CHAPTER 650: CHAPTER 650 SPAIN

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[12/11/2020 | DFB Camp, Leipzig | Three Days Before Germany 3 vs 0 Ukraine]

The second half began with a significantly altered German lineup. Löw made multiple changes, withdrawing Rakim, Gündogan, and Sané. The substitutions drew a warm ovation from the limited crowd as the trio made their way to the bench.

"Smart management from Löw," Rae observed. "With Spain coming up in three days, he’s protecting his key players. And what a performance from young Rex—three goals in his first competitive start."

[52’]

With fresh legs, Germany continued to dominate possession. Brandt, who had come on for Rakim, brought a different dynamic—more combination play, less directness. Ukraine pushed forward slightly, trying to salvage something from the match, but Germany’s defensive structure held firm.

[67’]

Gnabry, still on the pitch, doubled his involvement as he dropped deeper to engage with his teammates. After a slick passing sequence, Koch played a vertical ball into Goretzka, who laid it off first-time for Gnabry to sweep home. "Four-nil now," Robson said. "Germany cruising here."

[Germany 4–0 Ukraine — Serge Gnabry 67’]

[81’]

Ukraine finally found the net, gaining a consolation that was much too late to matter through a moment of individual brilliance. Malinovskyi collected the ball thirty yards out and decided to fire. He unleashed a howitzer of a strike that flew past Neuer into the top corner. The goalkeeper didn’t even move—there was nothing he could have done.

"Consolation for Ukraine," Rae noted. "But this has been Germany’s night from start to finish."

[Germany 4–1 Ukraine — Ruslan Malinovskyi 81’]

The final whistle brought relief and satisfaction in equal measure. Players exchanged handshakes and jerseys as the crowd—small as it was—applauded both teams off the pitch. Rakim sat on the bench, towel draped over his shoulders, watching the formalities as he took in the moment.

Even though he had played in their last match, somehow this one made him feel like he was really part of the team. Perhaps it was the fact he joined the starters, but the three goals felt all the more valuable to him. Shaking his head, he jumped up, joining the rest of his teammates in consoling their opponents.

[FT: Germany 4–1 Ukraine]

~~~

[15/11/2020 | DFB Training Facility, Leipzig | Next Morning]

The mood at breakfast was relaxed. Rakim sat with Brandt and Tah, scrolling through his phone as messages flooded in and social media feeds reported last night’s happenings. He smiled as he replied to a few of them, updating his social media before pocketing his phone.

"Already getting a big head?" Tah teased.

"Nah," Rakim replied, spreading butter on a roll. "This isn’t enough to give me a big head, wait till we win the World Cup. Then nobody can tell me anything."

"Yep, he’s definitely lost it," Brandt said with a grin. "It’s not that easy to win that cup, just ask Messi and Ronaldo."

"We will just have to work harder then and hope our luck is on our side." He retorted nonchalantly, wolfing down his breakfast. "What else can we even do?"

By midday, the squad had packed up and boarded the team bus bound for the airport. The staff had handled the flights, and all the players had to do was get to the airport and take off. The bus rolled through the sparsely populated Leipzig streets, only occasionally passing a few pedestrians.

After a twenty-minute journey, the team bus pulled up to a private terminal where the chartered flight awaited. Players filed off carrying their personal bags while staff coordinated the loading of equipment. The atmosphere was professional but relaxed—this was routine for most.

Despite being stars representing their nation, they still had to go through Grenzkontrolle, the German equivalent of border control. Luckily, no one felt the need to play druglord like a certain Premier League counterpart. The process took roughly half an hour until the last member of the contingent found themselves seated in their designated place.

The flight to Seville would take roughly three hours. Players who settled in didn’t talk much, remaining quiet as some pulled out tablets or books, while others immediately reclined for a nap. Rakim found himself seated across the aisle from Neuer and Kimmich, who were deep in conversation about Spain’s recent form.

He wanted to listen to them, but it wasn’t too appealing as he realised he was more of a visual learner. He could follow but wasn’t at his peak, so he decided to catch a nap, strapping his headphones on. Seconds later, Roddy Rich’s high-pitched voice imitating a door creaking resounded in his ears.

~~~

[17:45 Local Time | Approach to Seville Airport]

The captain’s voice crackled over the intercom in German, then English, announcing their descent. Rakim awoke from his nap after a tap on his shoulder from the stewardess who had made her safety check rounds. Thanking her, he took off his headphones, rejoining the land of the living as he stored them away.

Around the plane, passengers were undergoing a similar process, preparing for the landing. Through the window, he could see the Andalusian landscape spread out below—terracotta roofs, the Guadalquivir River snaking through the city, and, in the distance, the imposing silhouette of La Cartuja Stadium.

For some reason, every city in Spain always reminded him of a piece of history straight out of the webnovel stories he read. The countries held onto their cultures as tightly as possible, finding ways to modernise or commercialise them. Still, he never saw the appeal beyond brushing off on one’s ego, or to dredge up the glory days of your country that also embarrasses you if you look at the dark side.

He preferred a city like Orlando or Miami, which grew rapidly, making the most of the region’s best parts. That’s not to say he didn’t see the appeal of historic architecture like the Leaning Tower or the Colosseum in Rome. Though for the love of him, he couldn’t understand why someone thought it was good to protect a building that symbolises so much violence, human rights violations and human debauchery.

"Beautiful city," Tah remarked from across the aisle. "Shame we won’t see much of it beyond the hotel and stadium."

"Sure, but it comes with the territory, right?" He responded, not minding that fact much, more excited at the prospect of getting to play against one of the best teams in the world.

The landing was smooth, and within minutes, the team was being ushered through another private terminal. Spanish officials greeted them with practised efficiency—passport checks, brief formalities, then out to another waiting bus.

[18:30 | Hotel Alfonso XIII, Seville]

The team’s hotel was a five-star establishment in the heart of Seville, its Moorish-influenced architecture a stark contrast to the modern German facilities they’d left behind. The lobby buzzed with activity as staff coordinated room assignments and meal schedules.

"Rooms are shared," the team’s travel coordinator announced. "Check the board for your roommate. Dinner is at 20:00 in the private dining room. Tomorrow we have a light training session at 10:00, followed by a press conference at 14:00."

Rakim scanned the board and found his name paired with Brandt. Not a bad draw—Brandt was easygoing and, more importantly, he didn’t snore. That was the only requirements that truly mattered when picking a roommate, not that he got a choice.

Room 412 was spacious, with two queen beds, a sitting area, and a balcony overlooking a courtyard. Rakim laid out his essentials by the bed, and his assigned wardrobe ready to be used in the morning.

"You reckon you’ll get to play against Spain?" Brandt asked as he also finished setting up, plopping onto his own bed.

"Spain’s a different level tough," Rakim said, pausing the video of his replays. "Everyone keeps saying it."

Brandt sat on his bed, considering the question seriously. "They are. Better technical players, better team cohesion. But they’re also predictable in some ways. They’ll dominate possession, probing and probing until they find an opening. Which means..."

He paused, making sure Rakim was following. "When we do win the ball, we’ll have space to attack. Lots of it."

"Counter-attacks," Rakim nodded. "But I don’t see that happening, honestly, it feels like we’re a step behind them."

"Huh, what do you mean?" He questioned, looking visibly confused.

"They have already reshuffled most of their squad, just look at the age difference compared to ours," Rakim explained with a slight frown. "I heard a pundit say that Die Mannschaft has one leg in 2014 and the other in 2026, and I must say I see some truth to that."

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To Be Continued...