Become A Football Legend-Chapter 281: The Board

The analysis room session finally ended a little after midday.

The players filed out gradually, some stretching their arms after sitting for so long, others chatting about the clips they had just watched. The conversation drifted between tactical observations and casual jokes as they walked back toward the locker area.

For the squad, it had been a productive morning.

Recovery work.

Video analysis.

A clear focus on Bilbao.

Everything felt organized.

Everything felt on track.

But as Dino Toppmöller stepped out of the room last, one of the assistant coaches approached him quietly.

"Coach."

Toppmöller turned slightly.

"Yes?"

The assistant leaned closer so the players walking past wouldn’t hear.

"Timo Hardung called."

Toppmöller raised an eyebrow.

"For what?"

"He asked if you could come up to Markus’s office."

The coach nodded slowly.

"Now?"

The assistant shrugged.

"He said when you’re free."

Toppmöller glanced briefly down the hallway where the players were disappearing toward the locker rooms.

"Alright."

He turned and headed toward the administrative wing of the training complex.

* * *

The sports director offices sat on the second floor of the main building.

The hallway was quieter there, away from the noise of the training facilities. The usual hum of activity from staff members moving between departments had thinned as lunchtime approached.

Toppmöller knocked lightly on the office door.

"Come in."

He pushed the door open.

And immediately sensed something was off.

The room held three people already seated around the large meeting table.

Markus Krösche.Markus Krösche.

Timo Hardung.

And Christoph Preuß, the club’s head of first-team affairs.

Toppmöller entered with the same relaxed smile he usually carried after a successful match weekend.

"Gentlemen."

But the moment he looked around the room, the smile faded slightly.

He had been in football long enough to read a room within seconds.

And this room...

Did not feel good.

Krösche sat at the table with his elbow resting on the surface, fingers pressed against his forehead as if he were trying to hold back a headache. Hardung sat across from him, unusually quiet, while Prössl looked down at the papers in front of him without speaking.

No one looked particularly happy.

Toppmöller closed the door behind him slowly.

Then he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"So," he said calmly, glancing between them. "What’s going on?"

Krösche lowered his hand slightly but didn’t answer immediately. 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Instead he asked another question.

"How is the squad?"

Toppmöller leaned back slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"For the final."

The coach nodded slowly.

"They’re good."

He folded his arms loosely.

"It’s doable."

He glanced briefly toward Hardung.

"The mood is strong. Confidence is high. With players like Ekitike and Lukas in this form..."

He shrugged slightly.

"We can beat Tottenham."

Krösche nodded.

"Yes."

Then he muttered quietly, almost to himself.

"We have to."

Toppmöller frowned slightly.

Krösche continued, his voice low.

"We cannot lose this final."

"I agree," Toppmöller said simply.

Silence settled over the room.

A long silence.

The coach leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table.

"Alright."

His eyes moved from Krösche to Hardung to Prössl.

"What’s the matter?"

Hardung shifted slightly in his chair.

Then he spoke.

"The club has made a decision."

Toppmöller waited.

Hardung continued.

"The board has decided to accept offers for Lukas."

For a moment, Toppmöller didn’t react.

Not visibly.

The words simply hung in the air.

Then he blinked slowly.

"...Accept offers?"

"Yes."

The coach looked down briefly at the table.

Then back up.

"From who?"

Hardung replied calmly.

"Manchester City."

"Atlético Madrid."

"We will leave the final decision to Lukas," he added. "But the club has decided that we will accept a transfer this summer."

Another silence followed.

Then Toppmöller leaned back slowly in his chair.

His eyes moved toward Krösche.

"Well."

He spoke quietly.

"I thought we already had a conversation about this."

Krösche didn’t look up immediately.

"I asked you," Toppmöller continued, "for one more season."

He paused.

"One more year with him."

Krösche finally raised his head.

"There’s nothing I can do about it."

The coach’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"What do you mean?"

Krösche exhaled slowly.

"The decision came from above."

Toppmöller’s gaze shifted sharply to Hardung.

"Is this your idea too?"

Hardung shook his head.

"No."

"It came from the board."

Toppmöller stared at him for a moment.

Then he let out a small, incredulous laugh.

"The board."

He leaned forward again.

"Since when does the supervisory board run the day-to-day football decisions of this club?"

His eyes moved back to Krösche.

"Isn’t that supposed to be your job?"

Krösche looked tired.

"These things..."

He rubbed his forehead again.

"...are out of my hands."

Toppmöller shook his head slowly.

Krösche tried again.

"Look, Dino. Think about it rationally."

"The money involved here is enormous."

"We can reinvest in the squad. Strengthen several positions. Build depth."

Toppmöller raised a hand.

"Stop."

Krösche fell silent.

The coach leaned forward, his voice now sharper.

"You think a player like Lukas falls out of the sky every summer?"

No one answered.

"You think players like that grow on trees?"

He looked directly at Krösche.

"You’ve done this before."

His voice grew colder.

"You sold Kolo Muani."

"You sold Marmoush."

He gestured toward the window.

"And now you’re doing it again."

"With Lukas."

Krösche remained quiet.

Toppmöller continued.

"And next season?"

He laughed once, without humor.

"Next season I’m supposed to build a Champions League team out of what exactly?"

Krösche hesitated.

Hardung spoke instead.

"There’s something else."

The coach looked at him.

Hardung cleared his throat slightly.

"We also received an offer for Ekitike."

Toppmöller stared at him.

"From?"

"Newcastle."

Another silence filled the room.

Hardung continued carefully.

"The club is considering it."

For a moment, Toppmöller genuinely didn’t know what to say.

He looked from one man to the other.

Then he leaned back in his chair slowly.

"...Unbelievable."

No one spoke.

Finally he shook his head.

"Fine."

He stood up.

"Whatever happens next season..."

His voice hardened.

"...you should know right now that it will not be my fault."

He pointed lightly at the table.

"You want to sell the two best attacking players in the squad before our first Champions League season in 3 years?"

"Fine."

"But don’t act surprised when the results follow."

Krösche said quietly, "Dino—"

Toppmöller raised a hand again.

"For now," he interrupted, "I will focus on the final."

His voice softened slightly.

"We will do everything possible to win that trophy."

Then he looked directly at them.

"But I want one thing in return."

Krösche nodded cautiously.

"What?"

Toppmöller’s answer came immediately.

"You do not tell Lukas."

The room fell silent again.

"Not before the final."

His eyes moved between them.

"I don’t want anything affecting my players before Bilbao."

Krösche nodded quickly.

"Of course."

"Of course."

He raised his hands slightly.

"We’ll wait."

Toppmöller studied him for a moment.

Then he nodded once.

The door closed behind Dino Toppmöller, the soft click echoing in the office for a brief moment before silence settled over the room.

For a few seconds, no one spoke.

Markus Krösche remained leaning forward in his chair, his elbow resting on the desk and his fingers pressing against his temple as if the beginnings of a headache had already arrived. Christoph Preuß sat across from him with his hands folded calmly on the table, while Timo Hardung stared at the closed door through which Toppmöller had just walked out.

Hardung exhaled slowly.

"I don’t like this," he said at last.