Club
The substantial paycheck from his recent performances was burning a hole in his pocket, but he'd made a promise to himself - and to his father - to be responsible. He'd set aside 10,000 euros for personal expenses, committing the rest to savings and investments.
"Balenciaga," Luka murmured to himself, his eyes lighting up as he spotted the familiar logo. He adjusted his mask, ensuring it covered his nose and mouth properly, before stepping into the store.
A sales associate approached, her smile evident even behind her mask.
"Guten Tag! Kann ich Ihnen helfen?" she asked cheerfully.
Luka hesitated for a moment, his mind racing to translate and formulate a response. His German had improved rapidly since moving to Dortmund, but he still felt self-conscious about his accent and occasional grammatical mistakes.
"Uh, ja... Ich suche nach... neue Schuhe?" he managed, wincing internally at his clumsy phrasing.
The sales associate's eyes crinkled in a kind smile. "Neue Schuhe, sehr gut! Haben Sie ein bestimmtes Modell im Sinn?"
Luka's brow furrowed as he tried to parse the sentence. Sensing his struggle, the associate smoothly switched to English. "Do you have a specific model in mind?"
Relief washed over Luka's face. "Yes, thank you. I was looking at the Triple S sneakers. Do you have them in size 42?"
As the associate went to check their stock, Luka found himself reflecting on his language journey. Croatian and English had always come naturally to him, but German was proving to be a unique challenge. Still, he was picking it up faster than he'd expected, the similarities to English and his natural aptitude for languages helping him along.
His musings were interrupted by a hesitant tap on his shoulder. He turned to find a young boy, no older than twelve, staring up at him with wide, awestruck eyes.
"Entschuldigung," the boy said softly, "sind Sie Luka Zorić?"
Luka smiled behind his mask, nodding. "Ja, das bin ich."
The boy's face lit up with excitement. "Kann ich... can I have a picture with you?" he asked, switching to English mid-sentence.
"Of course," Luka replied warmly. He crouched down next to the boy, maintaining a respectful distance as the boy's mother snapped a quick photo with her phone.
"Danke schön!" the boy exclaimed, his eyes shining. "You're my favorite player! That goal against Union Berlin was amazing!"
Luka felt a warmth spread through his chest. These moments, connecting with fans and seeing the joy he could bring them, never failed to humble him. "Thank you," he said sincerely. "Keep practicing, and maybe one day you'll score even better goals."
As the boy and his mother left, Luka turned back to find the sales associate had returned with the shoes he'd requested. He tried them on, admiring the bold design and comfortable fit.
"I'll take them," he decided, reaching for his wallet.
Over the next couple of hours, Luka made his way through several more stores, picking up a few designer t-shirts, a leather jacket, and a pair of tailored trousers.
As he was leaving a high-end menswear store, a group of teenage girls recognized him, giggling and whispering among themselves before one approached to ask for a selfie.
By the time he decided to call it a day, Luka's arms were laden with shopping bags, and his feet were beginning to ache. As he walked towards the parking lot, his phone buzzed with a notification. Curiosity piqued, he pulled it out to check.
It was a Bundesliga stats update.
The numbers had become a comforting ritual for him, a way to ground himself amidst all the chaos of football.
"Five games," he murmured under his breath, adjusting his mask. "Three goals, five assists."
He allowed himself a small smile. Leading the Bundesliga in assists, tied with Thomas Müller of all people. His dribbling stats were off the charts too, surpassing Sancho's numbers from the previous season.
The fact that these accomplishments no longer shocked him was perhaps the most surprising thing of all. Somewhere along the line, excellence had become the expectation rather than the exception.
Soon enough he exited the shopping center to where his Uber, who had just arrived was, and as Luka settled into the back seat of his Uber, he found his mind drifting to the whirlwind that his life had become.
The car pulled away from the curb, the sights of Dortmund sliding past the window. Luka's thoughts, however, were far from the passing scenery. He thought of his parents, their voices when he'd called to tell them about the money he'd sent. It wasn't just about clearing debts and overdue expenses - though that was certainly part of it. It was about giving them a cushion, a chance to breathe easy for perhaps the first time in years. The thought brought a smile to his face.
But with that warmth came a creeping sense of unease. Mendes had been working overtime lately, his phone buzzing constantly with calls from clubs across Europe. It was flattering, in a way, to be so sought after. But it was also overwhelming. How does one choose when every top club in the world is knocking at your door?
Manchester United was out of the question, that much he knew for certain. The thought of returning to the club that had overlooked him left a bitter taste in his mouth, Ronaldo would be there…but he didn't care, United was a major no. Chelsea, with Todd Boehly's spending spree, didn't appeal either, why would he join a club that had 10 players available for every position?
The "safe" options, as Mendes had put it, were Manchester City and Real Madrid, and he agreed, completely. Guaranteed trophies, world-class teammates, the biggest stages in football. The thought of playing alongside Jude at Real in a couple of years, or joining Haaland at City next season, was tempting. The chance to link up with one of his closest friends on the pitch, to create magic together week in and week out...
But then again, Real Madrid would be stacked. For instance, Elden Ring - how fun would the game be without a real challenge? And City, well, that was a whole other can of worms. The endless resources, the expectation of dominance... it felt almost too easy.
His mind drifted to other options. Tottenham, with their new stadium and perpetual promise of "next year," held a certain appeal. The chance to be the one to break the curse, to bring glory to a club so long starved of it. But then again, how many stars had been lured in by that same promise, only to see their prime years tick away without silverware?
Liverpool was another intriguing possibility. Klopp's high-intensity style would suit him well, and the thought of playing in front of the Kop sent a shiver of excitement down his spine. But that would be short lived, as Klopp would be retiring soon enough.
The Uber hit a pothole, jolting Luka from his reverie. He realized he was getting ahead of himself. The real question wasn't which top club to join, but whether to leave Dortmund at all.
He could sign a new deal here, sure. The thought had its appeal - continuing to develop without the entire world's lights beaming down on him. But would it be enough? Beyond that magical run to the Champions League final, Dortmund hadn't exactly been setting the world alight. AndLeverkusen, of all teams, were the ones to end Bayern's reign, not the rival team that had been competing with them for the number one position for what seemed like centuries.
Then there was the system to consider. Rose's tactics had their merits, he knew that, of course he did, how else would they be winning games? But still, the problem was even identifiable by him, who didn't even have much tactcial knowledge. In another life, another time, Rose would be out by the end of the season. But things were different now. His presence had changed the equation in ways he was still trying to understand.
Mendes' voice echoed in his mind, subtly pushing for a move. Not even at the end of the season, but in the summer. It was coming up fast, faster than Luka was prepared for.
As the days blurred, Luka found himself swept up in the rhythm of matches and training sessions. The weight of Mendes' words lingered in the back of his mind, but for now, his focus remained squarely on the pitch.
The Champions League clash against Sporting CP loomed large on the horizon. Signal Iduna Park was electric that night, the Yellow Wall in full voice as Dortmund took to the field. From the opening whistle, Luka felt locked in, his every touch precise, his vision razor-sharp.
It was in the 37th minute that he made his mark. Receiving the ball on the left flank, Luka feinted past one defender before whipping in a cross. The ball curled through the air, evading the outstretched arms of the Sporting goalkeeper and finding Reus at the far post. Who made mistake from close range and simply tapped the ball into the net.
Sporting fought back in the second half, equalizing through a well-worked set piece. But Dortmund's quality shone through in the end. A late goal from Reus secured a 2-1 victory, putting them atop their Champions League group.
But there was little time to savor the triumph. The Bundesliga waited for no one, and a trip to face Borussia Mönchengladbach was next on the agenda.
The match against Gladbach proved to be a different beast entirely. From the opening minutes, it was clear that this would be a battle.
Luka found himself dropping deeper and deeper to get on the ball, even more so than usual, desperate to influence the game. Time and again, he would receive the ball, twist away from a challenger, and look to spring an attack. His dribbling was immaculate - 17 successful take-ons out of 17 attempts, a stat that would have statisticians salivating.
But for all his individual brilliance, the final ball just wouldn't come off. His passes were finding their target, but for some reason, the entire team didn't seem to have their shooting boots on. Shots that they'd usually bury with ease were saved or deflected.
It was in the 73rd minute that the breakthrough finally came. Luka, receiving the ball just inside the Gladbach half, embarked on a mazy run that left three defenders in his wake. As he bore down on goal, the keeper rushed out to narrow the angle. Luka's shot was true, but somehow the keeper got a fingertip to it, deflecting it onto the post.
For a split second, time seemed to stand still. Then, out of nowhere, Bellingham appeared, reacting quickest to tap the rebound into the empty net. The away end erupted, Dortmund players mobbing Jude in celebration.
Luka, for his part, couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration.
It should have been his goal.
But as he jogged back to the center circle, he pushed those thoughts aside. The team came first, always.
What seemed like a win was completely erased when Gladbach equalized late on, a looping header that gave Kobel no chance. As the final whistle blew on a 1-1 draw, Luka felt a mixture of emotions. Pride at his individual performance, frustration at the missed opportunities, relief at salvaging a point from a tough away fixture.