> Dortmund – Three Days Later
The house phone rang at 6:47 p.m. sharp.
Leo was on the living room floor, tying the laces of his worn-out boots with surgical precision. He wasn't heading anywhere—he just liked the feel of them on his feet while watching match highlights. His father was in the kitchen, tinkering with a broken toaster. His mother sat at the table, checking her work emails on an old laptop.
The phone's shrill tone cut through the quiet.
No one moved at first. Then his mother sighed and answered.
"Hallo? …Yes, this is Frau Brenner."
Leo didn't pay much attention—until her voice dropped.
Her usual firm tone shifted into something else. Quieter. Surprised. Curious.
"Yes… he's here. One moment, bitte."
She looked at Leo with a strange expression. Not fear. Not excitement. Something in between.
"It's for you. A man. Says he's from Rot-Weiss Ahlen."
The boots slipped from Leo's hands.
He took the phone slowly, unsure if this was a prank or a dream.
"Hallo?"
"Leo Brenner?" The voice was calm, warm, direct. "This is Coach Oliver Grimm from Rot-Weiss Ahlen. We've been following you. I saw your last match at the youth tournament."
Leo's mouth went dry.
"You… did?"
"Yes. And we think you've got something special. We'd like to invite you for a trial with our U13s next weekend."
He didn't breathe. Not until the coach finished.
"You don't need to decide now. Talk it over with your parents. But know this—opportunities like this don't knock twice."
Click.
The call ended. Leo stood frozen, the receiver still in his hand.
An hour later, the living room was a battlefield.
His father paced behind the couch. "It's two hours to Ahlen. That's four hours of driving on trial day. He's still in school, Maja."
His mother sat stiffly, arms folded. "And what if it's another disappointment? He's still recovering from the last one."
Leo stood between them, silent, the storm swirling around him.
"I'm not asking you to believe it'll work," he finally said. "I'm just asking for the chance to try."
His father stopped pacing. Looked at him.
"This is the last time, Leo. If it goes south again…"
"I know."
His voice was barely a whisper. But it held the weight of a vow.
That night, he couldn't sleep.
He stared at the ceiling, imagining the trial. The pressure. The new pitch. The boys bigger than him. The risk of failing again.
But underneath it all… the spark. The one that wouldn't die.
He rolled over and stared out the window, whispering to the sky:
> "I'll give them everything. Every drop. Every breath. Just give me this one shot."
In the shadows of a small town, beneath layers of doubt and fear, something unshakable was taking root.
Not talent.
Not luck.
But resilience.
And soon, the world would see it.