The summer heat settled over Hamburg as Niklas threw himself into work. The press still buzzed about the young owner who had shocked everyone by firing the entire coaching staff on day one. Fans argued in pubs and online forums. Some called him arrogant. Others waited to see if the kid from Wilhelmsburg would destroy the club or save it.
Inside the Brandt family home, Niklas sat at the big desk in his study. Jonas leaned back on the sofa with a notebook in his lap. The two brothers had been talking for over an hour.
Jonas tapped his pen on the page. "The agency is growing faster than I expected. We have people watching youth games in Norway, Sweden, Brazil, and even some small clubs in Portugal."
Niklas nodded slowly. "Good. Keep doing whatever you're doing quietly. We don't need headlines yet. We need loyalty."
Jonas smiled. "Many of the young coaches at Ajax are on short contracts, especially in the youth teams. They were once talented players who didn't quite make it to the first team. But they know football inside out. The Dutch system teaches them things most German coaches still ignore."
Niklas had already made calls. Jansen had spoken to several of his friends. Within days, four young Dutch coaches agreed to meet. They flew into Hamburg one warm evening. Niklas met them at a quiet restaurant near the Elbe. He spoke clearly and honestly.
"I want young coaches who are not afraid of new ideas," he told them. "High pressing. Fast build-up. Data. Fitness that actually matters. No old kick-and-run football. If you come with me, you will grow with the club. The salary starts at four thousand euros a month for assistants. More if we succeed."
The young coaches looked at each other. Working with Ajax's youth was prestigious, but first-team experience at a club like HSV offered something different. By the end of the night, all four had agreed. Jansen would arrive in two weeks as the new assistant coach.
The next morning, Niklas walked through the training facilities at the club with Thomas Meier, the sporting director. The grounds looked old and worn. The grass was patchy in places. The gym equipment belonged to another decade. The medical rooms felt small and outdated.
Niklas stopped on the edge of the main pitch and shook his head. "This needs to change within six weeks. Rip up the old training fields and lay new ones. Modern drainage, better lighting, everything. Also find a good hotel nearby with gym, swimming pool, meeting rooms, and proper food. We will use it for training camps until we build something better."
Thomas wrote everything down. "A hotel? For regular training?"
"Yes," Niklas said. "Players should eat together and recover together. No more going home to bad food and bad habits. The club will pay for proper nutritionists and chefs. No more chips and heavy meals every day. We need science behind what they eat."
Thomas looked a little worried about the cost, but he nodded.
Later that afternoon, Niklas sat with Jonas again in the study. The list of players they had put up for sale had already brought offers. Most of the older ones had found new clubs quickly. The money that came in was low, just a few million euros total. But clearing the high wages had already saved the club a lot of money.
Jonas looked at the fresh scouting reports on the table. "We have almost no first-team players left. Only the young ones you kept. The newspapers are having fun with it. They say you sold everyone and now you're buying a hotel like you want to run a holiday resort instead of a football club."
Niklas didn't even look up from the player list. "Let them talk. Words don't win games."
Jonas leaned forward. "The problem is bigger than that. HSV has no big reputation right now. We are in the second division. Who wants to join a club in chaos?"
Niklas finally looked up. "What if we pay them well?"
Jonas raised an eyebrow. "How well?"
"Three thousand euros a week minimum for the new players," Niklas said calmly. "Up to eight thousand for the best ones."
Jonas stared at him. "That's Premier League money for some of these kids. People will say you've gone mad."
Niklas stood up and walked to the window. The evening sun shone on the Elbe in the distance. "I borrowed eighty million euros from Erik. Twenty million is for transfer fees. The rest is to cover salaries for the next two or three years. If I cannot get us promoted in three seasons, then I don't deserve to own this club. I will sell it myself."
He turned back to Jonas. "Right now, most young players in Europe earn almost nothing. A few hundred euros a week at best. We offer them real money, proper training, and a clear path. They will come. Not because of the name on the shirt yet, but because we give them a future."
Jonas stayed quiet for a moment, then smiled. "You really are playing the long game."
Niklas sat down again and opened another folder. "We start small but smart. I already have names: 18-year-old Erling Haaland of Molde FK, 18-year-old Alexander Isak of Borussia Dortmund, 17-year-old Khvicha Kvaratskhelia of FC Rustavi, 17-year-old William Saliba of Saint-Étienne, 18-year-old Diogo Costa of FC Porto, 18-year-old Vitinha of FC Porto, 17-year-old Jurriën Timber of Ajax, 18-year-old Aurélien Tchouaméni of Bordeaux, 16-year-old Joško Gvardiol of Dinamo Zagreb, 17-year-old Dominik Szoboszlai of FC Liefering, 17-year-old Enzo Fernández of River Plate, 18-year-old Alphonso Davies of Vancouver Whitecaps, 15-year-old Jude Bellingham of Birmingham City, and 17-year-old Bukayo Saka of Arsenal... We can bring them cheap and develop them here."
He tapped the paper. "We will not chase big names only those with potential. And we'll pay them what they are worth to us, not what the market says today."
Over the next few days, Niklas met every remaining member of staff. He spoke to the groundskeepers, the kitchen workers, and the office team. He told them the club would change, but they had a place if they worked hard. Slowly the nervous atmosphere inside the building began to settle.
In the evenings, he sat with his new coaching staff and drew tactics on the big whiteboard in the meeting room. The young Dutch coaches listened with shining eyes. They had waited years for someone to give them real responsibility.