Chapter 5: Debut
As the team bus pulled up to Kybunpark, Luka felt a flutter of excitement in his chest. The stadium wasn't as imposing as the Signal Iduna Park, but it still held an aura of significance.
Stepping off the bus, Luka was immediately struck by the buzz in the air. Around 3,000 fans had turned up, a mix of Dortmund's black and yellow intermingling with Athletic Bilbao's red and white.
Inside the changing room, Luka changed into his warm-up gear, his fingers lingering on the BVB crest. As they made their way onto the pitch, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the grass.
"Alright," Marco Reus called out, clapping his hands. "Let's get warmed up properly. No injuries today, yeah?"
They started with light jogging, circling the pitch. Jude Bellingham fell into step beside Luka.
"First time in Switzerland?" Jude asked, his breath steady.
Luka nodded. "Yeah. It's beautiful."
"Wait till you see the mountains properly. Puts the Pennines to shame."
As they transitioned into more dynamic movements – high knees, butt kicks, side shuffles – Luka found himself relaxing into the familiar routine. During a set of shuttle runs, Youssoufa Moukoko pulled up alongside him.
"Race you to the end?" Youssoufa challenged with a grin.
Luka laughed, the friendly competition easing his nerves. "You're on!"
They took off, sprinting back and forth between the lines.
As they moved into stretching exercises, Coach Rose approached the group. "Looking sharp, lads. Remember, it's a friendly, but every minute on that pitch is a chance to prove yourselves. Luka, Youssoufa – you'll start on the bench, but be ready."
The warm-up concluded with some passing drills and a few practice shots on goal.
Back in the changing room, Rose gathered the team for his final talk. "Alright, listen up," he began, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Bilbao is a quality opponent. They'll test us, and that's exactly what we need at this stage. Press high, transition quickly, and most importantly – enjoy yourselves out there."
As the starting eleven made their way out, Luka took his place on the bench. The familiar pre-match music filled the stadium, and the crowd's excitement noticeably increased.
The referee's whistle pierced the air, and the match kicked off. From his vantage point, Luka had a perfect view of the action unfolding. He watched intently as Dortmund immediately pressed high, forcing Bilbao to play hurried passes out from the back.
In the 5th minute, Marco Reus intercepted a wayward pass and quickly fed the ball to Erling Haaland. The Norwegian striker's powerful shot forced a spectacular save from the Bilbao keeper, drawing appreciative applause from both sets of fans.
Luka found himself instinctively analyzing the game, noting the positioning of his teammates and the spaces opening up on the pitch. He visualized himself in those positions, imagining how he might contribute if given the chance.
As the first half progressed, the game settled into a rhythm. Dortmund dominated possession, but Bilbao looked dangerous on the counter-attack. In the 32nd minute, Iñaki Williams' pace caught the Dortmund defense off guard, but his shot whistled just wide of the post.
"That's why you always track back," Mats Hummels commented from his spot next to Luka on the bench. "Pace like that can undo you in a second if you're not careful."
Luka nodded, absorbing the veteran defender's wisdom. Every moment, even on the bench, was a learning opportunity.
The halftime whistle blew with the score still 0-0. In the changing room, Rose made a few tactical adjustments, emphasizing the need to move the ball quicker in the final third.
As the second half of the match unfolded, the atmosphere in Kybunpark shifted palpably. The initial excitement that had buoyed Borussia Dortmund's play in the first half seemed to evaporate under the relentless pressure from Athletic Bilbao. Luka watched from the bench, his earlier anticipation slowly morphing into a gnawing anxiety as the game slipped away from his team.
In the 50th minute, disaster struck. A clumsy challenge in the box led to a penalty for Bilbao. Raúl García stepped up, his experience evident in his calm demeanor. The stadium held its breath as he approached the ball. With a swift, precise strike, García sent Kobel the wrong way, and the ball nestled in the bottom corner. 1-0 to Bilbao.
The goal seemed to galvanize the Spanish side while simultaneously deflating Dortmund. Just seven minutes later, before the Black and Yellows could regroup, Bilbao struck again. A well-worked corner found Vivian unmarked at the far post. His powerful header gave the keeper no chance. 2-0.
On the bench, Luka could feel the tension radiating from his teammates. Erling Haaland paced back and forth, his frustration evident in every movement. Jude Bellingham sat with his head in his hands, while Marco Reus engaged in an animated discussion with one of the assistant coaches.
Coach Rose's expression had turned grim. His earlier calm demeanor had given way to a furrowed brow and tightly clenched jaw. Luka watched as the coach's eyes scanned the pitch, then the bench, clearly searching for a solution to turn the tide of the game.
As the minutes ticked by, Dortmund struggled to find their rhythm. Passes went astray, attacks broke down, and the confident play of the first half seemed like a distant memory. The Bilbao defense, buoyed by their two-goal cushion, stood firm against increasingly desperate Dortmund attacks.
In the 75th minute, Rose turned to the bench. "Luka," he called, his voice cutting through the ambient noise of the stadium. "Start warming up."
Luka's heart leapt into his throat. This wasn't how he'd imagined his debut – coming on with his team two goals down, the game seemingly beyond reach. But as he began his warm-up routine along the sideline, a steely determination settled over him. This was his chance, against the odds, to make a difference.
As he stretched and jogged, Luka stole glances at the ongoing match. Dortmund were pushing hard for a goal, but Bilbao's defense held firm. Every attack seemed to break down at the crucial moment, every shot seemed to find a defender's boot or the goalkeeper's gloves.
In the 79th minute, Rose called Luka over. The coach's face was a mask of intensity, but there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes as he looked at the young player.
"Alright, Luka," Rose began, his voice low and urgent. "We're in a tough spot here, but the game's not over. I'm putting you on because I think you can change things. Play without fear. Look for the spaces between their lines. If you get a chance to shoot, take it. We need a spark, and you might just be it. Understand?"
Luka nodded, adrenaline coursing through his veins. "Yes, coach. I won't let you down."
Rose managed a small smile. "I know you won't. Now get out there and show everyone what you can do."
As the clock hit 80 minutes, the fourth official raised the electronic board. Number 37 on. This was it. Luka's debut for Borussia Dortmund was about to begin, under the most challenging circumstances he could have imagined.
As Luka jogged onto the pitch, the roar of the crowd washed over him. The crisp evening air filled his lungs, and the smell of freshly cut grass invaded his senses. His heart pounded in his chest, a mixture of excitement and nerves coursing through his veins.
He took up his position on the left wing, scanning the field. The Bilbao players, buoyed by their two-goal lead, had settled into a compact defensive formation. Luka could see the frustration etched on his teammates' faces as they struggled to find openings.
The first few minutes passed in a blur. Luka found himself moving up and down the left flank, trying to create space, but the ball remained elusive. He resisted the urge to call for it, remembering Rose's words about playing without fear but also with intelligence.
As he ran, Luka constantly scanned the pitch, taking mental snapshots of player positions. He noticed how Bilbao's right-back was cheating infield, leaving space behind him. He filed that information away, waiting for the right moment to exploit it.
In the 85th minute, opportunity knocked. A clearance from Bilbao's defense fell short, bouncing tantalizingly near the edge of their box. Luka's eyes widened. This was his chance.
He burst forward, his acceleration catching the nearest defender off guard. As he approached the ball, time seemed to slow down. Luka's first touch was deliberate, using the outside of his right foot to nudge the ball slightly ahead of him while maintaining his momentum.
The Bilbao right-back closed in quickly, but Luka had anticipated this. In one fluid motion, he dragged the ball back with his right foot, then quickly pushed it through with his left, executing a smooth elastico. The defender's momentum carried him past Luka, who was now free on the left side of the box.
Luka looked up, assessing his options in a split second. Haaland was making a run to the near post, dragging two defenders with him. Reus was positioned at the penalty spot, but a Bilbao midfielder was closing him down. In the far corner of his vision, Luka spotted Bellingham making a late run to the far post.
Instinctively, Luka shaped his body as if to cross, his eyes fixed on Haaland. The Bilbao defenders shifted, anticipating the ball to the big Norwegian. But at the last moment, Luka's foot wrapped around the ball, executing a perfect trivela. The ball curled away from the goalkeeper, arcing towards the far post where Bellingham was arriving unmarked.
The crowd held its breath as the ball sailed through the air. Bellingham, timing his run perfectly, met it with a powerful header. The Bilbao keeper, wrong-footed by the unexpected trajectory of Luka's cross, could only watch as the ball nestled into the back of the net.
The stadium erupted. Luka found himself engulfed by his teammates, Bellingham reaching him first with a bear hug. "Brilliant ball, mate!" the English midfielder shouted over the roar of the crowd.
As they jogged back for the restart, Luka caught Rose's eye on the sideline. The coach gave him a nod of approval, a small smile playing on his lips. The score was now 2-1, and there was a newfound energy in the Dortmund team.
The remaining minutes were a frenzy of action. Luka, buoyed by his successful assist, found himself more involved in the play. He received the ball more frequently, his teammates recognizing the threat he posed.
In the 89th minute, Luka received the ball deep in his own half. A Bilbao midfielder pressed him hard, but Luka, channeling his flair, performed a quick rainbow flick over the onrushing player. The crowd gasped in appreciation as Luka landed and immediately sprinted forward with the ball, his close control allowing him to maintain possession even at full speed.
As he approached the Bilbao box, two defenders converged on him. Luka, seeing no clear passing options, decided to take matters into his own hands. He feinted to his right, then quickly cut back to his left, leaving one defender off-balance. The second defender lunged in, but Luka was too quick, flicking the ball through the defender's legs with the outside of his boot and accelerating past him.
Now in the box, Luka had a clear sight of goal. The keeper came out to narrow the angle, and for a moment, it seemed Luka would shoot. But at the last second, he spotted Haaland making a late run into the box. With the outside of his foot, Luka curled a pass around the onrushing keeper, right into Haaland's path.
Haaland met Luka's pass with a powerful strike, but the Bilbao keeper, recovering quickly, managed to get a hand to it, deflecting the ball wide. The crowd groaned in unison.
As they reset for a corner, Luka caught his breath, his mind racing. 'Keep it simple,' he reminded himself. 'Don't try to force it.'
The corner came in, but Bilbao cleared it easily. Luka, positioned near the halfway line, received the clearance and immediately played it back to Hummels. 'Good,' he thought. 'Maintain possession, let the team regroup.'
As Dortmund built up play again, Luka made a diagonal run, dragging a defender with him. He noticed Reus free on the right and raised his hand, calling for the ball. Reus saw him and delivered a lofted pass. Luka chested it down, but as he turned, he felt a strong shoulder barge from behind. The Bilbao defender, Yeray Álvarez, had caught up and used his superior strength to knock Luka off balance.
Luka stumbled, trying to maintain possession, but Álvarez's strength proved too much. The ball squirted away, and Bilbao regained possession. 'Damn,' Luka thought, 'I need to be stronger there.'
"Keep your head up, Luka!" Reus called out. "You'll get the next one!"
As Luka jogged back into position, he heard murmurs from the crowd. Some were impressed by his earlier skill, others questioning if he could handle the physical aspect of the game.
The next few minutes saw Luka playing simpler. He made short, quick passes, always looking to keep the ball moving. A one-two with Guerreiro on the left flank. A back pass to Bellingham to relieve pressure. Each touch built his confidence back up.
In the 92nd minute, Luka received the ball wide on the left. He started a slow dribble down the wing, watching the defender's reaction out of the corner of his eye. As the defender committed to the wide area, Luka suddenly cut inside, accelerating past him. The crowd rose to their feet in anticipation.
Luka looked up, his vision zeroing in on the runs being made ahead of him. Haaland was making a central run, dragging defenders with him. Reus was cutting in from the right. And there, making a late run into the box, was Meunier.
Without hesitation, Luka chipped a perfectly weighted ball over the defense. Time seemed to slow as the ball arced through the air. Meunier leapt, meeting the ball with his head, directing it towards the bottom corner. The keeper dived, but it was just out of reach. The net bulged. 2-2!
The stadium erupted in celebration. Luka found himself at the bottom of a pile of jubilant teammates. "Brilliant vision, kid!" Meunier shouted, ruffling Luka's hair.
As they lined up for the restart, Luka's mind was racing. 'We can win this,' he thought. 'There's still time.'
The final minutes were frantic. Luka continued to mix his play, sometimes opting for simple passes to maintain possession, other times trying to create with his skill. He executed a clever nutmeg on Dani García, drawing a foul and a yellow card as the frustrated midfielder pulled him back.
Luka's quick feet were causing problems for Bilbao, but he was also learning the hard way about the physical nature of the game. Muniain, Bilbao's captain, was particularly troublesome, using his low center of gravity and experience to knock Luka off the ball more than once.
In the dying seconds of the game, Dortmund won a free-kick just outside the box. As Reus and Guerreiro stood over the ball, Luka positioned himself at the edge of the box. He noticed a gap in the Bilbao wall and quickly made eye contact with Reus, giving a subtle nod.
Reus understood. As he ran up to take the free-kick, instead of shooting, he slipped a pass through the wall. Luka, anticipating this, darted into the space. He was through on goal, but the angle was tight. The keeper came out, narrowing the angle further.
In a split-second decision, Luka looked up and saw Moukoko, who had come on as a late sub, unmarked at the far post. With the outside of his boot, Luka clipped a delicate cross over the keeper. Moukoko rose, ready to head it in for the winner, but at the last moment, The Bilbao defender who had been standing on the line, managed to get a touch, sending the ball agonizingly wide.
The final whistle blew seconds later. 2-2. A draw snatched from the jaws of defeat.
Luka felt a strange mix of emotions wash over him. The initial elation of his assist and the team's comeback was quickly replaced by a sense of disappointment. He stood rooted to the spot, watching as his teammates exchanged jerseys with the Bilbao players.
Luka's mind raced, replaying every touch, every decision he'd made during his brief time on the pitch. 'If only I'd been stronger when Álvarez shoulder-barged me,' he thought. 'Or if I'd put more curl on that last cross to Moukoko...' The what-ifs piled up, each one a weight on his shoulders.
As he slowly made his way towards the tunnel, he overheard snippets of conversation from the crowd.
"Who was that number 37? Never seen him before."
"That kid's got some skills! Did you see that trivela assist?"
"Reminds me a bit of Neymar, doesn't he? All flair and quick feet."
Luka tried to shut it out, but the words seeped in, adding to his conflicted emotions.
Just then, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Mats Hummels.
"Hey, kid," Hummels said, his voice warm. "Don't beat yourself up. You changed the game when you came on. That's not easy to do, especially in your first appearance."
Luka managed a small smile. "Thanks, Mats. I just feel like I could have done more."
"We all feel that way sometimes," Hummels replied. "But trust me, you've got something special. Just keep working on your strength, and you'll be unstoppable."
As they entered the locker room, Coach Rose approached Luka.
"Luka," Rose began, "I hope you realize what you did out there. You injected life into our attack when we needed it most. Yes, there's room for improvement, but that's true for everyone. You should be proud."
Luka nodded, feeling a bit lighter. "Thank you, coach. I'll work on my strength, I promise."
"Good lad," Rose said with a smile. "Now go get changed. I have a feeling there might be some people wanting to talk to you."
As Luka showered and changed, he overheard his teammates discussing the match. Many of them made a point to praise his performance.
"Oi, Luka!" Bellingham called out. "Are you sure you're not secretly Brazilian? Those skills were insane!"
Luka laughed, feeling more at ease. "Last time I checked, I wasn't. But thanks, mate."
As he packed his bag, one of Dortmund's assistant coaches approached him. "Luka, the social media team wants to have a quick word. They're pretty excited about your debut."
Luka followed the coach to where Lisa, Dortmund's social media manager, was waiting with a bright smile.
"Luka! Congratulations on your debut," she said enthusiastically. "The fans are going crazy online. Would you mind if we took a few photos for our social channels?"
Luka agreed, posing with the BVB crest and doing a few kick-ups for the camera. As they finished, Lisa showed him her phone.
"Look at this," she said, scrolling through Twitter. "Everyone's talking about you!"
Luka saw tweets flashing by:
"Who is this Luka kid? @BVB seems to have found another gem!"
"That assist from Luka was pure class. Shades of Neymar!"
"From 2-0 down to 2-2, and it's all thanks to the new kid. Luka, remember the name!"
As he read the tweets, Luka felt a surge of pride. Yes, there was still much to improve, but he had made an impact. He had shown he belonged at this level.
"Make sure you post something on your own accounts too," Lisa advised. "The fans would love to hear from you directly."
Luka nodded, already composing a message in his head. He'd thank the fans, express his joy at making his debut, and promise to keep working hard.
The game had shown him exactly where he needed to improve, particularly his physical strength. But it had also shown him that he had the skills to compete at this level, to excite the fans, and to help his team.
He pulled out his phone and opened Instagram, posting a photo of himself in the Dortmund kit with the caption: "Dream debut with @bvb09. Disappointed not to get the win, but proud to have played my part. This is just the beginning. Hungry for more! 💛🖤"
<>
As the match unfolded on the television screen, David sat in his armchair, a beer in hand. His expression was one of mild disinterest as he watched Dortmund struggle against Bilbao. When the camera panned to the bench, briefly showing Luka, David grunted.
"Still can't get a start, eh?" he muttered, taking a swig of his beer.
But as the second half wore on and Dortmund fell behind 2-0, David found himself leaning forward, his attention captured by the growing tension of the game. When the fourth official's board went up in the 80th minute, showing number 37, David's eyes widened.
"Emma!" he called out. "Luka's coming on!"
As Luka jogged onto the pitch, David felt an unexpected surge of pride. His son, wearing the colors of Borussia Dortmund, was about to make his debut.
At first, David watched with a critical eye, noting every touch and movement. But as the minutes ticked by, his expression began to change. When Luka executed the smooth elastico, leaving the Bilbao defender in his wake, David nearly spilled his beer.
"Did you see that?" he exclaimed, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "Where did he learn to do that?"
When Luka's perfectly executed trivela cross found Bellingham for Dortmund's first goal, David leapt to his feet, cheering loudly.
"That's my boy!" he shouted, his face beaming with pride. "My son did that!"
As the game progressed and Luka continued to showcase his skills - the rainbow flick, the nutmeg, the chip passes - David's amazement grew. This was a side of Luka he had never seen before, a level of skill and confidence he hadn't believed possible.
"Who is this kid?" David muttered in awe. "Can't be my son, can it?"
When the final whistle blew, David sat back in his chair, shaking his head in disbelief. The beer in his hand had long since been forgotten, his attention completely captured by Luka's performance.
"I think," he said slowly, "I might have underestimated our boy."
As the post-match analysis began on the TV, David reached for his phone. For the first time in years, he felt an overwhelming urge to call his son, to tell him how proud he was, to apologize for his doubts.
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