Ficool

Chapter 13 - Rest Day

The winter light crept softly into Karl's apartment through the large glass windows.

He was already awake — lying on the floor of his minimalist living room, legs elevated against the wall, headphones in, breathing in a rhythm. Meditation had become a daily necessity. Not just for body recovery, but for clearing the fog of noise.

The echoes of last night's goal were still bouncing around in his head.

Commentary clips. Tweets. Mentions.

He had gained over 60,000 new followers overnight.

Karl checked the screen of his phone once, then locked it again.

No texts. No distractions.

He rolled onto his side and began his stretching routine — 20 minutes, no shortcuts. Then came the foam roller. The deep tissue work.

A professional body needed professional care.

"You don't stay a rose if you don't water the roots."

10:00 AM — Breakfast and Balance

The kitchen smelled like fried eggs and toasted bread.

Karl flipped an omelet in the pan with one hand, scrolled through news headlines with the other.

"German Prodigy scores stunner in Pokal debut."

"Reus: 'Karl has the instincts you can't teach.'"

"The Blue Rose blooms in Dortmund."

He turned off the stove, sat by the window with his plate, and looked out onto the quiet street. No paparazzi yet. No screaming fans.

But things were changing. He could feel it.

His landlord, an older Turkish-German man named Eren, stopped by.

"Big goal, kid," he said, handing Karl a bag of Turkish pastries. "My daughter is in love with you now. You've ruined my peace."

Karl laughed. "Apologies, Herr Eren. I'll try to stay off the scoresheet."

Eren smirked. "Don't you dare."

They chatted a few minutes. Eren left him with a simple line before walking out:

"Talent brings you fans. But character keeps you human."

It lingered in Karl's mind longer than expected.

He scrolled Instagram, slowly, deliberately.

Fan edits. Goal montages. Tagged photos. His name trending in stories.

But also — pressure.

"The next German Messi?"

"Reus finally has his heir."

"Is Karl Heinz already better than Havertz?"

He felt it. The trap of expectation. The invisible crown they were trying to place on his head.

For a moment, Karl considered deleting the app.

But instead, he locked the phone and stared at his reflection in the glass.

"Don't believe the praise.

Don't fear the criticism.

Believe in the work."

He whispered it to himself three times.

Call: Marco Reus.

Karl answered immediately.

"You off today?" Reus asked.

"Resting. Rolling. Reading," Karl replied.

"Smart. Tomorrow we go again. Leipzig wasn't your limit. Not even close."

Reus's voice was calm but intense. Like a captain should sound.

"One more thing," he added. "They'll start treating you like a star now. Remember: you're still a student."

"I will," Karl promised.

The City Walk

A hoodie, black mask, and baseball cap. That was the disguise.

He took a long walk around Dortmund's quieter neighborhoods — earbuds in, hands in pockets, hood pulled low.

This was how he stayed grounded. Watching people, life, movement.

He walked past a local five-a-side cage. A bunch of 10-year-olds were playing.

The ball rolled out near him.

Karl gently trapped it, juggled it twice, and flicked it back.

The kids stared wide-eyed.

One of them whispered, "War das…?"

"Ja," another said. "Das war er."

Karl smiled under his mask.

Back home. Hot bath. Epsom salts.

He pulled out a small notebook — the same one he'd used since the U17s. Each page had notes. Emotions. Thoughts.

Tonight's entry:

"Fame is like fog. Beautiful when it floats.

Dangerous when it blinds.

Stay sharp. Stay moving. Stay real."

Training tomorrow.

Time to raise the standard again.

More Chapters