A few minutes later, Zachary and Mr. Stein simply sat in silence, the city's lights stretching out below them through the glass. Waiters cleared what little remained on the table. Their wine glasses were mostly empty now, and Zachary's cup of tea had gone lukewarm in his hands. The air was quiet, calm, and reflective.

Kristin had stepped away again. A phone call, maybe. Just enough of a pause for the atmosphere to shift.

Martin looked toward the window, then back at Zachary. His tone was softer this time, conversational, but steady.

"Since we've covered football," he said, his eyes meeting Zachary's again, "maybe we should talk about what's not on the pitch."

Zachary didn't have to ask what he meant. He just gave a slow nod. "Kristin."

Martin nodded once in return. "Yes. Kristin."

There was no edge to his voice. No accusation. Only a question that hadn't been spoken yet.

Zachary placed his tea gently on the saucer. "I care about her. Not just because she's loyal or kind or always knows exactly what I need before I do. I care about her because she's been there. Every day. Every rough patch. Every high and low. She didn't chase me. She just stood still and let me figure it out."

Martin listened quietly.

"And I was slow," Zachary admitted. "Focused on everything but the obvious. Focused on the game. On my injury. On staying afloat. But she waited. Patiently. Never once asking for more than I could give."

"She's always had a quiet kind of strength," Martin said, his voice carrying the weight of history. "Never liked the spotlight. Never needed recognition."

Zachary nodded. "And she doesn't complicate things. She simplifies them. She makes everything clearer. Being with her feels like breathing easy again."

Martin sat back in his chair. He didn't smile, but his gaze softened. "You know what I used to tell players back in the day?" he asked. "The ones who thought love was a distraction?"

Zachary raised an eyebrow.

Martin took a sip of his wine before answering. "I told them the right person doesn't distract you. They stabilize you. They quiet the noise."

Zachary exhaled, the words settling into him. "That's exactly what she does."

Martin gave a small nod and looked down briefly at his empty glass. "She's more than my granddaughter, Zachary. She's the most grounded person in my life. You're not the only one who leans on her."

Zachary's expression turned serious. "I know. And I don't take her for granted. I never will."

Martin tapped a finger lightly against the table. "She'll challenge you, you know. Quietly. Not with arguments or ultimatums, but with standards. She expects integrity. Consistency. You won't be able to hide from yourself when you're with her."

"I wouldn't want to," Zachary replied.

At that, Martin finally allowed a smile to break through. "Then I have no objections."

Zachary blinked, surprised at the speed of it. "That's it?"

"I've known you since you were a raw kid in Trondheim," Martin said, his voice low but resolute. "I watched you turn promise into performance. And I've watched Kristin grow into the kind of woman who doesn't hand her heart to just anyone. If she's chosen you, that tells me plenty."

Zachary lowered his gaze for a moment, humbled.

"I suppose," Martin added with a faint smirk, "if you ever forget all this, she'll remind you with that look she gives. You know the one."

Zachary chuckled softly. "I do."

Just then, Kristin reappeared, returning to the table with a warm smile and a curious glance between the two of them. She could feel something had passed in her absence.

"Everything alright?" she asked as she sat.

Martin lifted his glass, now half-filled again with a final pour from the bottle. "Perfect timing. We were just talking about you."

"Oh?" she asked, amused but suspicious.

"Nothing too scandalous," Zachary said, taking a sip of his tea. "Just a conversation that needed to happen."

On cue, Martin raised his glass slightly. "To calm seas and steady hands."

Zachary clinked his teacup to the rim with a quiet smile. "To things that matter."

Kristin looked between them again, then smiled softly. Whatever had been said in her absence, it hadn't unsettled anything. In fact, it seemed to have settled something. A silent bridge built between two people who mattered deeply to her.

The rest of the evening passed gently. Light conversation, quiet laughter, the final sips of wine and tea. Eventually, Zachary checked the time and signaled for the bill. The night had done what it needed to do.

Once outside the restaurant, beneath the glow of Liverpool's skyline, he took out his phone and called Lorenzo, his long-time driver and bodyguard. "Come around the front. Mr. Stein's ready to head back."

Within minutes, the black Mercedes eased up to the curb. Lorenzo stepped out swiftly, offering the aged gentleman the same quiet respect he always had. Zachary thanked Martin again, and Kristin gave her grandfather a warm hug. No fanfare. Just warmth and gratitude and the comfort of something solid being understood.

Martin offered one last handshake to Zachary. It was firm, but no longer measured. There was nothing left to weigh.

"Take care of her," he said quietly.

"I will," Zachary replied.

With that, Martin stepped into the car, and they watched it pull off into the Liverpool night.

Zachary turned toward his Audi parked just a few meters away. He glanced at Kristin.

"You want me to drop you off?" he asked, though he already sensed the answer.

She shook her head gently. "No. Not tonight."

They didn't say anything else.

He opened the passenger door for her, then got in and drove.

The city passed them by in streaks of gold and red. The hum of the engine was the only sound for a while, but it wasn't awkward. It was reflective. Still lingering in the intimacy of that dinner, of what had passed between two men who now stood on the same ground.

When they reached Zachary's mansion in Woolton, the quiet deepened. Not hesitant. Just full of understanding. They stepped inside, and nothing felt hurried or uncertain. It was a night neither of them would forget. A night not just of passion, but of something long simmering finally settling into place.

The next morning, August 3rd, 2019, Zachary was up early.

The sun was barely above the horizon, casting warm light through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his home office. Kristin was still asleep upstairs, and he moved quietly, dressing with purpose.

This wasn't just any day.

It was Liverpool's final team training before the FA Community Shield.

At Melwood, the mood was serious but calm. The squad moved with the ease of a team that knew each other inside out. Drills were purposeful, short bursts of sharpness followed by cooldowns. No overexertion. Klopp was saving their energy for tomorrow.

The session lasted just under two hours. Pass-and-move drills. Tactical walkthroughs. Position-specific tweaks. Zachary flowed through it smoothly, not overplaying, not showboating, just getting in sync. He felt sharp. Focused. Ready.

After training, they moved to the team meeting room.

Klopp stood at the front, arms crossed, a calm authority in his posture. He didn't need to yell today. His words had weight without volume.

"The work is done," he said. "Now it's about execution. Intelligence. Discipline. You already know what City will bring. You already know what we're capable of. Trust the structure. Trust each other."

Then came the announcement of the starting eleven:

Alisson in goal.

Back four: Trent Alexander-Arnold, Joe Gomez, Virgil van Dijk, Andrew Robertson.

Midfield three: Jordan Henderson (captain), Fabinho, Zachary Bemba.

Front three: Mohamed Salah, Roberto Firmino, Divock Origi.

Zachary sat still as Klopp read out the names, but inside, a spark flared. He was starting. In midfield. For Liverpool. In a cup final at Wembley.

There was no adrenaline rush. No jolt of nerves.

Just a steady thrum of focus.

Klopp noted Mane and a few others weren't quite match-fit yet, but that didn't worry anyone. The eleven he named had chemistry, bite, and experience. They could handle the occasion.