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[19/11/2020 | Frankfurt Airport, Germany | 14:30]
The chartered flight touched down under grey German skies, a stark contrast to the warm Andalusian sun they’d left behind. The players filed off in silence, the weight of the 4-2 defeat still heavy on their shoulders. No one could deny that they had convincingly been beaten, and it could have turned into a complete rout if not for so individual brilliance.
Many fans pointed fingers at varying players, but for the most part, it was the striker position that was lacking. The squad wasn’t any worse than their 2014 winning team, but they lacked a competent striker. Despite Mario Goze becoming the hero of the German Eagles, they got that far largely thanks to Mario Goz.
The striker wasn’t one of the best at the ti, but he could hold up play, offer aerial outlets, and had a nose for goal. Since he left the stage, they have failed to replace him convincingly with Timo, who was a candidate deciding he wants to beco a winger. So, to the fans, having a short player like Gnabry, who is a winger through and through, playing up front was the height of folly.
dia crews had gathered at the private terminal despite COVID restrictions to judge them, caras tracking their every movent. Rakim walked alongside Brandt and Goretzka, hood pulled up, earphones in, music playing. He’d spent the flight scrolling through social dia—a mistake, he realised now as the reactions were visceral, unforgiving.
*#LöwOut* was trending in Germany.
*Worst German performance in decades.*
*Die Mannschaft? More like fraud.*
*Rakim Rex is the only reason to have hope.*
*How’s he smiling after such a bad loss? Cucurella had him in his back pocket.*
*You want the sa ga? That goal from Rex was world-class. Build the team around him.*
*Let’s calm down, he’s just 17 years old. Rember what happened to the last 17-year-old Wunderkind Germany had?*
*I know he turned into a pumpkin after the clock struck midnight*
Those were just so of the nicer ones, as so fans went fully in on the manager and certain ones they believed were butterers and didn’t belong on the international stage. "Don’t read that shit," Goretzka muttered, noticing Rakim’s phone. "They’ll love you one day and crucify you the next. That’s the ga."
"I know," Rakim replied, pocketing his device. "I’m just screenshotting the more personal ones so I can be petty later when I’m up."
Shaking his head at the response that he had gotten familiar with. "You’re the weirdest player I’ve ever t. Doesn’t anything shake your confidence?" he asked for the tenth ti that week.
"I’m a graduate of the Zlatan Institute of Scoring Psychology—because keepers and defenders need therapy after I’m done." He responded with a straight face, channelling pure confidence. "I minored in Limitless Self-Belief. They only accept one student per generation."
Goretzka barked out a laugh despite himself drawing quite a few curious gazes. "Kid, if you ever et Zlatan, the universe might collapse."
Brandt snorted. "Nah, Zlatan would adopt him. Or challenge him to a duel. Fifty-fifty, really."
"Both," Goretzka corrected. "He’d challenge him and adopt him in the sa sentence."
Rakim only shrugged, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag as the automatic doors slid open. They passed through the terminal, dodging microphones thrust in their direction. The cold air hit them first. Then the light—blinding, white, relentless. Caras erupted into flashes like a constellation being born.
Security ford a loose wall around the squad, but it didn’t stop the barrage of questions. One persistent reporter managed to corner Neuer near the exit. "Manuel, four goals conceded in Seville. Is Joachim Löw’s position sustainable?"
Neuer’s expression hardened. "We win together, we lose together. The focus now is on recovery and preparation for our next fixtures. That’s all I have to say." He walked away without waiting for follow-up questions.
---
"RAKIM, DO YOU THINK LÖW HAS LOST THE DRESSING ROOM?"
"WHAT DO YOU SAY TO CLAIMS YOU WERE SMILING AFTER THE FINAL WHISTLE?"
"IS THIS THE START OF ANOTHER GENERATIONAL FAILURE FOR GERMANY?"
"RAKIM, IS IT TRUE YOU ARGUED WITH KIMMICH AT HALF-TI?"
---
The journalists weren’t even talking to him—they were firing into the void, hoping soone flinched. "I thought Kimich was resting at ho. Did you see him at camp, or did we forget him in Spain?" He whispered to Brandt after only bothering to pick up on the last question.
"Yeah, think he picked up a knock and the club refused the call up, not willing to risk it," Brandt muttered as they quickly stepped into the waiting bus. None felt like feeding the hyenas, so they promptly boarded the vehicle and set off.
~~~
[20/11/2020 | German dia Headlines]
BILD: "LÖWPOINT: Germany Humiliated in Seville—Is This the End?"
He had arrived ho late last night, as they had to go through official matters before being released to go ho. Tah, Amiri and He had shared a DFB-sponsored sprinter van back to Cologne. By the ti he had gotten ho, he barely had enough energy to eat with May before passing out; his tank was fully empty.
Almost as if the dia had waited for their return, he was woken to a colourful mix of articles as reporters stretched their creative genes. The tabloid’s front page featured a variety of photos of Löw looking dejected on the touchline, hands in pockets, as Spanish players celebrated in the background. The headline was damning, the article more so.
"Joachim Löw’s & Co: were torn apart by a young, vibrant Spanish side in what can only be described as a systematic dismantling. Down 3-0 before the substitutions brought life, one must ask: why did it take sixty minutes to make changes? Why were Rakim Rex and Julian Brandt—the only players who showed fight—left on the bench as Spain ran riot?
The tactics were confused, the selection baffling, and the execution abysmal. Germany looked like a team trying to please everyone, unable to commit to youth or experience. The result? Neither works.
If not for Rex’s mont of individual brilliance and Werner’s opportunistic finish, this could have been 4-0, maybe worse. The DFB must ask itself: Is Joachim Löw the man to lead this team into Euro 2021?"
---
Kicker: "Silver Lining: Rakim Rex Announces Himself on the World Stage"
Kicker took a different angle, focusing on the positives amidst the wreckage. "In a match that will be rembered for Germany’s defensive frailties and tactical confusion, one na erged as a beacon of hope: Rakim Rex. The seventeen-year-old Bayer Leverkusen winger ca on in the 60th minute with his team down 3-0 and proceeded to terrorise Spain’s defence.
His assist for Werner’s goal was a masterclass in decision-making—embarrassing Sergio Ramos with a piece of skill that will be replayed for years, then delivering a feather-perfect set. His goal, from outside the box, was struck with venom, leaving no option for anyone to interfere.
Rex represents everything this German team should be: fearless, dynamic, and willing to take risks. If Löw has any sense, he’ll build around this young man. The future is bright, and it’s ti to turn the page to the next Chapter."
---
Süddeutsche Zeitung: "Generational Clash: Germany’s Identity Crisis Exposed"
"Spain’s victory was not just about superior technical quality—it was about identity. Luis Enrique’s team knows exactly what it is: young, aggressive, possession-based, and unafraid to make mistakes in pursuit of excellence. Die Manshaft, by contrast, looks confused.
Is this a team built around experience—Neuer, Kroos, Gündogan? Or is it a team of the future—Rex, Werner, Gnabry? Löw’s selections suggest he doesn’t know either, and the performance reflected that uncertainty.
The second-half rally, sparked by Rex’s and Brandt’s introduction, showed what Germany could be: direct, explosive, and willing to take opponents on. But sixty minutes of passivity cannot be excused by thirty minutes of desperation. Spain was better prepared, better organised, and—crucially—better coached.
Change is needed, and the ti is now, both in personnel and philosophy. The question is whether the DFB has the courage to make it."
~~~
[20/11/2020 | BayArena, Leverkusen | 10:45]
Later that afternoon, Rakim arrived at the training facility to find it quieter than usual. Most players had been given the day off; only those on international duty were required to report for recovery sessions. The physios had set up stations in the dical room—ice baths, massage tables, compression therapy.
He went through the motions chanically. Dynamic stretch routines and Yoga poses that made them feel muscles that didn’t exist greeted them first. The ice bath ca next, the cold biting into his muscles forcefully speeding up recovery. A massage to work out the knots that had ford over ninety minutes of intense football and training followed.
"You played well," the physio remarked as she worked on his calves. "Saw the highlights. That goal was sothing special."
"Thanks," Rakim replied, staring at the ceiling. "Hard to enjoy the mont when the team are treated as sinners."
"I understand that, but a wise man once said ’The Ball Is Round’." She said, exerting force enough to move up to his back as she exerted force enough to slay an ox. "And the ga lasts 90 minutes, and everything else is just theory".
"I get it, Doc, could you please ease up? I wasn’t that bothered," He moaned, trying his best to hold back a pained scream.
"Hahah, you’re such a baby, how can a cute small doctor like hire a big tall footballer?" She giggled, applying more force with her elbow before finally relenting. "That should do it, stop stressing about useless things and just focus on staying match fit."
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To Be Continued...
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