I don't Miss
Jonas, the strength and conditioning coach, stood nearby, his muscular arms folded across his chest. "Alright, Luka," he said. "Today's going to be tough, but remember why we're here. Every rep brings you closer to being the player you want to be."
Luka nodded, a determined glint in his eye. He approached the bench press, the bar loaded with weights that once would have seemed impossibly heavy.
"Focus, Luka," Jonas said. "Eight reps. Let's go."
Luka took a deep breath and unracked the bar. The first rep was smooth, almost easy. By the third, he could feel his muscles beginning to strain. As he pushed through the fifth and sixth reps, his arms began to shake.
"That's it, Luka!" Jonas encouraged. "Two more. Think about holding off those Bologna defenders. Think about shielding the ball like Messi."
Gritting his teeth, Luka managed the seventh rep. As he lowered the bar for the final time, his arms felt like lead. He pushed with everything he had, the bar inching upwards painfully slowly.
"Come on, Luka!" Jonas shouted. "This is nothing! Push!"
With a final, herculean effort, Luka locked out his arms. The bar clanged back into the rack, and he lay there, chest heaving.
"Excellent work," Jonas nodded approvingly. "But we're just getting started."
The next hour was a blur of exercises, each designed to push Luka to his limits. Dumbbell rows to strengthen his back, helping him hold off defenders. Shoulder presses to improve his upper body stability. Cable rotations to enhance his core strength.
As they moved to pull-ups, Luka's arms felt like jelly. He managed three before his grip began to fail.
"Don't you dare give up," Jonas said, his voice firm but encouraging. "Reus didn't become the player he was by quitting when it got hard. Neither did Ronaldo. Neither will you. Three more."
Luka closed his eyes, picturing himself on the pitch. He saw himself shielding the ball from a Bologna defender, using his strength to hold his ground. With a grunt of effort, he pulled himself up once, twice, three more times.
As he dropped from the bar, his arms trembling, Jonas clapped him on the shoulder. "That's what I'm talking about. Now, let's hit those legs."
They moved through squats, lunges, and calf raises, each exercise carefully chosen to complement Luka's natural agility and speed. By the time they reached the final exercise - a punishing set of box jumps - Luka's legs felt like they were made of lead.
"Last push, Luka," Jonas said, pointing to the box. "Imagine you're leaping to meet a cross. Ten jumps. Give me everything you've got."
Luka stared at the box, his breath coming in ragged gasps. For a moment, he wasn't sure he could do it. Then he thought of his teammates out on the pitch, working just as hard. He thought of the upcoming match against Bologna, of the chance to prove himself.
With a deep breath, he coiled his muscles and leapt. The first jump was clean, powerful. By the fifth, his legs were screaming in protest. As he approached the final jumps, each one felt like scaling a mountain.
"Three more, Luka!" Jonas shouted. "You're Rashford on the wing, you're Messi lining up a free kick. This is your moment!"
With a final burst of energy Luka didn't know he possessed, he completed the last three jumps. As he landed from the final one, his legs buckled, and he sank to the floor, gasping for air.
Jonas knelt beside him, a broad smile on his face. "That, Luka, was impressive. You pushed through when most would have given up. That's the kind of determination that turns good players into great ones."
As Luka lay there, every muscle in his body aching, he felt a sense of accomplishment wash over him. He had pushed himself further than he thought possible, just as his idols had done countless times before.
Jonas helped him to his feet. "Get some water, then we'll cool down with some stretching. You've earned a rest."
As Luka gulped down water, he caught sight of himself in the gym mirror. His t-shirt was soaked with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead.
He thought of the upcoming match against Bologna, of the chance to showcase his skills on the pitch. The strength he'd gained today wasn't just physical - it was mental too. He had proven to himself that he could push through pain, could exceed his own expectations.
<>
As the early morning light filtered through the curtains of Luka's apartment in Dortmund, he sat on the edge of his bed, his packed suitcase beside him. The excitement of the upcoming trip to Austria for the match against Bologna buzzed through him, but it was tempered by a bittersweet conversation he'd just had with his mother.
"Luka, dušo," his mother's voice had come through the phone, warm but tinged with worry. She spoke in rapid Croatian, a language that always felt like home to Luka, no matter where he was. "I need to go back to England. Your father... well, he's struggling to take care of Emma properly."
Luka had sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Je li sve u redu, mama? Is everything okay?"
"Da, da," she had assured him, but Luka could hear the strain in her voice. "It's just... you know how your father can be. Emma needs a bit more attention right now, with her studies and all. I think it's best if I'm there."
"Razumijem, mama," Luka had replied, understanding but feeling a pang of sadness. He'd grown used to having his mother nearby in Germany.
"Ne brini se, Luka," his mother had said, sensing his disappointment. "I'm so proud of you, you know that? You're doing exactly what you've always dreamed of. Just keep working hard, and remember - uvijek sam uz tebe. I'm always with you."
Now, as Luka sat in his quiet apartment, those words echoed in his mind. He glanced at his phone, scrolling through the photos he'd taken with his mother during her time in Dortmund. There she was, beaming proudly outside Signal Iduna Park. Another showed her attempting to cook Spätzle, her face scrunched in concentration as she tried to master the unfamiliar German dish.
With a sigh, he pocketed his phone and grabbed his suitcase. As he locked his apartment door, he took a deep breath. His mother might be heading back to England, but he had a job to do. Bologna awaited.
The journey to Austria passed in a blur. Luka found himself sandwiched between Jude and Gio Reyna on the flight, their excited chatter about the upcoming match helping to lift his spirits.
Before he knew it, they were pulling up to the Stadion Schnabelholz in Altach. As Luka stepped off the team bus, he was struck by the quaint beauty of the stadium. It was smaller than what he was used to, with mountains visible in the distance.
In the locker room, the atmosphere was focused but relaxed. Marco Rose gathered the team for a final tactical briefing, his eyes scanning the room as he spoke.
"Alright, lads," Rose began, his voice firm but encouraging. "Bologna is a solid team and they've got some tricky players. We need to be alert, especially to their counter-attacks."
Luka listened intently as Rose went through the Bologna lineup. He mentioned Riccardo Orsolini, the tricky Italian winger, and Musa Barrow, the pacey Gambian forward. "They'll look to hit us on the break," Rose warned. "Our defensive shape needs to be spot on."
As they lined up in the tunnel, Luka could feel the excitement building. Even though he was starting on the bench, the prospect of potentially making his debut in this match sent a thrill through him. He watched as the starting eleven walked out onto the pitch, the cheers of the 5 thousand spectators filling the air.
From his position on the bench, Luka had a perfect view of the action. The match started at a frenetic pace, with both teams looking to assert dominance early on. Bologna's pressing was intense, but Dortmund's technical quality allowed them to play through it more often than not.
In the 24th minute, it paid off. Gio Reyna, showing incredible composure for a player so young, received the ball on the edge of the box. With a quick feint, he created half a yard of space before curling a beautiful shot into the top corner. 1-0 to Dortmund, and the bench erupted in cheers.
Luka leapt to his feet, high-fiving Youssoufa Moukoko beside him. "What a goal!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with admiration for his teammate's skill.
The goal seemed to spark Bologna into life, and they began to press even harder. Luka watched intently as Orsolini and Barrow probed the Dortmund defense, looking for weaknesses. But in the 42nd minute, against the run of play, Dortmund struck again.
This time it was Steffen Tigges, the tall striker, who made the difference. A long ball from Mats Hummels found Tigges in space. With a deft touch, he brought the ball down before smashing it past Łukasz Skorupski in the Bologna goal. 2-0, and Dortmund were flying.
As the teams walked off for half-time, Luka felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. He had a feeling he might get his chance in the second half. As they gathered in the locker room, Marco Rose's voice cut through the chatter.
"Good first half, lads," he began, "but we can't get complacent. Bologna will come out firing in the second half. We need to match their intensity." His eyes scanned the room before landing on Luka. "Zorić, start warming up. You might get your chance today."
Luka's heart leapt into his throat. This was it. As his teammates filed back out onto the pitch for the second half, he began his warm-up routine, his mind racing with possibilities. The chance to make his mark, to show what he could do, was tantalizingly close.
As he stretched and jogged along the sideline, Luka's eyes remained fixed on the action on the pitch. He watched as Bologna came out with renewed vigor, pushing Dortmund back. But in the 64th minute, Dortmund struck again. Tigges, full of confidence after his first-half goal, found space in the box and slotted home coolly. 3-0, and surely the game was won.
Just as Luka was completing his warm-up, he heard Marco Rose's voice. "Zorić! You're on. Show us what you can do."
With a deep breath, Luka stood up, his heart pounding. This was his moment. As he waited for the ball to go out of play for the substitution, he caught sight of the scoreboard. Borussia Dortmund 3, Bologna 0. 67 minutes played.
He could feel the weight of expectation on his shoulders - this was his second pre-season game, and potentially his last chance to prove he deserved a spot in the first team rather than being relegated to the Bundesliga 3 with the second team.
As Luka jogged onto the field, replacing a tired Gio Reyna, he could feel the energy of his teammates. They were riding high on their comfortable lead, but there was still work to be done.
Marco Rose's final words echoed in his ears: "Show us what you can do, Zorić." Luka took his position on the left wing, his preferred spot on the wing as a right-footer.
The grass felt springy beneath his cleats as he bounced on the balls of his feet, waiting for the play to resume. He scanned the field, taking in the positions of his teammates and opponents. Jude Bellingham caught his eye from the center of the pitch and gave him a quick nod of encouragement.
As the referee blew his whistle to restart play, Luka's senses sharpened. He could hear the rustling of the crowd, smell the freshly cut grass, and feel the cool Austrian breeze on his face. His muscles tensed, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.
The opportunity came sooner than he expected. Mats Hummels, the experienced center-back, intercepted a Bologna pass and immediately looked up field. Luka, seeing the chance, began his run. Hummels spotted him and launched a long, arcing pass that sailed over the midfield.
As the ball descended, Luka could see two Bologna players converging on him. They clearly saw him as the weak link, the new player they could easily dispossess. But Luka had other ideas.
He took a deep breath, his mind briefly flashing to the countless hours he'd spent practicing ball control. As the ball dropped, he extended his right foot, using the laces to cushion its fall. The touch was perfect, the ball sticking to his foot as if magnetized.
The Bologna players were on him in an instant. Luka could feel their breath on his neck, their hands grabbing at his shirt. He stumbled slightly, his left hand briefly touching the ground to steady himself. But he never lost control of the ball.
Using quick, short taps with the inside of both feet, Luka kept the ball moving from side to side. The defenders lunged, but the ball always seemed just out of reach. Luka's heart was pounding, his breath coming in short, controlled bursts as he fought to maintain possession.
In a split second, Luka realized he needed to break free. His instincts took over. With the ball at his right foot, he suddenly dragged it back with his studs, simultaneously spinning his body. The Marseille turn, a move he'd practiced countless times, was executed flawlessly.
The Bologna players, caught off guard by the sudden change of direction, stumbled past him. Luka emerged from the spin, now, with space to operate. He could hear the crowd's appreciative murmur, and a shout of encouragement from Marco Rose on the sideline.
Now Luka had options. He looked up, quickly assessing the field. Jude Bellingham was making a run through the center, while Steffen Tigges was holding his position up front. But it was the overlapping run of Nico Schulz that caught Luka's eye.
Luka took off down the left wing, his legs pumping as he accelerated. The ball seemed glued to his feet as he dribbled at full speed. He could hear the thundering footsteps of a Bologna defender giving chase.
As he approached the final third of the pitch, a Bologna center-back stepped out to confront him. Luka's mind raced, considering his options. He could try to beat the defender on the outside with pure pace, or he could cut inside onto his right foot.
In that split second, Luka made his decision. He slowed slightly, letting the defender think he was setting up for a move inside. The defender took the bait, shifting his weight to his right foot in anticipation of Luka cutting in.
But Luka had other ideas. With a quick drop of his shoulder and a explosive burst of speed, he pushed the ball past the defender on the outside.
Now Luka was in space, racing towards the byline. He could hear the crowd rising to their feet, sense the anticipation building in the stadium. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tigges making a run towards the near post, dragging defenders with him.
Luka took one more touch to set himself, then looked up. Time seemed to slow as he assessed his options. Tigges was marked tightly, but there was space at the far post. Without hesitation, Luka shaped his body and swung his foot.
He struck the ball with the instep of his right foot, imparting just the right amount of curl to take it away from the goalkeeper. The cross arced beautifully through the air, bypassing the crowd of players at the near post and floating towards the far corner of the six-yard box.
Jude Bellingham, timing his run perfectly, rose to meet the cross. The stadium held its collective breath as the young English midfielder connected with the ball. But his header, agonizingly, flashed just wide of the post.
A groan went up from the Dortmund fans, mixed with applause for the move. Luka felt a pang of disappointment that his perfect cross hadn't resulted in a goal, but it was quickly replaced by a surge of confidence.
As the match entered its final twenty minutes, the atmosphere in Stadion Schnabelholz had shifted. Dortmund, comfortably ahead at 3-0, had eased off the throttle. Marco Rose's instructions during a brief stoppage had been clear: "Manage the game. Keep possession, be smart, and don't take unnecessary risks."
The Dortmund players had responded accordingly, adopting a more conservative approach. They were content to knock the ball around, maintaining possession and frustrating Bologna's attempts to mount a comeback. In the midst of this controlled play, Luka had found his rhythm.
Despite being the newcomer, Luka's technical ability and composure on the ball made him an ideal player for this situation. He consistently found pockets of space, receiving passes and holding onto the ball under pressure. His close control allowed him to draw fouls when Bologna players lunged in desperately, and he showed that he was learning to play simple in knowing when to keep possession and when to probe for an opening.
As the clock ticked past the 75th minute, Luka found himself near the center circle, calmly knocking the ball back and forth with Jude Bellingham. The two youngsters were playing keep-away from Bologna's midfielders, much to the frustration of the Italian side.
Suddenly, a misplaced pass from Akanji sent the ball hurtling towards the sideline. It was sailing high and fast, looking certain to go out of play. Luka, however, had other ideas.
With a burst of speed, he raced towards the touchline. The ball was dropping rapidly, mere inches from crossing over. In a display of athleticism and flexibility that drew gasps from the crowd, Luka leapt into the air. He extended his right leg, his boot making contact with the ball just before it went out. The touch was perfect, cushioning the ball and bringing it under control.
As Luka landed, he was immediately aware of the danger. Three Bologna players were converging on him, their eyes gleaming with the opportunity to win back possession in a dangerous area. But even before his feet touched the grass, Luka's mind was racing, formulating a plan.
The first Bologna player lunged in, attempting to poke the ball away. Luka, his body still adjusting from the leap, somehow managed to roll the ball with the sole of his boot, pulling it back and away from the defender's outstretched leg. The move left the Bologna player stumbling, grasping at thin air.
The second defender approached from Luka's left, attempting to body-check him off the ball. Luka's response was as swift as it was audacious. He flicked the ball up with his right foot, letting it bounce off his left knee. As the defender moved in, Luka nonchalantly nodded the ball over his head, spinning around to collect it on the other side. The defender was left rooted to the spot, bewildered by the improvised move.
The third Bologna player, sensing his teammates' embarrassment, came charging in. Luka, now with his back to the touchline, seemed to have nowhere to go. But as the defender launched into a slide tackle, Luka executed a perfect rainbow flick. The ball arced over the sliding defender, and Luka nimbly sidestepped him, collecting the ball on the other side.
In the span of mere seconds, Luka had bamboozled three Bologna players. The crowd was on its feet, a roar of appreciation echoing around the stadium. Even Marco Rose, typically reserved on the sideline, allowed himself a small smile and a shake of the head in disbelief.
Now Luka found himself with space to exploit. He burst forward, his legs pumping as he accelerated into Bologna's half. The game had suddenly transformed from a conservative possession exercise into a blistering counterattack.
As he approached the halfway line, Luka became aware of movement to his right. Erling Haaland, who had come on as a substitute just minutes earlier, was making a run beyond the Bologna defense. The Norwegian striker was pointing to the space behind the backline, clearly expecting a lofted pass over the top.
But Luka, his mind working as fast as his feet, saw a different option. The Bologna fullback and center-back were positioned closely together, their attention focused on Haaland's run. In a split-second decision that defied his young age and relative inexperience, Luka opted for the unexpected.
Instead of lifting the ball over the top, he drove a low, hard pass directly between the two defenders. The ball whistled across the turf, bisecting the gap between fullback and center-back with laser-like precision. Haaland, realizing Luka's intention, changed the angle of his run, darting towards the corner of the penalty area.
The pass was perfect, weighted just right for Haaland to reach it before the goalkeeper could come out. The Norwegian's first touch was sublime, cushioning the ball into his stride. With the Bologna keeper advancing, Haaland didn't hesitate. He opened up his body and slotted the ball into the far corner with clinical efficiency.
The net bulged, and Stadion Schnabelholz erupted. Dortmund 4, Bologna 0, and it was a goal born from a moment of individual brilliance by Luka Zorić.
As his teammates mobbed Haaland, Luka found himself at the center of a different kind of celebration. Jude Bellingham reached him first, wrapping him in a bear hug. "That was unreal, mate!" the English midfielder shouted over the crowd's roar.
Marco Rose was on his feet on the sideline, applauding enthusiastically. He caught Luka's eye and gave him a thumbs up, a broad smile on his face.
As the referee blew his whistle to restart play, Luka jogged back to his position, a sense of quiet satisfaction settling over him. There were still minutes left to play, but he had already given the Dortmund faithful – and his coach – something to remember. The regular season couldn't come soon enough.
As the match entered its final stages, Luka Zorić was playing with a complete confidence. The goal he had set up for Haaland had energized him, and he was now moving across the pitch with fluid grace.
In one particularly memorable sequence, Luka received the ball near the halfway line. Four Bologna players converged on him, thinking they could overwhelm the young midfielder. But Luka had other ideas.
With a quick step-over, he sent the first defender the wrong way. A simple body feint was enough to evade the second. The third lunged in, but Luka simply rolled the ball with the sole of his foot, leaving the defender grasping at air. The fourth and final defender approached cautiously, but Luka simply poked the ball through his legs with a cheeky nutmeg.
The crowd gasped in appreciation as Luka emerged from the cluster of defenders, the ball still glued to his feet. He looked up and saw Haaland making a run into space.
What happened next was pure playground football. Luka chipped the ball high into the air, aiming for Haaland. The Norwegian striker, showing incredible athleticism, leapt into the air and executed a perfect bicycle kick. But instead of aiming for goal, Haaland redirected the ball back to Luka, who had continued his run.
The ball dropped perfectly for Luka, who controlled it with his chest and immediately set off towards goal. The Bologna defense, caught off guard by the audacious exchange, scrambled to recover.
As Luka entered the penalty area, he could sense a defender closing in fast. He prepared to take his shot, but just as he was about to strike the ball, he felt a heavy body check from behind. The impact sent him sprawling to the turf, the ball spinning away.
Luka looked up, expecting to see the referee pointing to the penalty spot. But to his shock, the official waved play on. The Bologna defender had gotten away with a clear foul.
"Come on, ref!" Luka shouted, his voice tinged with disbelief. "How is that not a foul?"
But the game continued, and Luka had to quickly scramble to his feet to chase back. As he ran, he could hear Marco Rose shouting encouragement from the sideline.
"Keep your head up, Luka! Next time!"
Despite the disappointment of the non-call, Luka couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. He was playing at a level he had only dreamed of, combining with world-class players like Haaland and holding his own against seasoned professionals.
As he jogged back into position, Luka caught Haaland's eye. The big Norwegian grinned and gave him a thumbs up, as if to say, "We'll get them next time."
He then found himself surrounded by Bologna players. Their faces were contorted with frustration, and they began speaking rapidly in Italian.
"Ehi, ragazzino! Pensi di essere speciale?" one of them spat.
Another chimed in, "Torna all'asilo, piccolo!"
Luka couldn't understand their words, but their tone was clear enough. He kept his eyes forward, focusing on the game.
Then, a voice cut through in accented English. "Hey, wonder boy! You think you're hot stuff? You're nothing but a lucky kid. Go back to the playground!"
Luka's jaw tightened, but he refused to engage. He'd been warned about letting opponents get under his skin. Instead, he took a deep breath and readied himself for the next phase of play.
The ball was played back to Mats Hummels, who calmly surveyed the field. Luka, sensing an opportunity, began to drift into space between the Bologna midfield and defense. He raised his hand, calling for the ball.
Hummels spotted him and delivered a crisp pass that cut through the air. Luka took a quick glance over his shoulder, noting the positions of his teammates and the pressing Bologna players. As the ball approached, he oriented his body to receive it with his back to goal.
The first touch was crucial. Luka cushioned the ball with the inside of his foot, killing its momentum instantly. A Bologna midfielder lunged in, trying to dispossess him, but Luka was already pivoting, using his body to shield the ball.
Now facing upfield, Luka spotted Jude Bellingham making a run into space. Without hesitation, he clipped a pass towards his teammate. The ball skimmed over the grass, perfectly weighted.
Bellingham, always aware of his surroundings, let the ball run across his body. With a swift movement, he flicked it first-time towards Marco Reus, who had drifted wide to the left.
Reus, didn't wait for the ball to reach him. He was already on the move, accelerating down the left flank. His first touch was immaculate, pushing the ball ahead of him without breaking stride.
Two Bologna defenders converged on Reus, trying to close down the space. But the Dortmund captain had other ideas. With a sudden change of direction, he cut inside, leaving one defender off-balance.
Luka, meanwhile, hadn't stood still. He'd continued his run, ghosting between the Bologna midfield and defense. Reus spotted him and threaded a pass through a narrow gap.
The ball was slightly behind Luka, forcing him to adjust his stride. For a moment, it looked like he might lose control, but with a deft flick of his heel, he redirected the ball into the path of the onrushing Bellingham.
It was a moment of pure intuition, a no-look backheel that caught everyone by surprise. The Bologna defense was suddenly in disarray, scrambling to reorganize as Bellingham burst forward.
Bellingham, now with acres of space ahead of him, began to drive towards the Bologna goal. The crowd rose to its feet, sensing something special was unfolding.
Luka, not content with his part in the build-up, continued his run. He sprinted forward, overtaking two Bologna midfielders who had been caught ball-watching. As he approached the edge of the penalty area, he began to angle his run towards the center.
Bellingham, aware of Luka's movement, had a decision to make. He could continue his run and shoot, look for a pass to the overlapping fullback, or try to find Luka. Time seemed to slow as he weighed his options.
In that split second, Bellingham's eyes met Luka's. There was a flash of understanding between them, a connection that transcended verbal communication. Bellingham, without breaking stride, cut the ball back towards the penalty spot.
The pass wasn't perfect. It had a bit too much pace on it, skidding off the slick grass. For a moment, it looked like it might evade Luka altogether.
But Luka had been ready for anything. As the ball approached, he adjusted his body position, opening up his hips. With a single, fluid motion, he let the ball run across his body, using the inside of his right foot to guide it onto his left.
The touch was perfect, setting the ball up ideally. Luka glanced up, taking in the scene before him in a fraction of a second. The Bologna goalkeeper was slightly off his line, the defenders were still scrambling to get back into position, and there was a sliver of space between the keeper and the top corner of the goal.
Without hesitation, Luka unleashed a shot. His left foot connected sweetly with the ball, sending it curling towards the goal. Time seemed to stand still as the ball arced through the air, its trajectory bending it away from the desperately reaching goalkeeper.
The whole stadium held its breath as the ball sailed towards the top corner. For a heart-stopping moment, it looked like it might just clip the crossbar. But then, with a satisfying swish, it nestled into the top corner of the net.
As the ball hit the net, the stadium erupted. But Luka stood motionless, his arms half-raised, a look of disbelief on his face. He blinked once, twice, as if unsure that what had just happened was real.
"Did I just... did that really go in?" he mumbled to himself, still rooted to the spot.
It was Bellingham who reached him first, leaping onto his back with a shout of pure joy. "You beauty!" he yelled in Luka's ear. "What a goal!"
The rest of the team converged on Luka, their faces a mix of excitement and awe. Emre Can, grinning from ear to ear, ruffled Luka's hair. "That," he said, "was world-class."
As his teammates celebrated around him, Luka finally began to process what had happened. A smile spread across his face, growing wider by the second. He had just scored a goal - and not just any goal, but a goal of breathtaking quality in a pre-season friendly against a top-tier Italian side.
As the referee blew his whistle to restart play, Luka jogged back to his position, still grinning. The disappointment of the earlier non-call was forgotten. He had proven himself in the most emphatic way possible, and as he said before, the regular season couldn't come soon enough.