red card.
"This game," Bastian said, finally looking up, his eyes serious, "is not about your brain. It is not about your boots. It is about... your heart. And how much you hate them."
