Union
"Ach, sieh mal!" Max exclaimed, pointing at a group of fans decked out in black and yellow, their faces painted with the club's colors. "They're so cool!"
Klaus chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "Ja, they are. Maybe next time we'll paint our faces too, eh?"
Max's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "Really? That would be awesome!"
As they approached the stadium, the crowd grew denser. Max gripped his father's hand tightly, his excitement mixed with a touch of nervousness at the sheer number of people. The imposing structure of Signal Iduna Park loomed before them, its yellow walls gleaming in the fading light.
"Papa, do you think Luka will score today?" Max asked, his voice barely audible above the crowd's chatter.
Klaus smiled down at his son. "Wer weiß? Anything can happen in football. But one thing's for sure - it's going to be an exciting match."
They made their way through the turnstiles, the familiar beep of the scanner accompanied by the rustling of tickets and the occasional shout of a steward directing the flow of people. As they emerged into the stadium proper, Max's eyes widened, taking in the sea of black and yellow that filled the stands.
"Wow," he breathed, his voice filled with awe.
Klaus nodded in agreement. "Impressive, isn't it? Come on, let's find our seats."
They navigated through the crowded concourse, the smell of bratwurst and beer filling the air. Max's stomach growled, reminding him of the excitement that had overshadowed his appetite earlier.
"Papa, können wir später eine Bratwurst kaufen?" Max asked, his eyes darting towards a nearby food stand.
Klaus laughed. "Of course we can get a bratwurst later. But let's get to our seats first, okay?"
They finally found their section and began the climb up the steps. Max counted each one, a game he played every time they came to the stadium. "...28, 29, 30! We're here!"
They settled into their seats, the plastic cool against their backs. The view of the pitch was perfect, the freshly mown grass a vibrant green under the floodlights. Players from both teams were already on the field, going through their warm-up routines.
Max's eyes scanned the pitch, searching for one player in particular. "There he is!" he exclaimed, pointing excitedly. "It's Luka!"
Klaus followed his son's gaze, spotting the young player easily. Even from a distance, there was something distinctive about the way Luka moved, a fluidity that set him apart from his teammates.
"He looks ready," Klaus observed. "Union Berlin won't know what hit them."
As the teams finished their warm-ups and headed back to the dressing rooms, the stadium began to fill with the chants of the Yellow Wall.
"Borussia, Borussia BVB!" The chant echoed around the stadium, sending shivers down Max's spine.
The atmosphere intensified as the teams emerged from the tunnel. Max leaned forward in his seat, his eyes fixed on the players as they lined up for the pre-match handshakes.
"Look how focused Luka is," Klaus pointed out. "That's the face of a player ready to give his all."
Max nodded, too excited to speak. As the referee blew his whistle to start the match, a roar went up from the crowd. The game was on.
From the first whistle, it was clear that this wasn't going to be an easy match for Dortmund. Union Berlin, known for their disciplined defense and quick counter-attacks, were not about to roll over for the home team.
"Komm schon, Dortmund!" Klaus shouted as Haaland made a darting run into the box, only to be thwarted by a last-ditch tackle.
Max was on the edge of his seat, his eyes darting back and forth as he tried to follow the action. Every time Luka got the ball, a ripple of excitement went through the crowd. Even at his young age, Max could see why. The way Luka moved with the ball seemed almost magical, as if it was an extension of his body.
"Did you see that, Papa?" Max gasped as Luka executed a particularly audacious piece of skill, nutmegging a Union Berlin defender before spraying a pass out wide to Guerreiro.
Klaus nodded, impressed. "He's something special, that one."
As the first half wore on, the match remained goalless, but not for lack of trying. Haaland had come close twice, once hitting the post and once forcing a spectacular save from the Union Berlin keeper.
"It's coming," Klaus reassured Max, who was starting to look worried. "Sometimes it takes a while to break down a tough defense."
Just before halftime, Dortmund won a corner. As Reus stepped up to take it, the stadium held its collective breath. The ball arced into the box, and for a moment, it seemed like it would come to nothing. But then, rising above the defenders, Haaland connected with a powerful header.
The net bulged. The stadium erupted.
"Tor! Tor!" Max screamed, jumping up and down. "Haaland! Haaland!"
Klaus hugged his son, both of them caught up in the euphoria of the moment. As the players celebrated, Max's eyes were drawn to Luka, who was one of the first to reach Haaland, leaping onto his back in celebration.
The halftime whistle blew shortly after, with Dortmund leading 1-0. As the players left the field, the stadium was buzzing with excitement.
"Now, how about that bratwurst?" Klaus asked, grinning at Max's enthusiastic nod.
They made their way to the concession stand, joining the queue of hungry fans. The smell of grilling sausages made Max's mouth water.
"Zwei Bratwürste, bitte," Klaus ordered when they reached the front of the line.
As they munched on their bratwursts, Max and Klaus discussed the first half.
"Luka hasn't scored yet, but did you see those dribbles?" Max said, his mouth full of sausage.
Klaus nodded. "Ja, he's been incredible. Those Union Berlin defenders can't get near him."
As they finished their snacks and headed back to their seats, Max's mind was already racing with possibilities for the second half. "Do you think Luka will score in the second half, Papa?"
Klaus ruffled his son's hair. "We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"
The second half started with a bang. Union Berlin, clearly fired up by their manager's halftime talk, came out attacking. Within five minutes, they had equalized, a well-worked move finished off by their striker.
"Scheiße," Klaus muttered under his breath, before catching himself and glancing guiltily at Max.
Max, however, was too focused on the game to notice his father's language slip. "Come on, Dortmund!" he shouted, his young voice joining the chorus of encouragement from the stands.
The game opened up after that, with both teams pushing for a winner. Luka, in particular, seemed to find another gear. His dribbles became even more audacious, leaving Union Berlin players in his wake.
"Look at him go!" Max exclaimed as Luka embarked on another mazy run, weaving between three defenders before being brought down just outside the box.
The resulting free-kick came to nothing, but it was clear that Dortmund were building momentum. The crowd sensed it too, the volume in the stadium rising with each passing minute.
Then, in the 70th minute, it happened. Luka, picking up the ball deep in his own half, set off on a run that would be replayed countless times in the days to come.
"Er läuft! Er läuft!" Klaus shouted, rising to his feet along with everyone else in the stadium.
Max watched, wide-eyed, as Luka accelerated past one Union Berlin player, then another. A third lunged in with a tackle, but Luka deftly sidestepped him, never breaking stride.
As he approached the box, it seemed like the entire Union Berlin team converged on him. But with a quick shimmy and a burst of pace, Luka was through.
The goalkeeper came out, trying to narrow the angle. For a moment, it looked like Luka had taken the ball too wide. But then, with the outside of his foot, he curled a shot that seemed to bend around the keeper and nestle in the far corner of the net.
The stadium exploded.
"Tooooooor!" Max screamed, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Luka! Luka! Luka!"
Klaus swept his son up in a bear hug, both of them jumping up and down in celebration. Around them, the entire stadium was on its feet, a sea of black and yellow erupting in joy.
On the pitch, Luka was mobbed by his teammates. Even from a distance, Max could see the young player's face split in a wide grin.
"Did you see that, Papa? Did you see what he did?" Max babbled excitedly.
Klaus nodded, still slightly in awe of what he'd just witnessed. "That was... incredible. Absolutely incredible."
The goal seemed to break Union Berlin's spirit. Just five minutes later, Haaland added his second of the night, latching onto a through ball from Reus and slotting it coolly past the keeper.
With the score at 3-1 and only fifteen minutes left, the party atmosphere in the stadium intensified. The Yellow Wall was in full voice, their songs echoing around the ground.
Max joined in enthusiastically, his young voice adding to the cacophony. "Schwarz und Gelb, Borussia BVB!"
As the final whistle approached, there was time for one more moment of magic. Guerreiro, picking up a loose ball on the edge of the box, unleashed a thunderbolt of a shot that flew into the top corner.
4-1. The perfect end to a perfect night.
<>
As the stadium erupted in celebration, Luka felt the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins begin to ebb. The fatigue of the intense match settled into his muscles as he made his way off the pitch, his jersey clinging to his sweat-soaked skin.
"Oi, Zorić!" a familiar voice called out. Luka turned to see Bellingham jogging up beside him, a wide grin on his face despite the exertion of the game.
"Some match, eh?" Luka said, bumping fists with his teammate.
Jude chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, mate. Though I could've done without that little slip-up in the first half."
Luka burst out laughing, remembering the moment when Jude had attempted a quick turn, only to lose his footing and end up sprawled on the turf. "Oh man, I thought you were trying to break dance or something!"
"Har har," Jude rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in his words. "At least I didn't nutmeg myself like you did last week in training."
The two continued their playful banter as they made their way to the dressing room, the sounds of celebration from the stands still echoing through the corridors.
Inside, the atmosphere was electric. Players were hugging, laughing, and reliving moments from the game. Haaland was in the corner, already shirtless and flexing for a group selfie with some of the other players.
Luka and Jude found a quiet corner to start their warm-down routine. As they stretched, Jude's expression turned more serious.
"Listen, mate," he said, his voice low enough that only Luka could hear. "I've been thinking about our tactics lately."
Luka raised an eyebrow, intrigued, did Jude also not like their style of play? "Yeah? What about them?"
Jude sighed, stretching his hamstring. "Don't get me wrong, we're winning, and that's great. But sometimes it feels like we're relying too much on individual brilliance, you know? Like today, your goal was insane, but it was all you. There wasn't much team play involved."
Luka nodded slowly. "I see what you mean. Sometimes I feel like I'm isolated out wide, you know? It's like everyone wants to play through the center."
"Exactly!" Jude exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly. He lowered his voice again. "I try to look for you out there, but it seems like I'm the only one sometimes. We need to spread the play more, use the whole width of the pitch."
They continued their stretches, moving on to their upper bodies. "You're right. We're winning now, but like the game against Bayern, we'll struggle without a better strategy."
Jude nodded vigorously. "That's what I'm saying. We've got so much talent in this team, but we need to use it better. It's not just about individual moments of brilliance, it's about how we function as a unit."
Their conversation was interrupted by a booming voice. "Alright, lads!" It was the Marco Rose, gathering everyone for a post-match debrief. Luka and Jude joined the rest of the team, their discussion put on hold for the moment.
After the debrief, as they were getting changed, Jude brought up another topic. "So, international break coming up soon. You'll be off with Croatia again, yeah?"
Luka nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, can't wait. We're top of our group in the World Cup Qualifiers right now."
Jude's eyes widened. "Oh yeah, I heard about that. You've been absolutely tearing it up, haven't you? What is it now, five goals and three assists in three games?"
Luka felt a flush of pride, but tried to play it cool. "Something like that, yeah. It's been going well."
"Going well?" Jude laughed incredulously. "Mate, those numbers are insane. You're playing like a seasoned pro out there." He paused for a moment, then added with a hint of curiosity, "You know, I've always wondered... why didn't you choose to represent England? I mean, you grew up there, right?"
Luka took a deep breath, considering his response. It wasn't the first time he'd been asked this question, but it was the first time a fellow player - and an English one at that - had broached the subject.
"Yeah, I did grow up in England," Luka began, his voice thoughtful. "And don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for everything I learned there. But Croatia... it's more than just where my mum's from, you know? It's a part of me, a part of my identity that I've always felt connected to, even growing up in Manchester."
Jude listened intently, nodding along.
"When I put on that red and white checkered shirt," Luka continued, his eyes lighting up, "it feels like I'm honoring my heritage, my family's history. It's hard to explain, but it just feels right. Plus, the style of play in the Croatian team... it suits me better, I think. There's more emphasis on technical skill, on creativity."
"I get that," Jude said, his voice sincere. "It's got to be about more than just which team gives you the best chance of winning, right? It's about where your heart is."
Luka nodded, grateful for his friend's understanding. "Exactly. And I believe it'll be better for me in the long run, both as a player and as a person."
"Fair enough," Jude said, clapping Luka on the shoulder. "Just promise me one thing, yeah?"
"What's that?" Luka asked, curious.
Jude grinned mischievously. "When England and Croatia meet in the World Cup, go easy on us, will you?"
Luka burst out laughing. "Not a chance, mate. Not a chance."