St Gallen
Luka sat on the edge of an examination table, his legs dangling off the side, feet not quite touching the ground. He was dressed in a loose BVB t-shirt and shorts, his hair still damp from the post-training shower. The young Croatian's eyes wandered around the room, taking in the various pieces of medical equipment, some of which he couldn't even begin to name.
The door opened, and in walked Dr. Markus Braun, followed closely by Sebastian Kehl. Dr. Braun carried a tablet in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee in the other.
"Well, Luka," Dr. Braun began, pulling up a stool to sit across from the young player. "How are you feeling after your first few days with us?"
Luka's eyes lit up. "It's been incredible, Doctor. Challenging, but in the best way possible."
Dr. Braun chuckled, a warm sound that instantly put Luka at ease. "That's what we like to hear. Now, I've got your full medical report here, and I thought we could go through it together. Don't worry," he added, noticing a flicker of concern in Luka's eyes, "it's all good news. Well, mostly good news."
Kehl leaned against the wall, arms crossed, listening intently as Dr. Braun began to explain.
"First off, your cardiovascular fitness is excellent. We've already established that."
Luka nodded, a small smile of pride tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"However," Dr. Braun continued, his tone becoming a touch more serious, "we do have some areas we need to work on. Your upper body strength is below what we'd like to see for a professional player. It's not uncommon for young players, especially those with your build, but it's something we'll need to address."
Kehl chimed in, his voice reassuring. "Don't worry, Luka. We've got a great strength and conditioning team. They'll work with you to develop a program that will have you building muscle without compromising your agility."
Dr. Braun nodded in agreement before continuing. "Now, there's one other thing I want to discuss. The MRI showed some mild stress on your ankle joints. It's not serious at this stage, but it's something we need to keep an eye on."
Luka's brow furrowed slightly. "Is it something I should be worried about?"
"Not worried, no," Dr. Braun replied, his tone calm and measured. "But it is something we need to manage carefully. We'll be implementing some preventative measures - specialized exercises. Think of it as maintenance rather than repair."
As Dr. Braun spoke, a knock at the door interrupted them. A young woman poked her head in, carrying a tray laden with food.
"Ah, perfect timing," Kehl said, waving her in. "Luka, this is Emma, one of our nutritionists. She's put together a meal plan for you."
Emma, a petite woman with a bright smile and a tidy blonde ponytail, set the tray down on a nearby table. "Nice to meet you, Luka," she said warmly. "I've heard a lot about you."
Dr. Braun turned back to Luka. "This ties into what we were just discussing. Your body fat percentage is on the lower end of what we consider ideal. Emma here has designed a nutrition plan to help you put on some lean muscle mass."
Emma stepped forward, gesturing to the tray. "I've prepared a sample of what your typical post-training meal might look like. We've got grilled chicken breast for protein, quinoa for complex carbs, and a mix of steamed vegetables for vitamins and minerals. There's also a protein shake there, specially formulated to aid in muscle recovery and growth."
Luka eyed the food with a mix of interest and mild trepidation. It looked healthy, sure, but he couldn't help but think longingly of his mother's home-cooked meals.
Sensing his hesitation, Emma added with a wink, "Don't worry, it tastes better than it looks. And we're not complete tyrants - there's room for treats in moderation. We'll work together to find a balance that keeps you healthy and happy."
As Luka nodded, visibly relaxing, Kehl stepped forward. "Luka, I know this is a lot to take in. You're not just adapting to a new team and a new country, but also to the demands of professional football at the highest level. It's okay to feel overwhelmed sometimes."
Luka looked up at Kehl, gratitude evident in his eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Kehl. It is a bit overwhelming, but... it's also exciting. I want to do whatever it takes to succeed here."
Kehl smiled, clapping Luka gently on the shoulder. "That's the attitude we like to see. Remember, everyone here - from Dr. Braun and Emma to your teammates and coaches - we're all here to support you. Don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it."
The meeting wound down, with Dr. Braun handed Luka a printed copy of his medical report and training recommendations. Emma went over the basics of his meal plan, promising to send a more detailed version to his club email.
As Luka prepared to leave, his arms full of papers and his sample meal, Kehl held the door open for him. "Oh, and Luka?" Kehl said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I heard about Erling's FIFA and lasagna invitation. Just... maybe go easy on the lasagna, yeah? Emma might have my head if she finds out."
Luka stepped out of the medical facility, the cool evening air embraced him, carrying with it the faint scent of freshly cut grass. He paused for a moment, taking in the serene beauty of the Brackel Training Ground as twilight settled over Dortmund.
His arms were laden with papers - medical reports, nutrition plans, and training schedules - but his mind was elsewhere, reflecting on his experiences since his arrival at Borussia Dortmund. The young Croatian found himself marveling at how much he had learned in such a short time, not just about football, but about himself.
Luka began to walk, his feet carrying him almost unconsciously towards the main building. As he strolled, he recalled the moments that had shaped his first week at the club. The humbling tackle from Mats Hummels during that first training session seemed like a lifetime ago, yet the lesson it taught him remained fresh in his mind.
"Simplicity," Luka murmured to himself, remembering Cruyff's words that his father had often quoted. He had come to Dortmund believing that his flair and trickery would be enough to set him apart, but he was quickly learning that at this level, it was often the simple things done exceptionally well that made the difference.
After that initial wake-up call, Luka had thrown himself into every drill with focus and determination. He had worked tirelessly on his passing, movement off the ball, and decision-making. The results were beginning to show.
Just that morning, Marco Rose had pulled him aside after training. The coach's words still rang in his ears: "Luka, I've been impressed with your progress. You're starting to understand what we're looking for here. Keep this up, and you'll be traveling with the team to St. Gallen for the friendly against Athletic Bilbao."
The prospect of potentially making his debut, even if it was a friendly, sent a thrill of excitement through Luka.
As he approached the main building, Luka's gaze fell on the gym facilities visible through the large windows. He remembered Dr. Braun's words about his need to build upper body strength. It was perhaps his most glaring weakness, one that would be exploited by more physical defenders.
Yet, his trickery and quick feet made him elusive, difficult to tackle cleanly. He had noticed during the practice matches that he often drew fouls from frustrated defenders. It was a skill that could prove valuable in real match situations, winning free kicks in dangerous areas.
The next morning, Luka found himself in the gym, grimacing as he pushed through another set of bench presses. The weight wasn't heavy by professional standards, but for him, it was a challenge. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he focused on maintaining proper form.
"Good, Luka. Two more," encouraged Jonas, one of the strength and conditioning coaches. As Luka completed the set, Jonas handed him a towel. "You're making progress. It'll take time, but you'll get there."
Luka nodded, catching his breath. He was about to move on to the next exercise when he heard his name called.
"Zorić! Coach wants to see you in the analysis room," shouted one of the assistants from the doorway.
Luka's heart skipped a beat. Was this about the Bilbao game? He quickly toweled off and made his way to the analysis suite, his mind racing.
Inside, he found Marco Rose and his coaching staff huddled around a large screen. Rose looked up as Luka entered, a slight smile on his face.
"Ah, Luka. Good news - you're in the squad for St. Gallen. Now, let's go over some footage of Bilbao."
Luka's face lit up, but he tried to maintain his composure as he took a seat. The screen came to life with clips of Athletic Bilbao's recent matches.
"Pay attention to their pressing," Rose explained, pointing out the movements of Bilbao's forwards. "Iñaki Williams is rapid, and Raúl García is clever with his positioning. They'll try to force us into mistakes."
Luka leaned forward, absorbing every detail. He watched Unai Vencedor orchestrate play from midfield, noting how the young Spaniard dictated tempo.
"Their back four is solid," Rose continued. "Yeray and Íñigo Martínez are tough centre-backs. If you get a chance against them, you'll need to be sharp."
As the session wound down, Luka's mind was buzzing with tactical information. He was about to leave when Rose called him back.
"Luka, I can't promise you'll play. But be ready. This is a chance to show us what you can do in a match situation."
Luka nodded, trying to keep his excitement in check. "I understand, Coach. I'll be ready."
As he left the room, Luka overheard some of his teammates chatting in the corridor.
"Hey, new kid's in the squad for St. Gallen," Mats Hummels was saying to Marco Reus.
Reus grinned. "Good. Be interesting to see what he can do in a real game."
<>
Luka burst through the door of his apartmen. He fumbled with his phone, fingers trembling slightly as he dialed the number of this mother, who was at work. As soon as she answered, words tumbled out of his mouth in rapid Croatian.
"Mama! You won't believe it! I'm going to St. Gallen with the team!"
There was a moment of silence on the other end, then his mother's voice, warm and slightly confused. "St. Gallen? Is that... good?"
Luka couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, Mama, it's great! It's in Switzerland. We're playing a friendly match against Athletic Bilbao. I might even get to play!"
His mother's excitement caught up with his own. "Oh, Luka! That's wonderful! Your father will be so proud." Her voice softened at the mention of his father, but quickly brightened again. "Tell me everything. Are you eating well? Do you need anything?"
As Luka recounted the details of his day, his mother's enthusiasm grew. She might not have understood all the football intricacies, but she understood her son's joy, and that was enough.
After the call, Luka began the process of packing. He laid out his Dortmund training gear, carefully folding each piece. His fingers lingered on the BVB crest, still marveling at where life had taken him. Next came his casual clothes for the trip, then toiletries. He paused at his boots, giving them a quick polish before nestling them safely in the bag.
The next day was a filled with final preparations. Morning training was intense, focusing on sharpening their tactics for the upcoming match. Luka pushed himself hard, determined to prove he deserved his spot in the traveling squad.
As evening approached, the team gathered at the airport. Luka found himself seated next to Jude Bellingham on the short flight to Switzerland. The young English midfielder grinned at him.
First time in the team, eh? Excited?" Jude asked, his Birmingham accent thick and cheerful.
Luka nodded, smiling back. "Yeah. Still can't believe it, to be honest."
"Oh, you'll get used to it," Jude chuckled. "So, how're you finding Germany so far? Bit different from Manchester, innit?"
"Tell me about it," Luka laughed. "The food's great, but I'm still getting used to everything being closed on Sundays. What about you? Miss England much?"
Jude leaned back in his seat. "Sometimes, yeah. Miss a proper Sunday roast, you know? But can't complain, football's brilliant here."
"Agreed," Luka nodded. "Though I bet you don't miss the weather in Birmingham."
"Oi!" Jude exclaimed in mock offense. "Nothing wrong with a bit of rain... every single day."
They both burst out laughing.
"Speaking of England," Jude continued, "your accent's a bit of a mix, mate. What's the story there?"
Luka grinned. "Bit complicated, that. Mum's Croatian, Dad was English. But get this - I wasn't born in either country."
Jude's eyebrows shot up. "No way! Where then?"
"Portugal, if you can believe it. Parents were on holiday, I decided to make an early appearance."
"Mate, that's mad!" Jude laughed. "So where'd you grow up then?"
"Bit of everywhere, really. Spent most of my time in Manchester though. You a United fan growing up?"
Jude shook his head vigorously. "Nah, mate. Birmingham City through and through. You?"
"United through and through." Luka admitted sheepishly.
They chatted about their respective cities, favorite local foods, Luka confessing his love for a good chip butty, while Jude extolled the virtues of a proper Balti, and their experiences in youth academies.
As the flight began its descent, Jude turned to Luka with a grin. "Alright, important question - tea or coffee?"
Luka pretended to think hard. "Tough one... but I've got to go with tea. Milk, two sugars."
"Good lad," Jude nodded approvingly. "We'll make a proper Englishman out of you yet!"
Before he knew it, they were descending into St. Gallen.
The team bus wound its way through the picturesque Swiss city to their hotel. Luka pressed his face against the window, taking in the unfamiliar sights. The old town's colorful buildings and narrow streets gave way to more modern structures as they approached their destination.
At the hotel, Luka found himself rooming with Youssoufa Moukoko. The two youngest members of the squad quickly bonded over their shared experiences as rising stars in a high-pressure environment.
The next morning, after a team breakfast, they had a few hours of free time before their afternoon training session. Luka and Youssoufa decided to explore the city a bit. They wandered through the old town, marveling at the Abbey of Saint Gall with its imposing baroque architecture.
As they strolled, Luka's mind kept drifting to the upcoming match. He imagined himself on the pitch, the roar of the crowd in his ears. Would he get to play? And if he did, could he make an impact?
Youssoufa seemed to sense his thoughts. "Hey," he said, nudging Luka's shoulder. "Stop overthinking. You're here because you deserve to be. Just enjoy it."
Luka smiled gratefully at his new friend. "You're right. Thanks."
They made their way back to the hotel, joining their teammates for a light lunch before heading to the stadium for training. As they stepped onto the pitch at Kybunpark, Luka felt a thrill run through him. This was it. This was where he might make his debut for Borussia Dortmund.
The training session was focused but relaxed, designed to familiarize them with the pitch without tiring them out before the match. As they went through their drills, Luka caught Marco Rose watching him closely. He redoubled his efforts, determined to show he was ready if called upon.
As the sun began to set over St. Gallen, the team returned to the hotel for their pre-match meal and tactical meeting. Rose went over the game plan one last time, emphasizing the areas they'd worked on in training.
"Remember," Rose concluded, his gaze sweeping across the room, "this is a friendly, but it's also an opportunity. Show me what you can do." His eyes lingered on Luka for a moment.