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[2021-04-05 | Leverkusen Training Ground | 09:30 CET]
The training session was intense, focused entirely on Dortmund. The coaching staff had set up drills specifically designed to counter Dortmund’s attacking threats—particularly Erling Haaland and Jadon Sancho. They both had gotten hot as the season progressed, putting up incredible numbers, and with Reus and Bellingham in midfield, they were dangerous.
Bosz gathered the squad around the tactical board set up on the training pitch. "Dortmund will press high," he began, pointing at the diagram. "Haaland will look to exploit any space behind our defensive line. He’s fast, strong, and clinical. One mistake, and he punishes you."
Tah and Tapsoba exchanged a glance; they’d both have to stop Haaland from dismantling their defences all ga. The Norwegian was the definition of a modern-day Viking in soccer boots.
Bosz continued, drawing arrows on the board to indicate what they had to watch out for: all the opposing dangern. It took a good fifteen minutes before the head coach had covered what he deed as important. Most defensive players paid rapt attention, but for the forwards, staying awake was good enough.
"In possession," Bosz said, switching the board to show Leverkusen’s setup, "we exploit their fullbacks. They will have to push high for their tactics to work effectively, which leaves space behind for us to exploit. Rakim, Diaby, Leon, Belarabi—this is where you thrive. When we win the ball, hit them fast before they can recover."
"Questions?" Bosz asked, scanning the group, and silence, tinged with impatience, t him. "Good. Let’s get to work."
~~~
[10:20]
The squad split into two groups—starters versus reserves. The drill was simple: eleven-a-side, full-field scrimmage, with specific instructions to replicate Dortmund’s pressing patterns. Joel Pohjanpalo, playing as Haaland in the reserve team, imdiately charged at Tah the mont Hradecky played the ball out. The German centre back calmly shifted the ball to Tapsoba, who found Aránguiz dropping deep.
"Faster!" Bosz shouted from the sideline. "They won’t give you ti to think!"
Aránguiz played a quick pass to Wirtz, who turned sharply away from Palacios’s challenge. He spotted Rakim making a diagonal run from the left, and without hesitation, threaded a pass into the channel. He controlled it with the outside of his right, skipping away from his Dragović, who tried to close him down.
He drove toward the edge of the box, drawing Lars Bender his way, then slid it into the box for Schick. The Czech striker struck it first-ti, but Lennart Grill dove brilliantly, pushing it wide. "GOOD!" Bosz clapped. "That’s the tempo we need! Quick transitions, smart movent!"
The drill continued for another twenty minutes, the intensity never dropping. By the end, several players were bent over, hands on their knees, breathing heavily. "Water break!" Bosz called out. "Five minutes!"
~~~
[Leverkusen Cafeteria | 13:00 CET]
Rakim sat with Wirtz at their usual table, trays loaded with grilled chicken, rice, and vegetables. Monts later, Diaby, Bailey and Frimpong soon joined them with their own trays of lunch. The conversation was light—mostly about everyday stuff, no one focusing on the match in two days.
They all knew what they had to do and how much of their season depended on not losing. Sotis, Rakim found it ironic that despite their good run at the start of the season, they still couldn’t afford a loss. Not that he would ever be satisfied with a loss, but the pressure only seed to mount.
Just a single mistake and their whole season could be ruined, and he could see how it affected the team. Bosz and the coaching staff liked to act like nothing was wrong, but he and so of the other players could see the signs. Everyone worked hard and was impatient to perform to the point that they ended up making stupid mistakes or becoming impatient during matches.
Not to ntion, they were all competing to enter the national squads for the Euros set in June. Since it was the tournant’s 60th anniversary, they couldn’t push it off, and surprisingly, many countries would host it. They said it was marked to honour the tournant history, but everyone knew it was all about jumpstarting the economies of the major European countries.
"Btw, are you gonna have a housewarming party?" Wirtz suddenly asked, snapping Rakim out of his thoughts. "I know you lived there for ages, but still, you should warm it up with a party now that you own it."
"No, I know we get more freedom since we play, but I don’t want to end up on the front page of so tabloid for hosting COVID-banned parties." He quickly shut it down. "Let’s celebrate when we secure the treble. BTW, Jeremie, how are you settling in Cologne? You’re not still staying at the hotel, right?"
"Huh, yeah, my agent found a place in Altstadt & Agnesviertel that I’m renting." He responded with a slight frown. "I’m thinking of moving, though. So of my neighbours have a screw loose."
"Huh, wait, I live near you," Wirtz exclaid.
"(Sigh) My point exactly," Jeremie responded, piercing a piece of the stead broccoli on his plate.
The table erupted in laughter as Wirtz’s jaw dropped in mock offence. "Oi, what’s that supposed to an?" he protested, gesturing with his fork. "I’m a great neighbour!"
"You blasted music at two in the morning last week," Frimpong countered, shaking his head. "So weird techno stuff that sounded like robots having a seizure."
"That was one ti!" Wirtz defended himself. "And it wasn’t that loud."
"My windows were rattling," Frimpong deadpanned.
Bailey leaned back in his chair, grinning. "You should move closer to the training ground, Jeremie. Quieter neighbourhood, better commute."
"Ust buy a place once your new contract money cos in," Diaby said, not even bothering to suggest a location. "Look at this guy, he’s barely lived here for a year and a half and bought a place."
"My money guy said it’s a good investnt even if I don’t live here forever," Rakim interjected, brushing off the hand on his shoulder. "Just think about it, property values went up 20% during COVID, and it’s only going to rise with the Bitcoin boom..."
Silence t the table the mont he finished his explanation, which sounded more like a business presentation than a casual talk. "Wait, you have a money guy?" Wirtz asked from the side, looking far too shocked, breaking the silence.
"You don’t?" He asked him, raising an eyebrow. "You and I are not the sa."
"Bro were both 17-year-old 1st league footballers." Wirtz protested with a frown. "My parents handle all my money until I turn 18 in May."
"That’s ok, I guess, but at least tell they’re investing sowhere and not just keeping it in the bank, right?" Rakim asked him, with a look of exasperation. "Please tell you guys have people handling your money?"
"I an... my agent sorts out contracts and stuff," Bailey offered hesitantly. "Does that count?"
"No, that’s not the sa thing at all. Your guy is just doing the job you hired him to do." Rakim said flatly. "That’s like expecting your bank clerk to be responsible for making sure you don’t get scamd just because they handle the transaction."
Diaby shifted uncomfortably in his seat as they made eye contact. "My father handles so of it. He has people he trusts in Paris."
"Sigh, I will pray for you all. Let’s hope you don’t end up like Ronaldinho." He said resolutely, clasping his hands for a mont before getting up in one swoop. "Let’s sit separately from now on, I don’t think this is good for our ntal health and..."
Watching in silence as Rakim walked off rather hurriedly, as if he was trying to escape sothing, the four of them sat in silence. "What’s up with you guys? You look like soone died." Patrick, who was walking by their table, suddenly stopped to ask after seeing them all staring in the sa direction with a defeated look.
"Hey, Pat, do you have a money guy to handle your inco?" Diaby asked, his head snapping toward the striker. "Tell your parents, or do you handle your money?"
"Huh, no, I have an accountant and an investnt guy," Patrick responded, looking befuddled. "It’s crazy not to do you guys realise how many taxes are applied to our wages if we don’t handle them the right way."
"Really?" Bailey asked, with an almost desperate, pleading expression.
"Yes, my Dad even made hire a third audit guy to make sure the two don’t cheat ," Patrick said matter-of-factly, as if he were saying the sky is blue. "As the rapper Rakim listens to says: Too much money to count, what’s the amount? I gotta pay soone to add it up.
Then pay sobody to make sure whatever amount he says he can back it up"
"RAKKIIIIM TEACH !"
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To Be Continued...
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