𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐞 | 𝐣𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

𝟎𝟓

𝐉𝐔́𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 surprised when the notification pinged on his laptop late that morning. the subject line read: "re: photography position", simple, unassuming, but when he opened it and read the name at the bottom, his smile tugged wide across his face beneath his trimmed beard.

the message was brief, polite, and yet brimming with sincerity:

dear mr. klopp,

thank you so much for your kind offer. i would love to discuss the opportunity in more detail. working in liverpool, especially in such a large footballing environment, is a dream for me.

please let me know what the next steps are.

best regards,
luna cortés

he leaned back slightly in his chair, hands clasping behind his head as he stared at the screen. "good," he murmured to himself. "very good."

her portfolio had spoken volumes, the raw emotion in her work, the way she captured movement, tension, intimacy, it was exactly what the club had been missing in their visuals. there was soul in her photos. a kind of narrative instinct that could elevate not just the brand, but the heartbeat of the club itself. even the board had been impressed during their last media meeting. "refreshing," one had said. "authentic," another noted. words that rarely got thrown around that easily.

and now, she'd said yes.

he didn't waste time. his fingers moved swiftly over the keyboard as he typed his response:

dear luna,

thank you for your reply, we are very pleased to hear from you. i've admired your portfolio, and i believe your eye and storytelling approach would bring a lot of value to our team.

i would like to schedule a video meeting this week, if possible, so we can go through the vision, contract details, housing arrangements, and travel logistics.

i'll have my assistant liaise with you for the available times.

welcome to the reds' family.

kind regards,
jürgen klopp

he hit send, nodding to himself before standing up and walking toward the glass overlooking the training pitches. outside, the lads were laughing over something, probably another one of james milner's one-liners, while jordan huffed out slow laps along the far end, earbuds in, lost in thought.

jürgen smiled softly, then glanced once more at luna's name glowing on the screen.

things were shifting, he thought. and maybe, just maybe, for the better.

meanwhile, jordan, who was deep into his usual laps around the training pitch, couldn't shake the heaviness that had slowly crept into his chest. it always started that way. a dull pressure behind the ribs, building with each stride. he'd been running this same path for years now, but some days, the ghosts caught up faster than his feet could carry him.