Borussia Dortmund Training Ground – Late Afternoon
Most of the squad had already hit the showers.
The sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows over the training ground. The grass glistened from the light spray of the sprinklers. Karl stayed back, alone near the edge of the box. A wall mannequin stood in place, and a few balls were lined up for free kicks.
He hit the first one — too flat.
The second — curled wide.
"Too much ankle," came a voice from behind.
Karl turned.
Marco Reus, still in boots, walking toward him with a water bottle in hand.
"You didn't leave?" Karl asked.
Reus shrugged. "Saw you were still out here. You've got the instincts. But free kicks... they're all about touch and tempo."
Karl gave a nod, stepping aside respectfully.
Reus placed the ball down.
"One tip — don't always go for power. Use your standing foot to shift the weight, and strike just below center."
He demonstrated.
The ball curled sweetly over the dummy wall and dipped inside the far post like it had been guided by strings.
Karl stood still, watching the net ripple.
"Again," he said.
They spent the next fifteen minutes talking technique — trajectory, hip rotation, even breath control. Reus didn't act like a superstar. He acted like a big brother.
"You've got something rare," Reus said as they walked off together. "If you ever need anything — advice, support — I'm here. This club doesn't work unless we carry each other."
Karl's voice was calm, but genuine. "Thanks, Marco. That means something."
Reus nodded once. "Let your work do the talking. But never be afraid to ask."
Dortmund – That Evening
The apartment was modest — modern, but quiet. A fresh contract meant nicer things, but Karl didn't chase luxury. Just comfort.
He sat on the couch, flipping open his phone, and hit call.
The screen lit up with a familiar face — his mother.
"Mama," he said, a rare softness in his tone.
"Look at you," she smiled. "Still got your hair the same way?"
"Reus called it a 'war banner'."
She laughed. "That's because he knows you're coming."
Karl relaxed into the call.
"Training was sharp," he said. "Intensity's high, but I kept up. Sancho's rapid.
Hummels reads everything. Reus... he stayed back to help me with free kicks."
"Did he now?" she raised an eyebrow, half-teasing.
"Yeah. He's... kind. Real. Like he sees something in me."
"Of course he does," she said firmly. "But promise me something."
Karl nodded.
"Take care of yourself. Cologne's not around the corner. You're on your own now."
He exhaled slowly. "I will."
They spoke for a few more minutes — football, life, weather — but it all circled back to one truth: she was his anchor. And he was chasing something bigger, with her voice always in his head.
Next Day – Club Briefing Room
Coach Lucien Favre stood at the front of the screen, pointing at the whiteboard.
"Next match — Bundesliga. We're away to RB Leipzig. High press, strong vertical play. We need creativity... and courage."
Then, he looked up.
"Schneider."
Karl straightened in his seat.
"You'll be in the squad. No promises on minutes. But you've earned the bench."
A ripple of reactions. Some claps. A few nods.
Karl didn't smile. Just locked eyes with the coach and gave a single nod.
RB Leipzig vs Borussia Dortmund.
His first chance to prove he wasn't just a name.
He was a threat.
He was ready.