Become A Football Legend-Chapter 272: Mathias Beck.

The older man rose to his feet.

Krösche extended his hand firmly.

"Good evening, President."

Christoph gave a respectful nod as Krösche greeted the man — Mathias Beck — the President of the Board of Directors of Eintracht Frankfurt e.V and Chairman of the Supervisory Board of Eintracht Frankfurt Fußball Group AG.

"Markus, it’s been a while. Have a seat."

Krösche settled into his chair as the waiter quietly poured wine into the glasses and slipped out of the room without a sound.

For a few minutes, the conversation stayed light.

They spoke about the season in broad strokes. The trajectory. The stability. The atmosphere around the club.

Matthias Beck lifted his glass slightly. "You’ve done well, Markus."

Krösche inclined his head. "We’ve done well."

"Second in the Bundesliga," Beck continued calmly. "Two matches left. Bayern have already secured the title, yes, but runners-up is within reach. Win one, draw one, and it’s ours. And a Europa League final."

He allowed that to sit in the air.

"A final," he repeated. "From where we were."

Krösche gave a faint smile. "Even I didn’t think we would get there after the first leg in Manchester. 4–2 down. It felt... finished."

Christoph nodded quietly.

"And now," Krösche continued, "a 16-year-old who made his professional debut in January is carrying us into a European final. If you had told me that six months ago..."

Beck cut a piece of his food with measured precision. "Football," he said, almost philosophically, "has a way of rewriting narratives."

They ate in silence for a moment.

Krösche watched him carefully. He knew this dinner was not simply a congratulatory gesture. They did not meet privately like this unless something significant was on the table.

Eventually, Beck set down his fork.

"I hear Manchester City and Atlético Madrid are very interested in our boy."

Krösche didn’t react outwardly. He had expected it to come up.

"Yes," he said plainly. "Manchester City submitted an offer worth 85 million euros including add-ons. Atlético matched it."

Christoph glanced briefly at Beck, then back to his plate.

"They both want him," Krösche continued. "But Toppmöller is adamant. He wants to build around him. He believes with one more summer of smart additions, better squad depth, we can compete properly in the Champions League next season. With Lukas having a full pre-season, a full campaign..."

Beck resumed eating slowly.

"You know," he said after a pause, "we do not have the squad to win the Bundesliga."

Krösche stopped mid-movement.

Beck didn’t look at him.

"Nor the Champions League."

The quiet hum of the air conditioning suddenly felt louder.

"The best realistic scenario," Beck continued evenly, "is a DFB Pokal here, a Europa League run there. Perhaps, if we are fortunate, a Champions League round of 16. Maybe a quarterfinal in an exceptional year."

He dabbed his mouth lightly with a napkin.

"We are not Bayern. We do not have their resources. And even Bayern struggle in Europe. Do you remember how many seasons they go without lifting the Champions League?"

Krösche said nothing.

"Do you know how difficult it is to win it?" Beck asked, now finally meeting his eyes. "Lionel Messi won his last Champions League in 2015. He played at Barcelona for 6 or 7 more years after that. Never reached another final. Not once."

The point landed.

"You could have the best player in the world," Beck continued, voice calm but firm, "and still fail year after year."

Christoph shifted slightly in his chair.

"Next season," Beck went on, "we will juggle Champions League fixtures and domestic football. More matches. More travel. More pressure. It is entirely possible we get knocked out in Europe early and drop points in the Bundesliga because of divided focus."

Krösche leaned back slowly.

"There is no guarantee," Beck added, "that Lukas’ form continues. He is 16. Football is ruthless. Injuries. Burnout. Tactical adaptation. Opponents studying him."

Krösche’s jaw tightened slightly.

"Toppmöller believes with depth—"

"Toppmöller is a coach," Beck interrupted gently. "He must believe."

A quiet stretch followed.

Krösche finally spoke.

"What are you trying to say?"

Beck held his gaze steadily.

"You are a smart man, Markus."

He leaned back in his chair.

"You know exactly what I am trying to say."

The city lights reflected in the window behind him.

"It may be wiser," Beck concluded calmly, "to cash in this summer."

Krösche didn’t respond immediately to Beck’s final words.

Instead, he leaned back slightly, fingers interlocked, eyes narrowing not in defiance — but in calculation.

"There’s another layer to this," he said carefully.

Beck tilted his head.

"If we sell Lukas now," Krösche continued, "we risk losing Toppmöller."

Christoph’s fork paused mid-air.

Krösche went on. "He has built this system around him. He’s emotionally invested in the project. He believes next season — with Champions League football and a full campaign from Lukas — we can make a statement. If we sell now, it sends a message."

"That we are realistic?" Beck asked calmly.

"That we lack ambition," Krösche countered.

Silence again.

"And it won’t just be Toppmöller," Krösche added. "The dressing room sees it. The fans see it. The narrative becomes clear. We peak — and then we cash out."

Beck studied him.

"Then perhaps," Krösche continued more cautiously, "this is a conversation that should involve Timo as well. Hardung should be in the room. He’s the Sporting Director."

Beck didn’t even hesitate.

"Hardung works for you."

The words were firm, but not aggressive.

"You are the one steering the sporting direction of this club. If you cannot convince your Sporting Director of a financial necessity, then we have a structural problem."

Krösche held his gaze.

"And if Toppmöller leaves?" Krösche asked.

Beck shrugged lightly.

"Then we appoint another manager."

He leaned forward slightly now, voice measured but carrying weight.

"Markus, Eintracht Frankfurt has always been a selling club."

He let the words breathe.

"In the last 5 years alone we have sold Omar Marmoush, Randal Kolo Muani, Luka Jović before that to Real Madrid, Sébastien Haller, André Silva. Look at where they play now."

He gestured lightly with his hand.

"Tottenham. Paris. Madrid. Top European clubs."

Christoph nodded subtly.

"If we had refused to sell them because we wanted to ’build a dynasty,’ do you believe their market value would have increased?" Beck continued. "Or would we have watched their form fluctuate, injuries occur, contracts run down, leverage disappear?"

Krösche remained silent.

"There is no guarantee," Beck repeated, echoing his earlier words, "that Lukas will maintain this level next season. There is no guarantee he avoids injury. There is no guarantee that the Champions League spotlight doesn’t expose weaknesses that teams are yet to discover."

He leaned back again, composed.

"We do our best business when players are at their peak value."

The room felt heavier now.

"This is not about a lack of ambition," Beck said more quietly. "It is about sustainability. About knowing who we are."

Krösche exhaled slowly.

"And who are we?" he asked.

Beck’s answer came without hesitation.

"We are a club that develops brilliance... and sells it at the right moment."

He lifted his wine glass slightly.

"And reinvests."

The message was clear.

If Manchester City and Atlético Madrid were willing to pay 85 million now, there was no guarantee that figure would still be on the table in 12 months.

And in Beck’s mind, that was the only guarantee that mattered.