Chapitre 46: Mediate
"Mate, you've got to be cheating," Jude groaned, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's what, fifteen in a row now?"
Luka just shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Sixteen, actually. But who's counting?"
Erling laughed, clapping Luka on the back. "Alright, wonder boy. My turn to show you how it's done."
As Erling set up his shot, Luka caught sight of Kehl approaching from the corner of his eye. The sporting director, had a serious expression on his face.
"Luka," Kehl called out, his voice carrying across the training pitch. "We need you in the conference room. Now."
Luka's brow furrowed. "For?"
Kehl's expression didn't change. "Just come."
With a sigh, Luka handed the ball to Jude. "Looks like you two will have to settle this without me. Try not to miss too badly while I'm gone."
As he jogged towards Kehl, he could hear Erling's indignant protest behind him. "Oi! I'll have you know I'm excellent at free kicks!"
The walk to the conference room was silent, tension hanging in the air like a heavy fog. As they entered, Luka's eyes swept the room, taking in the assembled faces. Rose sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable. Dr. Braun was there too, along with a few other club officials Luka recognized but couldn't remember their names.
"Have a seat, Luka," Rose said, gesturing to an empty chair.
Luka lowered himself into the seat, his guard up. "What's this about?"
Rose leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. "We need to address the... situation between us. It can't continue like this."
Luka nodded slowly, waiting for Rose to continue.
"It's simple, really," Rose went on. "You need to agree not to speak out against me again. No more undermining my authority on the pitch or in the locker room. Do that, and we can put this all behind us."
Luka blinked, barely able to believe what he was hearing. In his mind, he couldn't help but think, 'What is wrong with these people? Grown adults acting spiteful and wounded.' But outwardly, he kept his expression neutral.
"I'll consider it," he said carefully.
Rose's face hardened. "Come on, Luka. It's a simple decision. Just agree now, and we can all move on."
Luka's eyes flicked to Dr. Braun, seeking some kind of guidance. The psychologist merely raised an eyebrow, as if to say, 'This is your decision to make.'
Taking a deep breath, Luka turned back to Rose. "I said I'll consider it. That's my stance for now."
Rose threw up his hands in exasperation. "Do you see how he acts?" he exclaimed to the room at large.
Something inside Luka snapped. He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You know what-" he began, but caught himself at the last moment. Instead, he took a deep breath and asked, "Is that all?"
Rose's face reddened, his jaw clenching visibly. "No, that is not all, Zorić. Sit down. We're not finished here."
Luka hesitated for a moment, then slowly lowered himself back into his chair, his eyes never leaving Rose's. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Dr. Braun cleared his throat, attempting to diffuse the situation. "Perhaps we should take a moment to-"
"No," Rose interrupted, his voice sharp. "We need to address this now. Luka, you're 17 years old. You can't possibly know what's best for this team."
19 actually, dunce… or 20. But he couldn't exactly explain that, could he?
"With all due respect, Coach," Luka began, fighting to keep his voice level, "age doesn't necessarily dictate understanding. I may be young, but I know how I play best."
Rose scoffed. "And you think that means you know better than your coach? A player shouldn't speak out against-"
"But I haven't," Luka interjected, his composure slipping. "You were the one who spoke out against me in the interview after the first Ajax game. You've been unnecessarily hard on me in training for weeks now."
The coach's face darkened. "You think you know tactics better than me, is that it?"
Luka shook his head, frustration evident in every line of his body. "No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying I know how I play best. I would have no problem doing what you want if it actually worked, but it only does against weaker sides. I'm at my best when I can cut inside, create space, and-"
"Enough!" Rose shouted, slamming his hand on the table.
At that moment, the door opened, and Marco Reus stepped in, followed by Sebastien Kehl and Michael Zorc. The new arrivals paused, taken aback by the tension in the room.
"What's going on here?" Reus asked, his eyes darting between Luka and Rose.
Kehl stepped forward, his voice calm but authoritative. "We're here to mediate, not escalate. Rose, Luka, let's take a step back and approach this rationally."
Zorc nodded in agreement. "We need to find a way forward that works for everyone. This isn't about who's right or wrong, it's about what's best for the team."
Luka took a deep breath, trying to center himself. "I'm not trying to undermine anyone's authority. I just want to contribute to the team in the most effective way possible."
Rose's expression softened slightly, but there was still a hard edge to his voice. "And you don't think that's what I want? I'm the coach, Luka. It's my job to make those decisions."
"I understand that," Luka replied, his tone measured. "But shouldn't those decisions be based on what works best on the pitch? Our results speak for themselves."
Reus stepped in, placing a hand on Luka's shoulder. "Luka's got a point, Coach. His performances have been exceptional. Maybe there's room for some tactical flexibility?"
Rose's jaw clenched, but he remained silent, clearly wrestling with his thoughts.
Dr. Braun seized the moment of quiet. "Perhaps we could try a compromise? A trial period where we incorporate some of Luka's ideas into the tactical setup, while still maintaining the overall structure you prefer, Rose?"
The room fell silent as everyone considered the suggestion. Luka felt a glimmer of hope - it wasn't perfect, but it was a start.
Kehl nodded slowly. "That could work. It gives us a chance to see how different approaches mesh on the pitch, without completely overhauling our system."
"I... suppose we could try it. For a few matches." Whille his words showed agreement, his tone and eyes showed otherwise and Luka could tell.
"Thank you, Coach. I promise I'll give everything to make it work." He said nevertheless, he'd do anything to get out of this room right now.
Zorc cleared his throat. "There's one more thing we need to address. The public confrontations need to stop. Both of you," he added, looking pointedly at Rose and Luka in turn. "We can't have this kind of discord playing out in the media."
Both nodded, somewhat reluctantly.
"Good," Kehl said, a note of relief in his voice. "Then let's consider this meeting adjourned. We'll draw up a plan for the tactical adjustments and review it together before implementing it."
As the room began to clear, Reus held Luka back for a moment. "Listen, kid," he said quietly, "I get it. You've got talent, ideas, and you want to use them. But remember, you're part of a team. Sometimes that means compromise."
Luka nodded. "I know. Thanks, Marco."
As he left the room, Luka felt like he'd aged years in the span of an hour. The weight of expectations, the pressure to perform, the balance of respect and self-advocacy - it was all part of being a professional footballer.
He made his way down the corridor, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.
"Luka!" a voice called out behind him. He turned to see Jude jogging to catch up.
"How'd it go in there?" Jude asked, falling into step beside him.
Luka sighed, running a hand through his hair. "About as well as you'd expect. They say they'll try to incorporate some of my ideas, but..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
Jude nodded sympathetically. "Rose didn't seem too thrilled, eh?"
"That's putting it mildly," Luka muttered. "I just want to play, you know? To enjoy football. Is that too much to ask?"
They pushed through the doors leading to the training ground.
"Look on the bright side," Jude said, clapping Luka on the shoulder. "After the Leipzig game, we've got the international break. You'll be back in Croatia, tearing it up like always."
Luka felt a small smile tugging at his lips. The thought of wearing the checkered jersey, of playing without the weight of club politics on his shoulders, was a balm to his frayed nerves.
"Yeah, you're right," he admitted. "And who knows? Maybe things will actually change here."
But as the days passed and training sessions came and went, that hope began to fade. There were no new tactical reviews, no adjustments to their playing style. It was as if the meeting had never happened.
The night before the Leipzig match, Luka lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind raced with thoughts of the game ahead, of Rose's tactics, of the looming international break. Sleep eluded him, and he found himself reaching for his phone.
A text from his agent, Jorge, lit up the screen: "Everything's set for the Puma meeting during the break. Get some rest, kid. Big game tomorrow."
Luka smiled despite himself. At least something was going right. He typed out a quick reply, then forced himself to put the phone away. He needed to focus on the match ahead.
The next day dawned cold and overcast. As the team bus wound its way through the streets of Leipzig, Luka pressed his forehead against the cool glass, watching the city blur past.
In the locker room, the air was thick with pre-match tension. Luka laced up his boots, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. He glanced up to see Rose entering, his face set in its usual stern expression.
"Alright, lads," Rose began, his voice cutting through the low murmur of conversation. "We've been over the tactics. Stick to the plan, stay disciplined, and we'll come out of this with three points."
Luka's heart sank a little. No mention of the tactical adjustments they'd discussed, no sign that anything had changed. But as Rose continued, he caught the coach's eye.
"Zorić," Rose said, his tone unreadable. "You're starting on the left. Show me what you can do."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone