Richard barely had time to breathe in the fresh scent of his newly designed house when a door opened next door.
Out stepped Mr. Krause, Dortmund scarf tight around his neck like he was born in it. He gave Richard a once-over, nodded approvingly, and said:
"You must be the boy who will save our season."
Richard blinked. "I'll… try, sir."
"You better," Krause replied, dead serious—then immediately softened. "I'm joking. Mostly. Welcome to the neighborhood."
Before Richard could process that, another door opened.
Ella, early twenties, jogging clothes, hair tied back, energy level set permanently at "vibrating," looked at him like she'd spotted a celebrity at Tesco.
"Oh my God, you're Richard! The Richard! Welcome!"
Richard laughed awkwardly. "Nice to meet you."
Ella stepped forward, hands on hips—zero flirting, just pure enthusiasm.
"I'm your new emergency German tutor. I also know where to get the best döner in the area. And which taxis won't rip you off. And which bakery opens before 6am."
Richard blinked. "Uh… thanks?"
Mr. Krause sighed.
"She has adopted you. It's too late to escape."
Ella nudged the old man aside.
"Oh please, someone has to make sure he doesn't starve. Or accidentally call someone's grandma a goat in German."
Richard chuckled, feeling genuinely at ease.
It was the kind of friendliness he didn't expect away from home.
Ella grinned. "We're neighbors now. Don't hesitate to knock if you need anything. And I mean anything—well, except money. I'm broke."
Richard laughed harder. "I'll keep that in mind."
Krause raised his mug.
"Welcome to Dortmund, son. You're in good hands."
As the two headed back to their homes, Richard stepped inside his place with a small smile.
They were warm neighbors.
And for some reason…
his mind drifted briefly to Amara.
He shook it off quickly.
That was a different story—one he wasn't ready to unpack.
Not yet.
But soon.
Richard stepped into his new living room with the kind of smile that didn't need an audience — wide, proud, and a little disbelieving. Dortmund had given him a house that looked like it came straight from a YouTube "Dream Setup" video: warm lighting, carefully chosen décor, a huge couch that looked like it wanted to swallow him, and a kitchen so shiny it almost judged him for not knowing how to cook.
Chidi whistled.
"Guy… this place fine die. You sure say na only football you dey do? Because this one pass athlete lifestyle oo."
Richard laughed. "Abeg relax. Na just blessing… and small bit of sweat."
"Small? You dey run sixty minutes like person wey pursue visa," Chidi shot back, dropping into the couch as if he'd lived there his whole life.
Richard shook his head, amused, then walked toward the dining table where his phone was buzzing with reminders. One in particular stood out:
Meeting with Amara – Financial Planning
He paused, thumb hovering over the screen.
Chidi noticed immediately. "Ah. That fine babe wey we meet for the restaurant?" He leaned forward with a mischievous grin. "You don set meeting sharp-sharp."
"No be like that," Richard said quickly, though his tone betrayed him just a little. "Evan said I need someone to organize my finances before madness starts. She just happens to be the one he recommended."
Chidi laughed. "Just happens? Bros please. She talk soft, she look smart, she get confidence… and you dey smile like mumu since yesterday."
Richard rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed but refusing to admit anything. "She's professional. That's it."
"You go still fall," Chidi teased. "But no worry, I go catch you."
Richard ignored him and tapped the reminder, setting a time for the next afternoon.
She replied almost instantly.
> Sure, Richard. I'll come by tomorrow after lunch. Just send the address.
Her tone — polite, efficient, and warm — made something small flutter in his chest. He pushed it down quickly. "Business," he muttered to himself. "Nothing else."
Chidi stretched out on the couch. "So na tomorrow you go start learning how to be rich properly."
"Bro, I don dey rich properly already," Richard said, laughing. "I'm just learning how not to go broke."
They ordered food, argued about which Nigerian artists were underrated, then walked through the empty echoing spaces of the house imagining how it would look when fully lived in.
By midnight, the house felt less like a stranger and more like a quiet promise — a place where Richard could breathe, sharpen, rebuild.
As Chidi finally stood to leave, he clapped Richard's shoulder. "No matter how big you go, I dey here. Your house warm. Your future warm. But you sef — use AC sometimes."
Richard shoved him playfully out the door.
Then alone, in the silence of his new home, he looked once more at the message from Amara… and the small smile he'd been denying finally came back.
Tomorrow would be interesting.
Richard woke to the soft hum of sunlight spilling through the blinds. The house was quiet except for the faint ticking of a clock on the wall — a calm, grounded sound he hadn't realized he missed.
He stretched on the too-soft couch, groaning lightly. Everything still felt surreal: his own space, his own room, his own life halfway across the world from home.
As he swung his legs to the floor, a small package by the door caught his eye. A sticky note on top read:
"Welcome officially to the neighborhood — hope this makes your first morning better. — Ella & Mr. Krause"
Inside was a small breakfast basket: fresh bread rolls, jams, fruit, and a tiny bottle of orange juice. He smiled, appreciating the thought. It wasn't flashy, but it had warmth — the kind of thing that made him feel like he belonged.
After a quick shower, he headed to his wardrobe. His kit was laid out meticulously: training gear for the day, casual clothes for later errands. Richard had never thought he'd enjoy the routine of getting ready so much, but today it felt like an anchor.
He moved efficiently: brushing teeth, combing his hair, checking the mirror. His reflection showed a mixture of confidence and nerves — a young man on the brink of bigger things, aware of the expectations that came with his name and skill.
By the time he finished, the breakfast basket was gone, his stomach full and his mind alert. He grabbed his phone to message Chidi and coordinate the day's plans: training, errands, and the financial meeting with Amara.
A deep breath later, he felt ready. New home, new life, new challenges — Richard Blake was awake, alert, and stepping into it all with determination.
Richard grabbed his bag and stepped out, greeted by the crisp Dortmund morning air. Chidi was waiting outside, leaning casually against his car with a grin.
"You look too calm for a footballer," Chidi teased. "Don't tell me you're scared of your first proper training day here."
Richard laughed, tossing his bag into the backseat. "Relax, bro. I'm just… focused."
Lukas pulled up shortly after, giving a friendly wave. "Morning, Richard. Ready to get hazy on the pitch?"
"Always," Richard replied, hopping in.
The drive to the training ground was filled with light banter. Chidi kept up a running commentary on the local food spots, while Lukas reminded Richard of some quirky Dortmund traditions. Richard couldn't help but chuckle at how grounded everything felt, despite the high stakes of his new life.
When they arrived, the team was already gathering. Richard felt that familiar mix of nerves and excitement as he spotted teammates stretching, passing the ball around, and joking with each other. Some waved as he approached, welcoming him warmly; others kept their distance, assessing the new signing silently.
Coach Edin Terzić blew the whistle, and training began. Richard focused on ball control, passing drills, and tactical positioning. He moved fluidly, occasionally locking eyes with Lukas for encouragement or Chidi for comedic commentary.
By midday, training was over. Richard felt the satisfying ache of a workout done right. He and Chidi hopped back in the car, laughing about a few particularly chaotic passing drills, Lukas teasing Richard for a clumsy but ultimately effective turn on the ball.
Back at the house, Richard showered and changed into smart casuals, feeling the weight of the afternoon ahead. Today was his first real meeting with Amara Hesse, the financial planner Evan had recommended. She was efficient, sharp, and had a way of making Richard feel slightly vulnerable — in a good way.
He double-checked the meeting time, grabbed his folder with the few documents he'd brought, and took a deep breath. For Richard, this wasn't just about numbers; it was another step in taking control of his life, making sure his dreams didn't slip because of inexperience.
Sitting at the table, he ran through the conversation in his head. Questions about spending, investments, and savings. Amara's voice, firm yet warm, already replaying in his mind from their brief call, gave him confidence.
"Time to get this done," Richard muttered to himself. He stood, grabbing his coat and keys, ready to step out and meet the next challenge — the financial world, as real and pressing as any match on the field
Richard arrived at the office building she had texted him — sleek, glass-fronted, minimalist, and impeccably organized. He was early, of course. That was Richard's style: be prepared, be sharp, and never let things slip.
Amara greeted him in the lobby, tall, confident, and composed. She extended her hand firmly, and Richard shook it.
"Mr. Blake," she said, her accent distinctly Nigerian, warm and familiar, "thank you for coming on such short notice."
"Please, call me Richard," he replied, giving her a small smile. "I appreciate you fitting me in."
They rode the elevator up to her office in silence, the kind of quiet that feels professional but not cold. Her office was just like her: organized, modern, with subtle touches of personality — a small Nigerian flag on the desk, a few books stacked neatly, and a laptop waiting for him.
"Have a seat," she said, motioning to a chair across from her. "Let's start by getting a clear picture of your current finances and what your goals are."
Richard nodded, placing his folder on the desk. "I want to make sure I don't make mistakes — I've been lucky with my career so far, but I want it to last, not crash because of bad choices."
Amara smiled approvingly. "Good. That's smart thinking. First, we'll look at your income streams, taxes, investments, and liabilities. Then we'll create a plan to maximize growth while minimizing risk. And yes… we'll also set boundaries on spending, because I've seen too many young athletes burn through millions too quickly."
Richard chuckled. "I admit… I've been a bit reckless. But I want to be smarter now."
She pulled up a spreadsheet on her laptop, showing a clear breakdown. "Here's your current status: salaries, endorsements, sponsorships, and expenses. The first thing we'll do is set up a structured budget that aligns with both your short-term and long-term goals. We'll also explore investments that suit your risk tolerance — footballers need liquidity, but also growth potential."
Richard leaned forward, eyes scanning the numbers. "Wow. I didn't realize I'd need to track this much."
"You'd be surprised," she said, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "Most players your age think all they need is a bank account and a credit card. Reality is… numbers matter. They decide whether your career success turns into lifelong stability or disappears the moment an injury hits."
Richard nodded, appreciating how direct she was. "I get it. I want stability. I don't want luck to run out."
Amara continued walking him through different options — short-term savings, safe investments, long-term growth plans, and sponsorship management. Richard asked questions, taking notes, genuinely absorbing the information. Her explanations were clear, detailed, and firm without being overbearing.
At one point, Richard glanced at her and muttered, "You really know your stuff."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're the client, Mr. Blake. If I didn't know my stuff, you'd be the one in trouble."
He laughed softly, the tension of professionalism mixing with something unspoken — a quiet admiration.
By the end of the session, Richard felt more in control than he had in weeks. He had a plan, a roadmap, and someone to guide him. Amara handed him a folder with the next steps and said, "Follow these, and you'll be in excellent shape financially by the end of the year. And don't worry… I'll make sure your spending doesn't get out of hand."
Richard shook her hand firmly. "Thank you, Amara. I appreciate your time and guidance. I feel… ready."
She smiled. "Good. That's the goal."
As he walked out of the office, folder in hand, he felt a rare mix of confidence and excitement. Today wasn't a match, but it was just as important — learning to master his life off the pitch so he could dominate on it.
Chidi would joke later that evening: "So… you found a finance coach and survived?"
Richard chuckled to himself, thinking, Yeah… and I might actually learn something.