Chapter 41: Is This Guy Really Only Seventeen?
"Marco Reus, Pierre, Sebastian Kehl, Mats Hummels, Neven Subotić, Roman Weidenfeller, Ken — you're one group."
"Piszczek, Nuri Şahin, Marcel Schmelzer, Henrik Mkhitaryan, Jakub Błaszczykowski, Julian Schieber, Mitchell Langerak — you're the other group."
"Seven versus seven. Everyone else, stand by!"
With assistant coach Buvac's loud announcement, Ken's first internal training match after joining Borussia Dortmund officially began.
Although it was only a small-sided practice game, the atmosphere felt unexpectedly intense. The players selected for Ken's side were almost entirely starters or players expected to play major minutes this season. Being placed directly among them was both an honor and a subtle test.
Ken adjusted the sleeves of his yellow training shirt, inhaled slowly, and steadied himself.
This was not São Paulo anymore.
Here, every touch mattered.
---
The whistle blew.
Weidenfeller started play with a short pass to Hummels, who calmly pushed forward before sliding the ball into midfield toward Kehl. The captain took a touch and immediately passed forward.
The ball rolled toward Ken.
Before the pass even reached him, Mkhitaryan had already begun closing the distance, his steps quick and aggressive. The Armenian midfielder had just arrived from Shakhtar Donetsk and was still trying to establish his own authority inside the squad. Losing the number 10 shirt to a seventeen-year-old newcomer had clearly left him unwilling to concede easily.
Ken sensed the pressure even before receiving the ball.
He didn't turn immediately. Instead, he allowed the ball to run slightly across his body, using his right foot to cushion it while his shoulder subtly leaned backward, shielding the defender.
Mkhitaryan pressed tightly from behind, attempting to poke the ball free.
Ken waited half a second.
Then he moved.
His right foot nudged the ball forward as if preparing to spin to the outside. Mkhitaryan shifted his center of gravity accordingly, anticipating a run down the flank.
That was the trap.
Ken suddenly dragged the ball back with the sole of his foot, rolled his hips to the opposite direction, and in one fluid motion flicked the ball through the defender's legs with his heel. Before Mkhitaryan could even react, Ken had already accelerated past his left shoulder.
A short burst.
Two strides.
Three.
Mkhitaryan turned, stunned, but the distance had already opened.
On the sideline, several substitutes whistled in surprise.
"Damn… that acceleration…" someone muttered.
---
Sokratis stepped forward from the defensive line to block the path. The Greek defender lowered his stance, ready to challenge, eyes fixed on the ball.
Ken slowed slightly as he approached, his feet dancing over the ball in quick stepovers, upper body swaying to exaggerate each movement. Sokratis hesitated, uncertain whether to tackle or hold position.
That hesitation was all Ken needed.
A sharp outside touch with his left foot sent the ball diagonally forward, and in the same motion he slipped a precise pass into the channel.
Pierre had already begun his run.
The forward reached the ball, but the sudden speed of the play forced him into a hurried touch, allowing Şahin to recover and clear the danger.
Pierre raised his hand apologetically.
"Sorry! Didn't expect it that fast."
Ken smiled. "Stay ready next time. I'll send it again."
The brief exchange seemed casual, yet several players nearby exchanged glances. The newcomer's confidence wasn't arrogant — it was calm, natural, almost instinctive.
---
Play resumed quickly.
This time the opposing side pressed harder, determined not to be broken again so easily. Błaszczykowski tried to intercept Hummels' next forward pass, but Kehl stepped in decisively and regained possession. With a quick glance, the captain lofted a measured pass toward the right channel.
Ken sprinted.
His first touch killed the ball's momentum instantly, bringing it under perfect control while maintaining speed. Without stopping, he pushed the ball ahead and accelerated again, leaving Schmelzer struggling to match his pace.
Reus overlapped to his left.
Pierre moved centrally.
Seeing the positioning, Ken slowed slightly near the edge of the box, drawing the defenders inward. At the precise moment Sokratis stepped out again, Ken slipped a disguised outside-foot pass toward Reus, who immediately returned it with a one-touch flick.
The ball arrived perfectly back at Ken's feet.
One step inside.
A quick feint.
Sokratis committed to the tackle.
Ken dragged the ball backward with the sole of his right foot, pivoted sharply, and opened his body toward the far post. Before anyone could close him down, his left foot struck a controlled low shot that rolled neatly into the corner.
Goal.
Applause erupted around the training pitch — not loud like a stadium roar, but unmistakably impressed.
Reus jogged over first.
"Nice finish," he said with a grin.
Pierre followed, laughing. "Alright, now I know — I just need to keep running. The ball will find me."
Ken nodded. "Exactly."
---
On the sidelines, Klopp folded his arms, eyes bright.
Beside him, Krawietz chuckled softly. "He looks comfortable already."
Klopp shook his head. "Not comfortable. He's dictating the rhythm."
Krawietz watched another sequence unfold and then added, "You know, it almost feels like the others are the ones adjusting to him, not the other way around."
Klopp laughed. "That's what great players do."
---
Back on the pitch, the tempo increased. The opposing group began double-teaming Ken whenever he received the ball, forcing him into quicker decisions. Instead of forcing dribbles, he adapted immediately — switching to short passes, quick one-twos, and sudden directional changes to move the defense.
Kehl observed quietly, clearly pleased.
During one transition, Hummels intercepted a pass and launched a long diagonal ball forward. Ken sprinted toward it, cushioning the dropping ball with a gentle touch that killed its speed completely.
Mkhitaryan closed again, determined not to be beaten twice.
Ken pretended to push the ball wide, then suddenly cut inward with a sharp inside touch, slipping between two defenders. As they collapsed toward him, he flicked a perfectly weighted pass behind the line.
Pierre burst onto it.
This time he did not hesitate.
A quick shot.
Goal.
Pierre raised both hands toward Ken in acknowledgment.
"Perfect pass!"
Several players clapped, while even the defenders smiled reluctantly. Talent was unmistakable — especially when it worked for the team.
---
As the session continued, Ken's movements became even more fluid. He learned quickly where each teammate preferred to run, how Reus liked receiving passes on the half-turn, how Pierre timed his diagonal sprints, and how Kehl positioned himself to recycle possession.
In one memorable sequence, Ken intercepted a loose pass near midfield and immediately launched a fast counterattack. With three defenders converging, he executed a lightning-quick step-over followed by an Elastico that left one opponent frozen. Instead of dribbling further, he chipped a delicate through ball that landed perfectly between the defenders, allowing Reus to finish.
Even the substitutes watching from the sideline began applauding openly.
"Is this guy really seventeen?" Subotić muttered.
Hummels laughed. "If he is, I want to see what he looks like at twenty-two."
Weidenfeller added, "Speed, balance, awareness… and he's calm. That's the scary part."
---
The scrimmage ended after thirty intense minutes.
Players gathered near the sideline, breathing heavily, wiping sweat from their faces. Despite the competitive atmosphere, the mood was noticeably lighter now. Several teammates approached Ken casually, exchanging small jokes or discussing specific plays.
Pierre bumped his shoulder lightly. "Next time, pass earlier — I want another goal."
Ken laughed. "Keep up with me first."
Kehl watched the interaction with satisfaction. A newcomer integrating this quickly was rare, especially someone so young.
Klopp finally stepped forward, clapping his hands.
"Good work, everyone! That's enough for today's match exercise. Recovery and tactical meeting in fifteen minutes."
As players began dispersing, Klopp called out, "Ken."
Ken turned immediately.
The coach placed a hand on his shoulder. "Good first session. Keep playing simple, keep trusting your instincts. The team will catch your rhythm."
"Yes, coach."
Klopp nodded once, then turned away to speak with the staff, a faint smile still visible.
---
Walking toward the bench, Reus leaned toward Kehl and whispered, "He's going to change things here."
Kehl smiled knowingly. "Looks like it."
Nearby, a young substitute shook his head in disbelief.
"Seriously… is he really only seventeen?"
No one answered — but judging from the expressions around them, everyone was thinking the same thing.
Borussia Dortmund had just gained something special.
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