The cracked asphalt court in the heart of Dortmund, far from the manicured perfection of the training ground, was a world away from the Bundesliga.
It was a place where the rules were fluid, the goals were marked by discarded water bottles, and the only currency was passion. This was the arena for Mateo's final, most crucial test of the weekend.
Mateo walked onto the court, his new, comfortable clothes a perfect disguise. The children, ranging from six to twelve, paused their chaotic game, their eyes wide with a mix of awe and challenge at the sight of the tall, quiet newcomer. He was a mystery to them, an older boy who moved with a coiled intensity that belied his casual attire.
Sarah stood on the sidelines, her presence a silent, watchful guardian.
