The advertisement, when it first appeared, was a quiet affair, as humble and unpretentious as the man who had commissioned it. Herr Klaus Müller, his chest puffed out with pride, hung the first poster in the window of the Goldener Hirsch bakery himself. It was a simple, beautifully shot photograph.
There was no dramatic lighting, no airbrushing, no forced, million-dollar smile. It was just Mateo, sitting at a rustic wooden table, still in his Dortmund training gear, a faint sheen of sweat on his brow.
He was looking down at a thick slice of freshly baked Vollkornbrot, a small, genuine smile of anticipation on his lips. The only text on the poster, in elegant, understated script, read: "Goldener Hirsch. The Taste of Home. Since 1983."
Mateo saw it for the first time on his way back from training. Lukas pointed it out, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Look! You're famous! The bread king of Dortmund!"
Mateo felt a hot blush creep up his neck.
