Ballon D'or
As Luka caught his breath, he spotted Pedro Gonçalves and Matheus Nunes approaching him. Nunes, sweat-soaked and clearly disappointed, managed a smile. "Hey, Luka," he said, his Portuguese accent thick but friendly. "Can we swap shirts?"
Luka nodded, appreciating the gesture. He pulled off his jersey, exchanging it with Nunes' Sporting shirt. "Tough game, man," Luka said, shaking Nunes' hand. "You guys were solid out there."
Nunes smiled, a mix of pride and regret in his expression. "Yeah, you too. You've got some magic in those boots, Zorić. Good luck with the rest of the tournament."
"Thanks," Luka replied, patting Nunes on the back before they parted ways. As he made his way towards the tunnel, he saw Jude and Haaland up ahead, their arms slung around each other's shoulders, laughing and joking as they celebrated.
Luka jogged to catch up with them, grinning as he joined in. "You're always stealing the spotlight, Erling," he teased, nudging Haaland playfully.
Haaland smirked, his usual confident demeanor shining through. "Ja, just doing my job," he replied, his Norwegian accent adding a bit of charm to his words.
As they reached the tunnel, a reporter caught sight of the trio and hurried over, microphone in hand and camera crew in tow. "Erling! Luka! Jude! Can we grab a quick word?" she called out.
The players exchanged glances, then shrugged. "Sure, why not," Haaland said with a grin.
The reporter, a young woman with bright eyes and a practiced smile, quickly positioned herself between them. "Congratulations on the win, guys! That was an incredible comeback. Erling, let's start with you. What's going through your mind right now after scoring the winning goal?"
Haaland didn't miss a beat. "Feels good," he said with a casual shrug. "Just doing what I'm supposed to do."
"NPC response, innit?" Luka said, grinning from ear to ear.
Jude, standing on the other side of Haaland, laughed as well, shaking his head. "Mate, you've got to work on your post-match answers, man. That was textbook."
The reporter laughed along with them, clearly enjoying the banter. "Luka, Jude, how did it feel to be part of that incredible turnaround? It seemed like you really found your rhythm in the second half."
Jude was the first to answer. "Honestly, it was a team effort. We knew we had to step it up after the first half, and we just came out with more energy, more aggression. The fans were behind us the whole way, and that really pushed us on."
Luka nodded in agreement, his mind still replaying the game. "Yeah, I think we just clicked in the second half. We started moving the ball better, creating more space. It was beautiful football, really. And when you've got players like Erling and Jude around you, it's hard not to find those moments of magic."
Haaland smirked, nudging Luka with his elbow. "I'll take that as a compliment."
The reporter smiled, clearly enjoying the dynamic between them. "You guys seem to have a great chemistry on and off the pitch. What's it like playing together?"
Luka glanced at Jude and Haaland, both of whom were grinning like schoolboys. "It's brilliant," Luka said. "We push each other to be better every day. On the pitch, we just get each other. Off the pitch, well…" He trailed off, chuckling as Jude made a silly face at the camera. "We have a lot of fun, as you can see."
The reporter laughed along with them. "One last question before I let you go celebrate. What does this win mean for your Champions League campaign?"
Haaland was the first to respond, his tone turning serious. "It's massive for us. We needed this win to stay in the competition. Now we've got to build on it, keep improving, and hopefully go all the way."
Jude nodded in agreement. "We know what's at stake. This win is just the beginning. We've got a lot of work to do, but we're ready for it."
The reporter beamed, clearly satisfied with their answers. "Thanks so much, guys. Congratulations again, and good luck with the rest of the tournament!"
….
Luka sank into his couch, the memory of the Wolfsburg match still fresh in his mind. The 3-1 victory had been sweet, but being subbed off at the 60-minute mark left a bitter aftertaste. He'd played well, sure, but no goals or assists to his name. Not the impact he'd hoped for. Shaking off the lingering frustration, he turned his attention to the TV, where the Ballon d'Or ceremony was about to begin.
He wasn't nominated, of course—he knew he was far too early in his career for that. But it didn't stop him from feeling a knot of anticipation in his chest as the hours ticked by.
The TV was on in the background, showing the build-up to the ceremony. Glimpses of the red carpet flashed on the screen- Luka's eyes followed the likes of Mbappé and Lewandowski as they appeared, the commentators discussing their chances, their achievements, their legacy. It was hard not to feel a pang of envy, a flicker of impatience. He wanted to be there, too.
As the camera panned to the goat, Ronaldo arriving, Luka leaned forward, his eyes brightening. Luka could still remember the posters of Ronaldo that lined his bedroom walls as a kid, the way he'd tried to imitate every step-over, every free-kick technique. To him, back then, Ronaldo was the pinnacle of what it meant to be a footballer—relentless, disciplined, and undeniably talented.
"Man's a living legend," Luka murmured to himself, shaking his head in admiration. It was surreal, seeing Ronaldo walk into that ceremony, knowing that he'd been dominating football since before Luka had even kicked his first ball.
But there was a sense of inevitability to tonight. Even though Ronaldo was still in the mix, the general consensus was that Lionel Messi would take home his seventh Ballon d'Or. Luka felt his stomach churn at the thought. He respected Messi's talent—anyone who understood football had to—but Luka was, and always had been, a Ronaldo fan.
There was something about Messi that didn't sit right with Luka. Maybe it was the way Messi's brilliance seemed so effortless, as if he was born with it, not that he hadn't worked hard, you had to in order to reach that level… but Luka had always admired hard work over natural talent—probably because he saw so much of himself in that struggle.
As the pre-show coverage continued, Luka's phone buzzed on the coffee table. He glanced down to see a message from Jude.
Jude: You watching the ceremony tonight?
Luka: Yeah, you?
Jude: Of course. Should be interesting. Who you got winning?
Luka hesitated before typing his response.
Luka: Probably Messi, but I hope it's Ronaldo.
Jude: Haha, you and your Ronaldo obsession. Don't let the Messi fans hear you say that.
Luka chuckled.
Luka: I'll keep it quiet. Just don't expect me to be happy if Messi wins.
Jude: Fair enough. We should get together to watch it next year. Maybe by then you'll be in the running. 😉
Luka: Haha, we'll see. I'll hit you up after it's done.
Luka set his phone aside and settled deeper into the couch, the camera zoomed in on the golden Ballon d'Or trophy displayed at the front of the stage. One day he would be up there.
The ceremony began with a montage of the year's highlights goals, stunning saves, moments that defined the season. Luka watched intently, recognizing some of his own matches in the mix, he even had a highlight or two thrown in.
When the camera cut to the audience, Luka spotted Ronaldo sitting calmly. Luka knew that look—it was the look of someone who was used to winning, someone who expected nothing less. He respected that. He wanted to emulate that.
Next to Ronaldo was Messi, who was smiling, chatting with his family, seeming at ease. It annoyed Luka, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Maybe it was because Messi had already won so many of these things that it didn't even seem to matter to him anymore. Or maybe it was because Luka knew, deep down, that Messi was likely about to add another one to his collection.
As the hosts began to announce the various awards, Luka found himself zoning out a bit, his thoughts drifting to the season ahead.
It wasn't until the Top Goal Scorer award was announced that Luka snapped back to attention. Robert Lewandowski's name was called, and he walked up to the stage to accept his award, his face beaming with pride.
"He deserves it," Luka said aloud, nodding to himself. "Man's a goal machine."
But it was clear that the main event of the night—the announcement of the Ballon d'Or winner—was what everyone was waiting for. As the minutes ticked by, the tension in the room seemed to build. Luka could feel it even through the TV screen, the anticipation, the nervous energy.
Finally, the moment arrived. The lights dimmed, and the hosts took center stage, holding the golden envelope that would reveal the winner.
The host began to speak, drawing out the suspense. "And the winner of the 2021 Ballon d'Or is…"
Luka's breath caught in his throat as the name was read aloud.
"Lionel Messi!"
The crowd erupted in applause, and the cameras immediately panned to Messi, who smiled and stood up, graciously accepting the congratulations of those around him. Luka felt a wave of disappointment wash over him, mingled with frustration. He knew it was coming, but that didn't make it any easier to swallow.
"What the hell," Luka muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "How does he keep winning this?"
It wasn't that Luka didn't think Messi was a great player—he was. But this was getting ridiculous. Seven Ballon d'Ors?
Luka watched as Messi gave his acceptance speech, his words humble, his demeanor gracious. But it only annoyed Luka more. He wanted to see fire, passion—something that showed Messi still cared about this as much as the first time he won it. Instead, it felt like Messi was just going through the motions, adding another trophy to an already overflowing cabinet.
His phone buzzed again—Jude, no doubt, Luka ignored it, too caught up in his own thoughts.
The ceremony continued, with more awards being handed out, but Luka's focus was waning. He reached down to the floor and began his routine ankle stretches, trying to ease the tension that had built up in his body.
The commentators were still buzzing about Messi's win, discussing his legacy and what this meant for his place in football history. Luka tried to listen, but his thoughts kept circling back to the moment when Messi's name was announced. The way Messi had walked up to the stage, calm and collected, his face betraying nothing more than a polite smile.
"Why isn't he more excited?" Luka muttered, rolling his ankle in slow circles. He had watched countless videos of Ronaldo, each time he lifted the Ballon d'Or, and there was always this fire in his eyes—a hunger for more. But Messi? Luka couldn't see it.
He switched legs, continuing his stretches, trying to figure out what it was about Messi that made him so different. Was it the pressure? Or had winning simply become so normal for Messi that it didn't stir anything inside him anymore? Luka wasn't sure. All he knew was that if he ever found himself on that stage, he would savor every moment.
The TV screen flashed with the rankings—Luka's eyes scanned the names, Lewandowski had come second. It was deserved, no doubt, but Luka still couldn't help but feel that Lewandowski had been robbed.
As the rankings continued, Luka's attention drifted to the upcoming game against Bayern Munich. Their last encounter had ended in defeat in a Cup final at that, a game that still stung. Bayern was the team to beat if they were going to prove themselves this season.
He dropped down to the floor, lying on his back and pulling one knee toward his chest, feeling the stretch in his hamstring. They had been outplayed in the DFL Cup, plain and simple. Bayern's dominance was undeniable, and Luka knew that if they were going to stand a chance something had to change.
"We need to work harder," Luka thought, his jaw clenching as he held the stretch. Bayern would exploit any weakness, any hesitation, and Luka was determined not to give them that satisfaction again.
They couldn't afford to have an off day. Luka felt a surge of determination as he visualized the game, the way he would approach it, the way he would play.
He finished his stretches and sat up, his body relaxed but his mind buzzing with energy. The Ballon d'Or was a reminder of where he wanted to be, but Bayern was the immediate challenge, the next mountain to climb. He needed to channel all of his frustration, all of his ambition into that game.