Kai• ros | Julian Brandt

6.

The typical, dry English weather was, among other things, one of the reasons why I was initially not so excited about the work trip to Newcastle. Grey, gloomy sky. Occasional drops of rain. The relentless wind. And the cold that rattling your teeth. Please, it was only the end of October, but even so, I felt like December was in full swing.

With a cap on my head, jacket buttoned up to my neck and gloves on my hands, I stepped from foot to foot.

"You're going to step a hole in there at this rate," Bastian teased me.

We were standing on the field of the Sport Direct Arena, near the touchline. Everything around us was screaming that in the next twenty-four hours, the Champions League group match between BVB and "The Magpies", the outsiders of Group F, will take place on the pitch.

So far we had a loss against PSG and a draw with AC Milan. If we wanted to think about progressing to the next stage, we absolutely had to leave Newcastle with a win.

"I'm cold," I said in response to Bastian's teasing remark. As if it was hard to guess from my behavior so far.

"Unfortunately, this is also part of our job."

He gestured with his head to the playing field, on which our team had been warming up for a few tens of minutes. Some ran from side to side, others practiced mobilization exercises or dynamic stretching. All just to warm up their body enough before the upcoming training.

My gaze locked with Nico's for a long moment. His face was decorated with an all-knowing grin and his eyes were full of amusement. The fact that I was scowling at him made him sneer even more. I was angry with him. At him and his chatty tongue that he couldn't keep between his teeth. He was the reason why Diana kept sending me one message after another. From the moment I stepped into the airport hall until now, hundreds of them have landed in my inbox. All about Julian and how the hell is it possible that he drove me to the airport and why has she to find out about everything from Nico Schlotterbeck and not from her best friend, which is me.

Yes, you guessed right. Our joint arrival at Dortmund airport caused considerable discussion. Respectively, quiet whispers, a wave of confused looks and a shower of stupid comments from some daredevils. A person would naively think that he works with a team of professional athletes and they are, in a result, overgrown teenagers, in which the need to constantly gossip is dormant.

Marco's worried voice broke our eye contact.

"Jule, are you okay?"

My eyes automatically tried to find the mentioned one in the crowd of players. It was a kind of reflex, human curiosity and maybe just the responsibility that I felt as part of the health team towards my wards.

Julian sat on the ground and held his calf with his hands. His pale skin was taking on ruby ​​red hues. Exactly, like in the moments when he runs after the ball or someone or something vehemently furous him. His face contorted in pain. Sharp and stinging, which forced him to close his eyelids tightly. Although I was standing almost a few meters from him, I could hear his quickened breath and the profanity that came from his lips rang in my ears.

Marco was leaning over him. Even though he was no longer the team captain, he still acted as if he never stopped being one. He squeezed Julian's shoulders with his hands and asked him something. I have no idea what. All my attention was fixed on that arrogant blond.

Various thoughts ran through my head, the most likely diagnoses and the corresponding treatment procedures.

"Well," Bastian took a deep breath, "and I was naively hoping that this outing would go unscathed."

He pushed me towards Julian with his hand. Marco wasn't the only one standing by him anymore. A group of players formed around him, led by the coach and the team doctor.