Jan
The whistle blew, and the match exploded into life. From the first touch, it was clear that Rose's instructions hadn't changed. Dortmund played centrally, and deciding to be obedient, Luka hugged the touchline, often isolated and starved for the ball.
Fifteen minutes in, Luka finally got his first real touch. A looping cross-field pass from Witsel sailed towards him, the ball hanging in the air for what felt like an eternity. Luka's eyes never left it, his body adjusting instinctively. As it dropped, he cushioned it with his chest, the ball sticking to him as if magnetized.
Henrichs, the Leipzig right-back, was on him in a flash. But Luka was ready. He feinted left, his hips swiveling, before darting right. Henrichs' momentum carried him the wrong way, leaving Luka with a clear path down the wing.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Haaland making a run into the box. Luka whipped in a cross, the ball curling viciously, begging to be headed home. But Orban, the Leipzig center-back, got there first, heading it out for a corner.
As the game wore on, Luka found himself increasingly frustrated. He was making runs, finding space, but the ball rarely came his way. When it did, Rose's voice would ring out from the sideline: "Stay wide, Zorić!"
In the 32th minute, a moment of magic almost broke the deadlock. A misplaced Leipzig pass fell to Luka near the halfway line. In one fluid motion, he controlled it, spun past his marker, and was off, eating up the ground with long strides.
The Leipzig defense backpedaled, unsure whether to close him down or cover the runs of Haaland and Reus. Luka drove forward, the ball glued to his feet as he weaved between two defenders.
As he reached the edge of the box, he saw the goalkeeper starting to come off his line. Without breaking stride, Luka unleashed a thunderous shot. The ball flew off his boot, curling and dipping, destined for the top corner.
The stadium held its collective breath as the ball arced towards goal. But just as it seemed certain to bulge the net, the referee's whistle cut through the air. The goal was disallowed - Malen had apparently kicked a Leipzig defender in the build-up.
As his teammates argued with the referee, Luka stood with his hands on his hips, disappointment etched on his face. He watched as a scuffle broke out between Malen and the Leipzig players, feeling oddly detached from it all.
The disallowed goal seemed to energize Leipzig. They pressed higher, moved the ball quicker. In the 43rd minute, their pressure paid off. Nkunku received the ball in space, turned, and slipped a perfect through ball for Poulsen. The Danish striker made no mistake, slotting it past Kobel to give Leipzig the lead.
As the players filed into the locker room for halftime, the air was thick with tension and frustration. Rose's face was thunderous as he strode to the center of the room, his eyes sweeping over everyone.
"What the hell was that?" he barked, his voice echoing off the tiled walls. "We're playing like a bunch of strangers out there!"
Luka leaned against his locker, arms crossed. He watched as Rose tore into the defense for their lapse on Leipzig's goal.
"And you," Rose said, suddenly turning to Luka. "I told you to stay wide. Why are you drifting inside?"
What?
Luka opened his mouth to respond, but Reus beat him to it. "Coach, maybe if we—"
"I don't want to hear it," Rose cut him off. "We stick to the plan. Understood?"
A murmur of reluctant agreement rippled through the team. Luka remained silent, his eyes fixed on a point on the far wall. As Rose continued his tirade, Luka's mind was already on the second half, visualizing the spaces he could exploit, the runs he could make.
The whistle blew, signaling the start of the second half. As Luka jogged back onto the pitch, he felt a surge of determination. He may have to play within Rose's system, but he was going to make it work.
Five minutes in, Luka received the ball near the halfway line. He took a quick glance over his shoulder, cataloging the positions of his teammates and the Leipzig defenders. Henrichs was closing in fast, but Luka was ready.
With a quick step-over, Luka sent Henrichs the wrong way. The Leipzig defender lunged, trying to recover, but Luka was already gone, accelerating down the wing. He could hear Rose shouting from the sideline, urging him to stay wide, but Luka had other ideas.
He cut inside sharply, wrong-footing Orban. The center-back tried to muscle Luka off the ball, using his superior strength to try and bully him. But Luka was too quick, too agile. He rode the challenge, his low center of gravity allowing him to stay on his feet..
Now in the heart of Leipzig's defense, Luka had drawn three defenders to him. With a deft flick, he lofted the ball over their heads, finding Reus in space on the edge of the box. The captain struck it first time, but his shot whistled just wide of the post.
Luka jogged back to his position, ignoring the disapproving glare from Rose. He knew he was pushing his luck, but he couldn't help himself. This was how he played best.
As the game wore on, Leipzig's physical approach became more apparent. Tackles flew in, each one harder than the last. After a rough challenge from Konrad Laimer that sent Bellingham sprawling, a scuffle broke out near the center circle. Players from both teams rushed in, pushing and shoving, voices raised in anger.
Luka watched it all unfold from a distance, a bemused expression on his face. He caught Nkunku's eye across the melee, looking equally unimpressed with their teammates' antics. They shared a knowing look, both eager to get back to playing actual football.
In the 73rd minute, Luka produced a moment of magic that should have resulted in an equalizer. Receiving the ball deep in his own half, he spun away from two pressing Leipzig midfielders. His head was up, scanning the field, and he spotted Malen making a run between Leipzig's center-backs.
The pass Luka played was sublime. It curled around the Leipzig defensive line, taking out five players in one go. The weight was perfect, allowing Malen to run onto it without breaking stride. The forward was clean through on goal.
Luka was already wheeling away in celebration when he heard the groan from the Dortmund fans. He turned just in time to see Malen's shot cannon off the crossbar and away to safety. Another gilt-edged chance created, another opportunity wasted.
As the game entered its final stages, Leipzig began to sit deeper, content to protect their lead. Dortmund pushed forward, desperate for an equalizer. In the 88th minute, it finally came.
Once again, it was Luka at the heart of the move. He received a throw-in with his back to goal, a Leipzig defender tight to him. In one fluid motion, Luka flicked the ball over his head and the defender's, spinning to collect it on the other side.
Now facing goal, Luka drove forward. The Leipzig defense backed off, wary of his dribbling ability. Just as it seemed Luka would shoot, he slipped a perfectly weighted pass through to Malen. The forward, making amends for his earlier miss, squared it unselfishly to Haaland, who couldn't miss from six yards out.
The Dortmund bench erupted in celebration, but their joy was short-lived. In the 89th minute, a long ball caught out the Dortmund defense. Nkunku raced clear, and despite Kobel's best efforts, the Frenchman found the bottom corner to restore Leipzig's lead.
As the final whistle blew, sealing a 2-1 defeat for Dortmund.
He stood motionless for a moment, hands on his hips, watching the Leipzig players celebrate.
A tap on his shoulder broke him from his trance. Nkunku stood there, a sympathetic smile on his face. "Great game, Luka. Fancy swapping shirts?"
Luka nodded, managing a small smile in return. They exchanged jerseys, the fabric still damp with sweat. As Nkunku walked away, Luka caught Rose's eye across the pitch. He could see the frustration on his face, but he said nothing, turning abruptly to head down the tunnel.
Jude appeared at Luka's side, draping an arm over his shoulder. "Tough one, mate. But you were brilliant out there."
"Fat lot of good it did us," Luka muttered.
They trudged toward the tunnel together, their boots leaving faint imprints on the well-manicured grass. The roar of the crowd faded to a dull murmur as they descended into the corridor.
"Look on the bright side," Jude said, his voice echoing slightly off the concrete walls. "International break's coming up."
Luka's mood lifted at the thought. "Can't wait. No politics, no rigid tactics. Just football."
As they rounded a corner, they nearly collided with one of the match officials. The referee, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, smiled at them.
"Ah, Zorić," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Fantastic game out there. That pass for the equalizer was something else."
Luka felt a flush of pride despite the loss. "Thanks. Shame about the result, though."
The referee nodded sympathetically. "That's football for you. Unpredictable till the very end. Keep playing like that, and the wins will come."
They chatted for a few more moments, the referee praising Jude's tenacity in midfield as well. As they parted ways, Luka felt some of his earlier disappointment ebbing away.
"See?" Jude nudged him playfully. "Even the ref knows you're class."
Luka rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now. "Alright, alright. Don't let it go to my head."
They continued down the tunnel, the sounds of post-match interviews and staff growing louder. Luka's mind drifted to the upcoming international break. He could almost feel the warmth of the Croatian sun on his face, hear the lovely cadence of his second language surrounding him.
"You know," Jude said, breaking into his thoughts, "I might just have to come visit you in Croatia one of these days. Sounds like paradise the way you talk about it."
Luka's eyes lit up. "You should! The beaches, the food... and the football, of course. You'd love it."
As they approached the locker room, the reality of their defeat began to settle back in. But Luka found it didn't sting quite as much now.
"Fancy grabbing a bite after we're done here?" Jude asked as they reached the locker room door.
Luka was about to reply when a staff member hurried over, clipboard in hand. "Zorić, you're needed for a post-match interview. This way, please."
Luka shot an apologetic glance at Jude.
Jude nodded understandingly, clapping him on the shoulder. "Go get 'em, superstar."
Luka followed the staff member to a small room where a reporter from Sky Sports was waiting, camera already rolling. He settled infront of the camera, forcing a polite smile despite his exhaustion.
"Luka, thanks for joining us," the reporter began. "We noticed you played wider than usual today. Was this a tactical decision?"
Luka paused for a moment, considering his words carefully. Then, with a slight shrug, he decided to be direct. "Manager's orders," he said simply. "Had to stick to the game plan, even if it's not always what feels most natural."
The reporter's eyebrows raised slightly at his candor. "Interesting. Moving on, there are rumors about your sponsorship situation. Word is you might be signing with Puma soon. Any comment on that?"
Luka allowed himself a small smile. "We'll see. There are ongoing discussions, but nothing's finalized yet."
The reporter nodded, then leaned forward slightly, her expression turning serious. "Luka, there's been a lot of speculation about your future. Your loan with Dortmund includes a €2 million buy option, but your contract with Manchester United expires this summer. Do you have a particular club in mind for your future?"
The room seemed to grow quiet, the air thick with anticipation. Luka felt a mischievous urge rise within him. Why not stir things up a bit?
He met the reporter's gaze steadily. "You know," he said, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of something more, "a decision will be made in January. We'll have to see what it is."
The reporter's eyes widened slightly, recognizing the weight of his words. "So, you're saying your future could be decided as soon as January? That's quite a statement, Luka."
Luka nodded, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "It is what it is. Football moves quickly, and so do I."
Luka knew what he'd just done – lit a fire under the transfer market, put pressure on Dortmund, and signaled to clubs across Europe that he was, yes, potentially, up for grabs from now.
Part of him felt a twinge of guilt for adding more chaos to an already complicated situation. But another part, the part that craved freedom, felt exhilarated.