Ankle
The Augsburg players were already lined up, their faces set in grim determination. As Luka took his place in the line, he couldn't help but notice the intense stares directed his way.
The pre-match handshakes began, and Luka felt the first indication of the physical battle to come. Each Augsburg player grasped his hand with unnecessary force, their eyes boring into him. One defender leaned in close, his breath hot on Luka's ear.
"Ready for a proper Bundesliga welcome, boy?" he growled, squeezing Luka's hand until the bones creaked.
Luka maintained his composure, meeting the defender's gaze without flinching. He'd faced intimidation before, but this felt different. There was a calculated edge to it that set his nerves on edge.
As the teams lined up for the national anthem, Luka's mind raced. Augsburg had been in formidable form lately, their physical, high-pressing style causing problems for even the top teams. They were known for their tactical discipline and relentless work rate, a team greater than the sum of its parts.
The whistle blew, and the match began at a frenetic pace. Immediately, Luka felt the intensity of Augsburg's press. Every time he received the ball, black and white shirts swarmed around him, giving him no time to think.
In the 10th minute, Luka received the ball on the left wing. He danced past one defender with a quick step-over, then another with a deft touch. But as he looked up to pick out a pass, he felt a sharp tug on his shirt. The referee waved play on, and Luka found himself surrounded by three Augsburg players.
He tried to wriggle free, but their physical presence was overwhelming. A shoulder barge sent him stumbling, and the ball was gone.
As he jogged back into position, he caught Jude's eye. The English midfielder gave him a reassuring nod, but Luka could see the concern etched on his face. This wasn't going to be easy.
The pattern continued as the half wore on. Every time Luka received the ball, black and white shirts swarmed around him. He'd beat one player with a clever flick or a burst of acceleration, only to find another defender ready to step in.
In the 25th minute, Luka found himself with a rare moment of space on the left wing. He looked up, spotting Reus making a run into the box. Luka whipped in a cross, the ball curling beautifully towards the penalty spot.
But before it could reach its target, Augsburg's towering center-back, Jeffrey Gouweleeuw, rose highest, clearing the danger with a powerful header. Luka couldn't help but admire the Dutchman's anticipation and aerial prowess. This Augsburg team was well-drilled and physically imposing at every position.
As the game approached the half-hour mark, Augsburg's tactical approach became even clearer. They were doubling up on Luka at every opportunity, using their superior strength to bully him off the ball. And when they couldn't get the ball, they were targeting his ankles with late challenges.
One particularly nasty tackle in the 32nd minute left Luka writhing on the ground, clutching his ankle. As he gingerly got to his feet, he could see the Augsburg players exchanging knowing glances. They had found his weakness, and they were exploiting it mercilessly.
The frustration began to build. Luka found himself playing simpler passes, his confidence, usually so unshakeable, was beginning to waver.
In the 38th minute, disaster struck. An Augsburg counter-attack caught Dortmund off guard. Ruben Vargas, the Swiss winger who had been giving Dortmund's defense fits all game, burst down the left flank. He cut inside, leaving Meunier in his wake, before sliding a perfect through ball into the path of Florian Niederlechner.
The Augsburg striker, timing his run to perfection, burst through on goal. Kobel came out to narrow the angle, but Niederlechner kept his cool, dinking the ball over the onrushing keeper and into the net.
The away section erupted in celebration, while the Yellow Wall fell into a stunned silence. Luka stood with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Jude.
"Keep your head up, mate," Jude said firmly. "We've got this."
Luka nodded, trying to shake off the creeping doubt. But as the half wore on, Augsburg's physical dominance continued. Every aerial duel, every 50-50 challenge seemed to go their way. Luka found himself drifting deeper and deeper, desperate to get on the ball and make something happen.
In the 43rd minute, a glimmer of hope. Luka received the ball in space for the first time all game. He turned, spotting Jude making a run into the box. Without hesitation, Luka whipped in a cross, the ball curling beautifully towards the penalty spot.
Jude rose highest, meeting the ball with a powerful header. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as the ball arced towards goal. But at the last second, Rafał Gikiewicz, the Augsburg keeper who had been having a stellar game, flung himself across, tipping the ball over the bar with his fingertips.
As the half-time whistle blew, Luka trudged towards the tunnel, his legs heavy and his spirits low. The score remained 1-0 to Augsburg, and Dortmund had been thoroughly outplayed. The tactical nous of Weinzierl and the physical prowess of this Augsburg side had nullified Dortmund's attack, and Luka in particular.
When Luka entered the dressing room, the atmosphere was thick with tension. His teammates slumped into their seats, faces etched with frustration and fatigue. The usual chatter was replaced by a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of water bottles being uncapped and weary sighs.
Marco Rose paced back and forth, his brow furrowed in concentration. As the last player filed in, he cleared his throat, commanding the attention of the room.
"Alright," Rose began, his voice steady but tinged with urgency. "I know that wasn't the half we wanted. Augsburg's come out strong, and they've thrown us off our game. But we're Borussia Dortmund. We don't give up."
Rose moved to the tactical board, quickly sketching out formations and movements. "They're doubling up on Luka, using their physicality to disrupt our flow. So we adapt. Jude, I want you pushing higher up the pitch. Give Luka an outlet when he's under pressure."
Luka nodded, trying to focus on Rose's words, but a dull throb in his ankle kept distracting him. The result of one too many heavy challenges. He considered mentioning it but quickly pushed the thought aside. There was no way he was coming off, not when the team needed him.
Rose continued, detailing positional adjustments and emphasizing the need for quicker ball movement. "They're trying to turn this into a physical battle. We need to make it a game of speed and technique. That's where we have the advantage."
The coach's talk seemed to reinvigorate the team. As they headed back out onto the pitch, there was a sense of purpose in their stride.
The second half kicked off, and immediately Luka could feel the difference. Jude was positioning himself closer, always offering an option. It allowed Luka to play quicker, one-touch passes, avoiding the physical confrontations that had plagued him in the first half.
In the 53rd minute, Luka received the ball near the halfway line. Instead of trying to dribble past the onrushing Augsburg midfielder, he played a quick, no-look pass to Jude, who had found space between the lines.
Jude turned, driving towards the Augsburg defense. Luka, seeing the space opening up, made a darting run to the left, dragging two defenders with him. It was the distraction Jude needed. He played a quick one-two with Reus, before cutting inside onto his right foot and unleashed a thunderous shot from the edge of the box. Gikiewicz got a hand to it, but the power was too much. The net bulged, and Signal Iduna Park erupted.
As his teammates mobbed Jude, Luka allowed himself a small smile. It wasn't an assist, but he knew his run had created the space. It was a start.
The goal seemed to shift the momentum. Dortmund began to dominate possession, with Luka playing a more understated but crucial role. He was keeping things simple, focusing on quick, accurate passes rather than attempting the dribbles that had gotten him into trouble earlier.
But as the hour mark approached, Luka could feel his influence waning. The pain in his ankle was getting worse, and his movements were becoming more labored. He gritted his teeth, determined to push through, but it was clear he wasn't at his best.
In the 62nd minute, Rose made the call. The fourth official's board went up, showing Luka's number in bright red. As he trudged off the pitch, a mixture of emotions swirled within him. Relief at the chance to rest his aching ankle, but overwhelming frustration at his inability to make a more significant impact.
As he slumped onto the bench, Luka couldn't contain his anger. He kicked a water bottle, sending it skittering across the turf. Akanji, sitting next to him, placed a calming hand on his shoulder.
"Easy, Luka," the Swiss defender said softly. "You did your part. Sometimes the game is like this. It's how you respond that matters."
Luka took a deep breath, trying to let Akanji's words sink in. But as he watched the game continue without him, the frustration continued to simmer.
In the 79th minute, Jude struck again. A corner was only half-cleared, and Jude, being perfectly positioned, volleyed home from the edge of the box. The stadium erupted once more, and Luka found himself on his feet, cheering despite his inner turmoil.
The final whistle soon blew, confirming Dortmund's 2-1 comeback victory, Luka's emotions remained a confusing mix. The joy of the team's success was tempered by the nagging pain in his ankle and the disappointment in his own performance.
Forcing himself to his feet, Luka made his way down to the medical room. The corridors of Signal Iduna Park echoed with the distant cheers of fans, but Luka's mind was focused on one thing: his ankle.
Dr. Braun was waiting for him. His experienced eyes immediately zeroed in on Luka's slight limp.
"Let's take a look, shall we?" Dr. Braun said, patting the examination table.
Luka hopped up, wincing slightly as he extended his leg. Dr. Braun's fingers probed gently but firmly around the ankle joint, eliciting small grunts of discomfort from Luka.
After a few minutes of examination and some quick imaging, Dr. Braun leaned back, his face thoughtful.
"The good news is, there's no serious damage," he began. "But I'm concerned about the recurring nature of these issues. Your ankle ligaments are showing signs of strain."
Luka's heart sank. "How bad is it, Doc? I've got national team duty coming up."
Dr. Braun sighed. "You'll need to rest it. I'm afraid you'll have to miss the game against Cyprus. But with proper care, you should be fine for the following matches."
Luka nodded, trying to process the information. "What about long-term? The World Cup is at the end of the season, and I can't... I won't miss it."
The doctor's eyes softened with understanding. "I know how important it is to you, Luka. But we need to address this now to prevent more serious problems down the line. The issue is that the ligaments in your ankle are naturally a bit lax. This makes you prone to these kinds of strains."
He pulled up some diagrams on his tablet, showing Luka the intricate structure of the ankle. "See these ligaments here? They're not as tight as we'd like them to be. It's what gives you that exceptional agility on the pitch, but it also makes you more susceptible to injuries."
Luka leaned in, studying the images intently. "So what can we do about it?"
"We're already doing the right things with your strength and conditioning program," Dr. Braun explained. "But we need to step it up. I want you doing extra proprioception exercises to improve your ankle stability. And most importantly, you need to ensure you're wearing that ankle tape at all times during football activities - training, matches, everything."
"How long until it's... fixed?" Luka asked hesitantly.
Dr. Braun shook his head. "It's not about 'fixing' it, Luka. It's about management and strengthening. With consistent work, we should see significant improvement in about 12 weeks. But this is something you'll need to stay on top of throughout your career."
Luka absorbed this information, his mind racing. "And you're sure I'll be okay for the World Cup?"
"If you follow the program and listen to your body, yes," Dr. Braun assured him. "But you have to be smart about it. No unnecessary risks, okay?"
Luka nodded, determination setting in. "Whatever it takes, Doc. I'll do it."
As he left the medical room, his ankle freshly taped and with a list of additional exercises in hand, Luka's mood began to lift slightly. Yes, he was disappointed about missing the Cyprus game, but he had a plan. A way forward.
He checked his phone, seeing a message from Jude: "Still on for FIFA tonight, mate? Mum's making shepherd's pie!"
Despite his fatigue and the lingering frustration from the match, Luka couldn't help but smile. He quickly typed back: "Wouldn't miss it. Be there in an hour."
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I've noticed a mistake, this was meant to be a oneshot, so i missed the fact that I had him a 16 in the first chapter, but from then on 17. So we'll say his birthday is in July.