Football singularity-Chapter 732 Uncertainty

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[Post-Match Press Conference | Signal Iduna Park | 21:45 CET]

Peter Bosz sat at the press‑conference table, flanked by Tah on his left and Rakim on his right as journalists poured into the room, cameras already firing in relentless bursts. The air hummed with urgency; every reporter looked like they had been holding in questions for the last twenty minutes.

The moderator barely finished announcing the session before hands shot up across the room. Bosz gave a tired smile. "Alright—let’s get started."

A reporter from Kicker stood first. "Peter, congratulations. Emotionally, how would you describe this match? Especially after Wirtz’s injury and the late winner?"

Bosz exhaled slowly. "Turbulent, that is probably the best word. We came into this match knowing we had to bring our A-game and the belief we could do just that. And Rakim—" he gestured with a small shake of his head "—well, he decided to give the world a new highlight reel."

A ripple of laughter moved through the room. Another journalist immediately raised her voice. "Rakim, about that bicycle kick—twenty‑five yards, back to goal, stoppage time—can you walk us through what went through your mind?"

Rakim leaned into the mic, much calmer after the post-match celebrations. "Honestly? Nothing. And I mean that literally. I saw the keeper save the ball, and I wanted a goal; my body moved on its own, executing all the effort put in each day. One per cent of luck helped."

Tah nudged him with a grin. "He’s lying. He practices every day like a lunatic; nothing he does on the field is because of luck."

"Usually when I say something like that, I get nothing but grief from you guys!" Rakim shot back. "Though that goal was from a completely different postcode."

"You and Wirtz are like little brothers to us, annoying and far too hyper." Laughter again erupted from the reporters as Bosz just massaged his forehead, equal parts exasperated and proud.

A journalist from Sky Deutschland switched the tone. "Jonathan, defensively, it was an incredibly intense match—especially the last few minutes. How did you manage the emotional shift after Wirtz went down?"

Tah’s expression sobered. "Look, Flo is like a little brother to us. I won’t lie when we saw him screaming like that, it... It hit hard. Really hard." He paused for a moment, taking a sip from his water. "But we had to keep playing. We had to stay switched on. He would have hated it if we checked out mentally because of him. When we got back in shape, the only thought was: ’Win first, then check on him.’"

He paused, then added quietly: "And we did."

Another voice called out. "Peter, about the tackle—Reus only received a yellow. Do you think it should have been a red?"

Bosz stiffened slightly but kept his voice even. "The referee made his decision. For now, we just hope that Flo will be okay enough not affect his promising career," he paused for a moment, arranging his thoughts before continuing. "Marco is a great player and a professional, and I don’t think he intended to injure Florian—but intention doesn’t erase consequences."

The press conference continued for another ten minutes with reporters asking various questions. Luckily, they kept things light on the Wirtz front, and as far as Reus was concerned, the three of them were smart enough to dodge landmines. They were more mad at the situation than the player, as they all knew the reality of the sport was that it is a contact sport.

Injuries below the knee were especially fatal to a player’s career, not to mention the ankle. For technical players like Wirtz and Rakim, it could mean a whole redesign of their playing style if they didn’t heal right. Still, they were sure that no matter how bad they felt, Wirtz, the person in question, felt worse. So the best thing they could do for him was try to keep him upbeat, and stirring media controversy wasn’t going to do that.

~~~

[2021-04-11, | Hahnwald Estate, Cologne | 23:30]

The Audi RS6 Avant rolled through the gates of the Hahnwald Estate, its headlights cutting through the darkness before coming to a stop in the circular driveway. Rakim sat in the passenger seat, head tilted back against the headrest, eyes closed. His legs ached, his shoulders were tight, and a dull throb had settled behind his temples.

Simba, who had picked him up from the stadium upon the team buses’ arrival from Dortmund. "You good?"

"Yeah," Rakim said without opening his eyes. "Just... tired."

"I bet." Simba put the car in park. "That bicycle kick is already everywhere. Twitter’s going insane. Instagram too. You’re trending worldwide."

Rakim opened one eye by a spalt glancing at the smiling man who somehow still had energy this late. He had rented a place nearby upon signing on to become his personal trainer for convenience. Although picking him up isn’t part of his job description, he did so every now and then. "I don’t think the magnitude of the moment will hit me till tomorrow."

"I guess it was a long day for you after all." Simba laughed. I’ve watched it maybe twenty times already. It’s up there with Zlatan’s goal against England, maybe better considering the context."

"We still have to win the whole thing," Rakim muttered, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"One step at a time, king." Simba reached over, dapping him up, going through their handshake. "Get some rest. We’ll debrief tomorrow afternoon. Light recovery session, nothing crazy."

"Thanks for the ride," Rakim said, grabbing his kit bag from the back seat.

"Anytime." Simba watched him climb out, then added: "And Rakim? That was special tonight. Really special."

Rakim nodded, too tired to come up with a witty response, and closed the door. The Audi’s engine purred as Simba reversed out of the driveway, leaving Rakim standing alone in the cool night air. He walked to the front door, fumbling for his keys. Before he could unlock it, the door swung open.

May stood in the doorway, barefoot, wearing one of his oversized hoodies and a pair of silk PJ shorts. Her deep green eyes searched his, and her expression bloomed into a warm smile, quickly pulling him in. "You’re home," she said softly.

"I’m home," Rakim confirmed, stepping inside. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

The moment the door closed behind him, May threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. He dropped his kit bag, wrapping his arms around her waist, burying his face in her hair. She smelled like Lilly’s, with a hint of vanilla, a familiar scent that relaxed him.

"How is Flo? You guys heard any news yet?" She asked after a few moments, forcing him to lift his head from the nape of her neck to face her.

"We don’t know yet," he said with a slight frown, as by the time they had finished the match, Wirtz would have just about arrived in Essen, even with Blue lights. "He was rushed to Essen University Medical Centre, the one that BVB uses, so we should have an answer by tomorrow."

"The commentators said it will probably be ligament damage." She carefully said, scanning his reaction with worry. "They said he could be out for the rest of the season and summer if it’s worse."

"(sigh) Honestly, I don’t know, but I think his season is over. Hopefully, he’ll be back for the Euros and get chosen." He said with a sigh, leading her through the foyer into the open living room. "Lets just pray for the best. You want to share a smoothie before heading to bed?"

"Nope, unlike you, I didn’t work out enough to fuel those extra calories." She said with a smile, heading to the fridge, pulling out one of the prepared strawberry protein smoothies they had made themselves. "Plus, your muscles need the fuel; otherwise, they will go on strike in the morning."

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TO BE CONTINUED...