July 12, 2007 - Morning, Dortmund
Marco stood in front of his mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt for the third time. Behind him, Tim lounged on the bed, eating an apple and grinning.
"You're nervous," Tim observed.
"I'm not nervous."
"You've changed shirts twice. You're nervous."
Marco sighed, abandoning the mirror. "It's a damn photoshoot. I've never done this before. I don't even know what to expect!"
"It's easy. Stand there, look pretty, smile when they tell you to." Tim took another bite. "What else could be there?"
"Not to mention, you will be accompanied by a beauty. What was her name again?"
"Scarlett something. Gatzke, I think. Krahn said she was a new one."
"Is she pretty?"
"How should I know?"
"Well, considering she is a model that should be obvious. You're about to spend six hours being photographed with her. Might help if she's easy on the eyes."
Marco threw a pillow at him. "It's work, idiot."
Tim dodged, laughing. "Sure it is. Work. I believe you."
Despite himself, Marco smiled. "You're the worst."
"I'm the best. Now go, your train leaves in forty minutes. Also, don't forget to ask her number."
"Not happening."
Tim's grin widened. "We'll see."
* * *
The three-hour train ride gave Marco time to think.
In his previous life, he'd never been comfortable with fame, media attention, commercial obligations. From his perspective, football was simple—train, play, recover. Everything else felt like distraction.
But this life was different. He understood now that modern footballers were brands. Endorsements, interviews, photoshoots—they were part of the job. And if he wanted to maximize his career, he needed to be good at all of it, not just the football.
Besides, he thought, watching German countryside blur past the window, it's just one photoshoot. I am sure I am going to get used to it in the future
.
His phone buzzed. Text from Krahn:
"Photographer is Stefan Klein. Professional, works with major brands. Just be yourself, follow directions, you'll be fine. Call me if any issues. -TK"
Marco replied with a thumbs up emoji.
Another text, this time from his mother:
"Good luck today, Marco. Remember to smile. Love you. -Mama"
He smiled. Even at eighteen, even as a professional footballer with a Puma contract, his mother still worried about him.
The train pulled into Hamburg Hauptbahnhof at 11:47 AM. A Puma representative met him at the platform—a young woman in her twenties with a clipboard and an efficient smile.
"Marco Reus? I'm Julia, Puma marketing coordinator. Car's waiting outside."
The drive to the studio took twenty minutes through Hamburg's busy streets. Julia made small talk about the weather, the schedule, the concept for the shoot.
"We're going for natural, authentic, youthful energy. The idea is 'next generation'—young talent on the rise. You and Scarlett represent that. Fresh faces, German pride, accessible style—these are the core themes."
"Sounds good."
"Have you done professional photoshoots before?"
"No. This is my first."
Julia's expression brightened. "Perfect! Stefan loves working with natural subjects. Just be yourself, follow his direction, and we'll get great shots."
The studio was in a converted warehouse in HafenCity, Hamburg's modern harbor district. Large windows flooded the space with natural light. Equipment everywhere—lights, reflectors, cameras, makeup stations, clothing racks.
A man in his forties approached, a camera hanging around his neck. "Marco Reus? Its Stefan Klein, your photographer for today. Welcome."
They shook hands. Stefan had an artist's energy—intense eyes, quick movements, constantly observing.
"From the looks..., your first photoshoot?" Stefan asked.
"Is it that obvious?"
"You're looking around like someone's out there to rob you. Relax. This is easy. I tell you where to stand, what to do. You do it. We get beautiful pictures. Everyone goes home happy."
"Sounds simple enough."
"It is. Now, makeup first, then wardrobe, then we start shooting." Stefan checked his watch. "Scarlett should be here any minute. You'll meet her before we start."
Marco was led to a makeup station where a stylist began working on his face—foundation, some powder, touch-ups. It felt rather strange.
"First time wearing makeup?" the stylist asked, amused.
"Yeah."
"Don't worry, it's minimal. Just evening out skin tone, reducing shine for the camera. You won't look like a clown."
"Good to know."
Twenty minutes later, makeup done, Marco was shown to the wardrobe area. Racks of Puma clothing—track jackets, hoodies, athletic wear, casual pieces. A wardrobe coordinator named Felix helped him select the first outfit: dark jeans, white t-shirt, black Puma jacket.
"Simple, clean, classic," Felix explained. "We'll do four or five outfit changes throughout the day. But let's start basic."
Marco changed in a small dressing room, then examined himself in the mirror. The clothes fit perfectly—tailored to his measurements from data Puma already had. He looked good. Older than eighteen. Like an actual brand ambassador.
"Marco, Scarlett's here," Julia called from across the studio.
Marco's stomach tightened slightly. Just a model. Just work. Stop being weird.
He walked back to the main studio area—
And stopped.
She was standing near the makeup station, talking to Stefan, laughing at something he'd said.
Scarlett Gatzke.
Seventeen years old. Long light brown hair falling in natural waves. Minimal makeup—she clearly didn't need much. Wearing jeans and a simple top, nothing fancy yet, but she carried herself with unconscious grace. Not the practiced poise of experienced models, but something more natural.
And when she laughed, her whole face lit up.
'Okay,' Marco thought. 'Tim was right. This might be a problem.'
Stefan noticed him and waved him over. "Marco! Come meet your co-star."
Scarlett turned, and their eyes met for the first time.
Up close, she was even more striking. Not classically perfect—her nose had a slight bump, her smile was a bit crooked—but those imperfections made her more beautiful, not less. Real. Human.
"Scarlett, this is Marco Reus, footballer. Marco, Scarlett Gatzke, model."
They shook hands. Her grip was firm, confident.
"Nice to meet you," Marco said, suddenly very aware that his voice sounded slightly higher than normal.
"You too," Scarlett replied. Her voice was warm, with a hint of Ruhr area accent—rougher than refined. "I've been hearing about you. Your deal with puma was a talk in the circle. I have also seen the picture of you holding the trophy, of...U19 europian championship?"
"Yeah. That was last month."
"Impressive. I don't really follow football, but my dad does. He was excited when I told him I was shooting with you."
"Your dad follows Dortmund?"
"He follows everyone. Mostly Schalke, actually." She grinned, mischievous. "Don't tell Puma they paired you with a Schalke fan's daughter."
Marco laughed despite himself. "Your secret's safe."
Stefan clapped his hands. "Excellent, you're getting along. That's half the battle. Scarlett, go get your makeup done. Marco, you're ready. Let's start setting up."
Scarlett headed toward the makeup station, glancing back once with a quick smile. Marco watched her go, then forced himself to look away.
Focus. This is work. Professional.
But his mind was already racing ahead to the next few hours, and despite himself, he was looking forward to them.