The FA Community Shield was set for Sunday, August 4th, 2019, and Zachary, along with the rest of the Liverpool squad, still had three full days to prepare. It wasn't downtime but a window. A chance to refine, tighten, and prepare not only for City, but for what lay ahead.

Because the road beyond Wembley was no less daunting.

On August 9th, they'd open their Premier League campaign at home against Norwich City. Five days later, they'd fly to Istanbul to face Chelsea in the UEFA Super Cup. Then, it was back to league business, soon having to face Southampton, Arsenal, and Burnley, all within the month.

Klopp didn't let them forget it.

As such, the training that followed was sharp, calculated, and high in intensity. Sessions were split between tactical setups for City's fluid front line and transitional drills geared toward their league openers. The atmosphere was crisp. No wasted energy. No passive movement. Everyone was locked in.

Zachary felt it deep in his bones. This wasn't preseason anymore. This was sharpening the sword before battle.

He trained hard. Listened closer. Pushed further. Klopp's instructions weren't just heard but were also applied by every Liverpool player on the training ground. And in every session, Zachary looked more like the version of himself from last fall. The one who dictated games with a glance and a pass. The one who made Liverpool dangerous.

But training wasn't the only thing on his mind that week.

On the evening of Friday, August 2nd, after wrapping up a long, high-tempo training session, Zachary cleaned up, changed into smart-casual attire, and headed to a quiet corner of Liverpool's city center.

He wasn't going alone.

Kristin walked beside him, dressed simply, elegantly, with her hair tied back, her eyes bright but nervous. She was calm on the outside, but Zachary knew this meeting meant something to her. It meant something to him too. Because this wasn't just dinner.

This was a reckoning of sorts.

They were meeting Martin Stein, the former scout, retired talent developer, and the man who had pulled Zachary out of Kinshasa's dust and dropped him onto the European stage.

And now?

Now he was Kristin's grandpa and quite possibly, Zachary's future grandpa-in-law.

They met at Panoramic 34, a refined sky-high restaurant atop the West Tower, offering sweeping views of the River Mersey and the twinkling Liverpool skyline. The choice had been Kristin's. It was elegant, private, and familiar to Martin, who loved watching cities from above.

Zachary spotted him at a corner table by the glass. Still sharp-eyed. Still carrying himself like a man who had built a hundred footballing careers from nothing but intuition and instinct. His silver grey hair was slicked back, his blazer navy and crisp. The same calm intensity Zachary had known in Trondheim was still there. But now, it felt more… personal.

Martin rose as they approached, arms outstretched. "Zachary," he greeted warmly, clapping a firm hand on his shoulder. "It's good to see you again." Then, turning to Kristin, his tone softened. "And you: always radiant." He embraced her gently, a grandfather's affection in full.

They then settled at the table, the city of Liverpool glowing beneath them through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Panoramic 34. As the evening light dimmed, candles flickered on white linen, and wine was poured into tall crystal glasses.

The conversation began over starters of roasted scallops, burrata with aged balsamic with a touch of lemon zest. Light topics came first. Travel, the buzz of the Premier League's return, Klopp's obsession with pressing from minute one. Martin made them both laugh when he said, "Jürgen trains like every match is a final and every breakfast too." Zachary chuckled, nodding knowingly. "He does shout like it's war during rondos," he added.

Kristin sat between them, eyes flicking from grandfather to partner, amused by their rhythm. Martin carried the conversation, as expected, asking questions, telling stories, often leaning back to sip his wine between thoughts.

The main course soon came. It included a grilled sea bass for Kristin, aged ribeye for Martin, and duck confit for Zachary. As they enjoyed the dishes, conversation flowed easily to the point that there were moments when Zachary forgot the stakes. It felt less like an evaluation and more like catching up with an old mentor over a long-delayed dinner.

But then the plates were cleared and desserts laid out, the mood subtly shifted.

The easy laughter faded. The conversation slowed. The air between them, once filled with playful jabs and warm recollection, turned still.

Martin set down his fork, folded his napkin with slow precision, and fixed his gaze on Zachary.

"So," he said, voice quieter now, lower, but firmer. "You're fully recovered?"

Zachary didn't hesitate. "Yes. I'm ready for the new season. I feel sharp and strong."

There was no bravado in his tone but just steady conviction.

Martin's eyes narrowed slightly, studying him with the scrutiny of a man who'd spent decades separating potential from pretense. Then he gave a small nod, almost to himself.

"Good. That's good." He paused, leaned in slightly, resting his forearms on the table. His fingers laced together as his tone shifted again, sounding measured and deliberate.

"But you know... being ready once doesn't matter. It's about staying ready. Always. Day in. Day out. That's the difference between talent and legacy."

Zachary nodded slowly. "I understand."

Martin didn't blink. "Do you really?"

Zachary's brow lifted a fraction, but he stayed silent.

"If you want to be one of the greats. I mean a truly great," Martin continued, "you need more than form. More than flashes. You want to be remembered a decade from now? Two decades? Like Messi, like Ronaldo? Like how they will possibly be remembered." He tapped the table once with his index finger. "Then you need something more valuable than talent."

Zachary tilted his head slightly. "I can answer that. You need consistency?"

Martin smiled faintly, but didn't break eye contact. "You're close, Zachary. But not quite."

He picked up his espresso, swirling it gently in the small white cup before setting it down again untouched.

"It's availability," he said. "Being there. On the pitch. Every match. Every week. Every season. The best ability is being there to perform as many times as possible whenever your team has matches scheduled. And that... comes down to one thing."

Zachary listened, eyes locked.

"It comes down to discipline." Martin's voice was low but firm. "Not just with your schedule, or your diet, or your training. I'm talking about discipline on the pitch. Knowing when to go, when to pull back. Not diving into a 50-50 in the 80th minute when you're already 3–0 up. Not dribbling through three players on the halfway line when a simple pass will do."

He leaned back now, fingers tapping the cup's rim. "You know what is funny? I've seen more careers wrecked by ego than by defenders. That's why the game is full of fireworks that never became a flame."

Zachary felt the weight of the words. They weren't a lecture. They were a warning wrapped in wisdom.

"Look at Messi, for instance," Martin said. "He's rarely injured. He doesn't overexert. He glides. Picks his moments carefully. He protects his engine. Or Ronaldo? He reengineered his game completely. Managed his workload. Chose efficiency over flair. That's why they're still standing even now."

Zachary's posture was straight now, his expression thoughtful. This was different from Klopp's loud tactical sessions or the raw intensity of the dressing room. This was someone who saw the long arc. Who'd helped him begin his journey and now was quietly giving him a blueprint for the next decade.

"I'm not telling you to hold back," Martin added, his tone softer, almost fatherly now. "I'm telling you to balance. You don't need to be a highlight reel. You need to be a pillar. Reliable. Durable. Cunning. Efficient."

He paused. "You're no longer a rising talent. You're an asset. Not just to the club, but to yourself. Guard that investment."

Zachary nodded, slow and deliberate. "I will. I get it."

Martin studied him one last time, then gave a faint smile which was rare, but real. "Good. That's all I wanted to hear."

They didn't need to say more.