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Piles apon piles of grey, foggy clouds had blanketed over the skies of the small city of Mönchengladbach. As the early morning dew and sun decorated the Rhine-Ruhr city near the Dutch border, many laborers and common people were beginning their days as early birds. Signs of life and chatter started filling the streets, barely-lit from the morning's rising sun, as many crowded around excited for one sole reason: saturday evening football.
A city as small as 'Gladbach generally didn't have much going for it, media or people-wise. However if there ever was one thing to unite the townspeople together and show their pride for the city, it'd be their sole football club: Borussia Mönchengladbach. Being one of the more historic clubs in the entire Bundesliga and Germany as a whole, 'Gladbach have gone through highs and lows of domestic/european cup and league wins, to lows such as being relegated in 2007. But even through the deeps and the peaks, die Fohlen always came together at Borussia-Park, their newly-built home stadium, and beyond.
Die Borussen had their latest spike of euphoria only a few years ago, ensuring promotion back into the Bundesliga on the last matchday in 2008. Since improving their financial situation compared to the last couple of years, both the fans and the club have collectively awaited their new era by the turn of the decade. And, during the summer of 2009, only further cemented the beginning of the new Borusse generation with the addition of some new transfers to the little Rhine-Ruhr city by the Northwestern border.
Among these, was the purchase of 20-year old left winger Marco Reus from nearby second-tier 2.Bundesliga club RW Ahlen, for a disclosed fee of €1.00 million euros. A peculiar, lanky, and outright kooky-looking and acting young man, Marco quickly made up for his strange sense in fashion and haircuts with his footwork and pace on the pitch. A local-born product of rivals Borussia Dortmund's youth academy ranks, the winger was purchased a season after the fellow Westphalia-based club achieved promotion in 2008, having a pretty bad season in the second tier the year after.
Since arriving to 'Gladbach in the beginning of the summer, the choppy mullet-having forward has since been gradually adapting to life in the little city and playing in the top-tier Bundesliga, improving along the way. Since July, he's slowly found his footing and place in the team - regarded as their little cartoony woodpecker of a player. A spastic, jittery comedian of sorts.
But currently, in present time, the morning had come too early for him to be properly awake. He laid in his bed, thrashing lightly and groaning as he wrapped himself in his blankets like the cocoon of a changing butterfly. Dew and rain from the following night's downpour had decorated the windows of his temporary apartment complex' room, a faint light shining through the blinds onto his features. He'd have to get up sooner or later, but he reveled himself temporarily in the euphoric peace of sleeping in. It was his personal drug before matchdays, and helped him cool the stress that would normally blow up in his face. Of course, like all good things, they never lasted long.
The beeping of alarms and birdsong were what woke him, motivation to drag himself out of his messy bed. Marco groaned as he tucked himself into a ball, stubbornly wrapping the weighted blanket tight around his head to drown out the continuous noise.
"Not now..."
His Iphone 3, perched on the desk by his bedside, rung like hell. Even the promiscuous couple who lived above his apartment at Ahlen weren't this disruptive.
"Fuck's sake."
He had to catch himself from falling to the floor, shutting his alarm off as he grabbed his phone. Slowly adjusting the green of his eyes to the reflection of the bluelight, he sat there. A groan following the rubbing of his eyes as he stared at the notification he manually set the day before.
6:37 AM. Saturday, November 21.
Matchday. Eintracht Frankfurt away.
"Fuck."
One word was all he needed as he groaned, slouching before laying back against his pillow. Marco ran his hands through his face and hair, messing it up even more. He sat up, mumbling as he did, and pushed his blanket to the side as he stretched. He rubbed his eyes and kept looking at his phone as he dragged himself to the bathroom.
"It can't be that bad, can it? It's just- It's not like they have some sort of-"
His mind blanked as his eyes shot wide at the next piece of news on his screen.
Marco wasn't one to fully occupy himself with the media and their antics. He had football and his own crippling loneliness to deal with. He's dealt with players who've kicked his ass before, Bavarians were the worst, but this wasn't the same type of feeling. This, this was worrying him. Bad. This could be serious, but then again, he could be overreacting. He kept reading on his phone, fully adjusted to the glare.
'Bayern München u-17 wonderkid Cass Blackwell extends fire streak with new chapter at Eintracht Frankfurt! Will the Eagles treat their youth prodigy with loving arms? Will he break expectations with the Hessian club like he did in Bayern's youth squad? Stay tuned for the rising baller's senior debut this Saturday, November 21st, against Borussia Mönchengladbach at the Waldstadion!'
Everywhere he looked, no pictures were shown of this mysterious man. None at all. Reus was at a fuss, did this boy even exist? It certainly seemed the opposite. The only thing he could scavenge for was details, searching with irrational curiosity as if he was a detective hot on a case. If there really was any case to begin with, or if this was one of his usual fixations that lead to nowhere. The bare information he found leading towards the latter.
5' 5" / 1.65 m
18 years old
Oct. 4th, 1992
He couldn't fully figure out, there and then, why he was so fixated on this kid. It wasn't like they were that far in age, nor was he really worried he'd kick his ass on the pitch. But throughout all the bare information on him, other than he played for Bayern's youth squad.. another headline caught his eye, much different from the rest that talked about the game, if only for a brief second.
'German-American youth midfielder Cass Blackwell of Eintracht Frankfurt sets UEFA and Bundesliga records for being the first - and youngest so far! - transgender male to play men's professional football [at the highest level]!'
What?
The articles don't simply end there, only continuing to sound more and more outragous as he keeps scrolling. His curiousity and attention have been hooked like a gullible fish to a fishing line. He's been caught, and may anyone and God himself help to try snapping him out of it now in his search of knowledge. Juggling duel identities of a sharpshooter of goals in the top bin by day, and a digital sniper for his strange, consuming fixations after dark. He can't help it, learning is just so addicting.
'Man of the Match winner revealed after thrilling final at 2009 UEFA European U-21 Championship! Germany comfortably win 4-0 against England and claim their first title thanks to 17 year old Cass Blackwell's goal and two lovely assists!'
'American-born foreigner and rising UEFA U-21 champ Cass Blackwell is one key target for clubs to watch out for this summer transfer market season! The main clubs that remain most interested in the young duel international midfielder include the likes of fellow Bundesliga sides Bayer Leverkusen, who lead the race with heavy interest, Borussia Dortmund, and Bayern Munich, who released the 17 year old almost two seasons ago before he signed for Eintracht Frankfurt.'
Foreigner? Was he not good enough for the US before Germany took him in?
Is he even German on either side? What does he even look like? Why won't they show any pictures of him?
Thousands of thoughts raced through Marco's semi-awake head like speeding bullets at a gun range. At this point, Marco set his phone down on his sink counter, realizing he's been staring at his phone in a dark bathroom for.. far too long than he should have. His eyes strained as a yawn followed. His knuckles cracked with an accompanying sound, his back straightening as blood began to flow in his veins.
Maybe his coach was right, maybe he did spend too much time online or on his games. Maybe this was his sign that he needed new hobbies. What were the media even saying about this supposed Messi regen?
It's all too much for him to take at the moment. He had a game in a few hours, a game against this same boy. Whatever. Even after all that, his ego eventually comes to calm him down. He couldn't allow himself to stay in a position where he was worrying about getting dogwalked by a teenager. Especially one that hadn't played one senior match before today.
Who is he?
He switches the light on and starts running a shower, wanting to distract himself. The sound of the hot water like a soothing crackle in the early morning. He stripped and headed in, rubbing at his head and his messy, bird nest-esque hair. God, it'll take forever to get ready. He's the only one at fault for setting his alarm early. One of his new teammates, a slightly older Brazilian man named Dante, kept harassing him for sleeping through them over and over again. Marco would hate to be wrong, but sadly, his friend's advice was working.
He sighs as he feels the warm water drip down his face, his worries for the game fading as fog fills the bathroom. He laughs under his own breath as he scoffs, almost in mockery, before he starts outright laughing like a hyena. Hair sticks to his face like a cowardly wet dog, and only after a few minutes of having to spit out hair and sweep soaked bangs from his eyes could he speak once more.
"How bad can it be? It's an out of form Frankfurt side! This..."
He paused. The sound of water hitting the bathtub's floor repeated in a snapping, crackling, popping manner. He thought about the next few words he could say. This was only his first season playing top flight football, but of course the same would be true to this boy. Someone younger than him, yet was also released by a bigger club. But unlike Marco, he went to another Bundesliga team and the hypothetical career ladder he needed to climb with skill was much shorter. Maybe this fixation was random, like the many previous ones that came before it. Maybe this one spewed from misunderstood jealousy. Maybe something deeper was at play.
Or perhaps maybe Marco's ego was too big to not hate on others. He was young, flashy, and hot shit. Even if his banter never payed in his favor once Borussia lost or drew, it still was hilarious to not resist.
"...guy probably won't play today anyway. The news is just saying bullshit, like always. He wasn't even on the first team benchwarming earlier this season. He was still playing in the academy...HAH!"
Another laugh left his lips. The valve to his shower slowly turned counterclockwise at the manipulation of his fingers as water from the showerhead began to decrease minimally until it slowly dripped one by one on his forehead. From one singular cold drop to the next mere seconds later. Marco shakes and twists small bits of water out of his hair, feeling his bangs slap around with a loud, wet slap like fur of a dog drying off. Left cold from shutting the water off, he grabs the closest towel he can find and scrubs at his disaster haircut until it sticks back up like the bedhead mess it was earlier.
"What an unintimidating kid. I'll kick his ass to tomorrow."
The tall blonde continued to scoff as he stared at his reflection in the mirror, wiping the fog with a pale hand. Messy mullet, blonde highlights that stuck out like porcupine quills, pure green eyes. Some terrible American crunk song with lyrics he barely understood that he heard at the local nightclub replaying endlessly in his head as he adjusted his hair in the mirror. A man with the face and spirit of Germany's next champion. That was him, alright. He wouldn't trade it for the world.
His little mental raving continued to the rest of his bedroom, shuffling awkwardly out the bathroom. Grabbing his bag and clothes for the day, he briefly checked the time. He still had an hour until he predicted training would start. He could still make it before everyone else. Hah, maybe Dante would see after today who the real slob of the team was. But whatever, he tore his towel off and began actually moving along with his morning while humming the same trash tune from earlier. Finding and putting each part of his training and game day gear, ranging from socks to the right scent of deodorant, into his bag or on himself proved to be the first challenge. Maybe he wasn't a slob, but- oh who was he kidding, he didn't even remember where he put his best pair of boxers. The rest were strewn around, like some of his other items.
At the last item of his little scavenger hunt, the special comb and jar of gel he used to maintain the hedgehog quills of hair he had, he stumbled upon his wood dresser's mirror. A dirty display that would make the least perfectionist of any neat freak faint without even counting the old stains on the mirror itself. A necklace holder holding up a silver cross necklace he'd been wearing since he first started playing for RW Ahlen and occasionally still wear before games to display his faith as a God-fearing man, a fake chain with two military-esque styled dogtags with nothing engraved, and an empty slot holding a picture of him with Dante. Some other photos of him with his teammates such as Marin, Arango, Ter Stegen, etc were hung up and taped onto the sides of his mirror. The main was one of the full team roster before the season started, reminding him what he looked good and woke up for. Oh, and himself.
There also laid a card pass to one of his favorite nightclubs in the country. Well, a few laid in a small pile ranging from the mainstream to the ultra-niche, ones where he'd only know of them from a friend of a friend of a friend, and others for raves or simply food only. Some of these displays of his repeated membership and visiting were adorned in blue male sex symbols interlocked with eachother or single. Some had pink triangles or stripes of multiple colors. Surely they looked bad to an outsider, but Marco knew they were fine. It's not like he was gay. His random, short-lasting fixations on men never meant anything anyway but his brain playing tricks. Besides, those clubs would be the only ones open after dark, along with strip clubs.
But he never interacted with that. He was a Christian, after all.
And so, he grabbed his cross necklace and packed training bag of clothes and other necessities he stuffed in and hoped wouldn't fall out after hastily zipping it and slinging it over his shoulder. A hand quickly ran itself through his hair, poofing it in hopes that it also dried fine to not look like a bucket had been poured on him and instead looked like how a mullet should, with the signature Woody Woodpecker fringe up top. As he ran to the door, feeling the light of the outside reflect on the green of his eyes, the last thing he grabbed was his phone. His iPhone 3 that rung for the last timer he had set. Leaving time. He'd still be 30 minutes early to arrive before the rest of the team. One win of the day before securing the other one, and oh yes, the game tonight.
He wasn't worried. Why would he? They might have the supposed 'Next Messi' starting on their team tonight, but Marco reassured himself that in regards to the rest of the football world and what he's face, he's only a speck of dust in the drifting wind. His pale fingers grip the doorknob and twist it fast clockwise, exposing the blinding light of the sun ready to envelop and shine upon the blonde's skin. With one last affirmation, he takes one step out the door and into the day ahead of him, head high and not looking back.
"It's just Frankfurt, anyway"
-
A boy, or no, a man, wakes up in his bed. Strands of his long hair spread out on his pillow, like arms of an octopus on the seafloor. The early blue of a sky transitioning to golden sunrise shines and drips through the blinds onto his form. He cups his face in his hands, rubbing his temples and eyes, and sighs.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
12:15 PM.
Waldstadion, Frankfurt
Cass made it to his own stadium, a tad messy after having to chase the next bus down. He's been here countless times and practiced with his teammates, but it would be different. He never directly practiced with them before a game, not one he would start in, exactly.He walked to the lockers down the tunnel, the sound of chatter and other such noises filled the room. He kept looking down at his own feet, his thoughts drowning out his surroundings as he awkwardly speedwalked. "Just keep it together, you can absolutely beat t- ACK!"A tall, stocky blonde - and judging by his unusual uniform, a goalkeeper - walked past him, almost making him trip. Cass looked back, wanting to bark but realizing he probably didn't notice. He didn't blame them, of course, Cass knew he was.. shorter than the average player his age. He kept his head up, continuing to make it towards the lockers, tapping the high frame of the door above him. His height didn't matter when it came to what he could do with his legs, no?His teammates - many of whom he wasn't fully familiar with yet, only calling them by nicknames if he ever talked to them - hollered as he walked in. Shyly, he tried hiding his blush as he waddled towards his locker, marked with a portrait of himself, his shirtnumber of 12, and his surname. One of them, an older Bosnian he nicknamed for his silly hairstyle, wrapped his arm around his neck and cheered."Urchin! Urchin! Get off me, bro!" he giggled as everyone kept hollering, "What's with all of this? We haven't even played yet! I haven't even put on my boots!" The sounds of the boy's childish laughter filled the locker room as his teammates kept playing with him. The teammate, who was really named Zlatan, especially teased him at the current moment, tickling his younger teammate."Sorry bro, we can't help it! We get to see our little possum become a man today!" The defender's arm tightened around the German boy's neck like a snake, as he began pressing light, platonic smooches to his cheek."We're all a bunch of proud brothers, you know," 'Urchin' continued the affection as their other teammates hollered with pride. Cass blushed as he diverted his eyes to the ground, as his teammates began to walk up to him individually and ruffle his hair. The brunette mess resemblance a bird's nest with his silky baby hairs standing up."Thank you all. I really just don't know what to say," he laughed as all the other men stared at him on the bench, chuckling alongside. "Eintracht is my life, and you are all my older brothers who bleed the red and black just like me." The array of his teammates on different benches all nodded in approval, listening thoroughly."However, as much as I am learning from all of you, my mind still races with questions." The boy's eyes perked up to look around, a confused look now settling on the face of his teammates. "Where exactly is our captain to celebrate my move to the senior team?"Sooner than when Cass asked, the sound of his fellow men would die as footsteps replaced them. The crowd went silent as their captain, a Brazilian man he'd know by the name of Chris, walked in the room with a stare akin to that of a panther. Zlatan let go of the young forward's arm, going back to respectfully sitting next to him. All the men turned their eyes to their jet-haired, serious leader, as he began to speak."All of you, quiet down. Now." Sharp and authoritative, Cass felt his nervousness crawling back as he gulped. "I understand you're all excited for Cassie and his debut, but focus! We've been terrible lately, losing last time and conceding four goals. But let's turn it around today. Let's show them who we fucking are!" He paused as turned his head, staring directly down at Cass during his encouraging. A hand on his shoulder, the German stared with wide eyes, trying to hide his own anxiety once more. Their other teammates had already left promptly, leaving Cass alone with his older captain."Kid, I get it. You're not going to flop around like the opossum I know at training, trust me. You're going to do great out there," he wrapped his arms around Cass, a tight, comforting hug. Before Cass could fall into it, standing on his tip toes, his captain let go. He gave him a couple scratches on his long, soft hair before leaving. "Go get your boots on, son. I'll see you in the tunnel."
-
Marco sighed as he went to the tunnel, zipping up his jacket. For the amount of time he actually was able to change in the away lockers, most was spent working on his hair. Following the line of his own teammates, he bumped shoulders with lots of them, almost overlooking their winger. Usually they'd jokingly reply with, "Sorry Woody! I only saw your hair!" or something to that degree.Some of the Frankfurt players rushed through the halls, starting to fill up the line of - what was supposed to be - eleven starting players next to his team's. Their captain was a tall, serious looking man who screamed authority. The rest of the team.. was a mixed bag of mostly older dudes who did not seem to stick out much, Marco noted. And then there was supposed to be the... wait.'The kid.' A thought returned back to his mind as he looked around, up and down at the players in the line parallel to his.'He's gone.'Marco had a small sense of irrational panic. This wasn't.. right. At all. The game couldn't start like this. Where was this kid? Where did he go? Was he really going to miss out on his own fucking debut??? Sweat and worries began to pile in his mind, like bricks to a wall distracting him from the game about to start in less than 10 minutes. He kept eyeing up and down the line, keeping as composed as he could so his own teammates wouldn't start worrying. Let alone the teammates of the opposing team wondering why he suddenly started sweating bullets and going mad.Time seemed to speed up, the sound of a clock going tick tock repeating like his own personal hell. His head felt like it'd spin, like he'd pass out then and there.Then, another noise filled his senses. Something familar, comforting, but new. The sound of football boots sqeaking and footsteps rushing, a slight skipping in his walk pattern. Clattering, and if he sped up he would surely trip over his own feet. Marco sighed as he wiped sweat off his brow and ran his hand to reposition his spiky, short hair. Turning slightly behind his shoulder, Marco locked eyes in direct view with the noisemaker.'Oh dear.'What he wasn't prepared to see was a skinny, incredibly short boy with boot laces halfway tied. He was meek, small, and didn't look his age at all. If Marco didn't know any better, he would've thought this was a player from the youth academy. The boy's physique didn't match with his fellow teammates, skinny with little muscle unless it was the slight he had on his legs. His own uniform seemed to be baggy and unfitting, despite the size adjusted to fit his tiny frame. An odd fellow, long sleeves covering his arms yet his socks were low enough to barely cover his shin guards.Marco couldn't help but keep staring at the boy, like a baby kit with a herd of wolves. His eyes began to drift upward..He - or Cass, as he should've been calling him - had big, curious eyes akin to a puppy. Dark brown, and if Marco looked closer, with a hint of a light blue ring around them. If he looked at you, you could see yourself looking back. His hair was long, stopping past his shoulders with little perked, wavy spikes at his ends. Dark brown like his eyes, with highlights of dirty blonde sprinkled throughout. His bangs were like curtains, although a bit more out of his face. Cass's eyes and hair weren't the only - mostly - brown parts decorating him, Marco noted. The obvious stood out, being his sunkissed skin. He didn't look like he was pale and just got a tan, no, more like he simply had that 'caramel coffee with too much milk and creamer' look forever.Marco just couldn't believe his eyes on the forward. He had to be dreaming. No way any man looked this... angelic. He was frozen in his position, the sound of the crowds and other players drowned out by his own thoughts and mental ramblings. Before Marco could snap back to reality, back to game mentality, it was forced back to him.Cass was staring right into his eyes.'Shit.'
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Cass was no stranger to this game, having gotten used to staring at his own eyes in the mirror to better practice eye contact. He could do this for hours if he wanted.And he will, if this blondie kept acting like a fool. The taller man eventually got caught in his act, and started to freak out. Taking his eyes off of Cass, readjusting his uniform and laces, to foolishly darting his eyes somewhere else in the tunnel. He knew, both of them did, but he had to stupidly dig his hole further. Cass had been stared at before for his physical differences, and would always look back. He wouldn't eye them as long or as detailed as they would with him, but give them the idea that he took none of their shit. He was aware of obvious, creepy staring, and he hated the unwanted attention.A familiar rumble awoke Cass back to his senses, ending his glaring and standing up straight. The game was about to start, and the Woody-Woodpecker-wannabe parallel to him went back to position aswell. He tightened the laces of his boots before staring off in front of him, the shoulders of his much taller teammates in his view.If he went on his tiptoes, and really focused his gaze, he could make out the grass of the pitch looking back at him. Even when trying desperately to concentrate, he felt eyes were still locked on him as the lines started to move forward. The sounds of the roaring fans of both teams were becoming more and more audible as they walked towards the light. Cass closed his eyes from the brightness, opening them as he began to feel grass underneath his boots. The boy perked his head up in curiosity to the new environment around him.
"Hello everybody, and welcome to the Bundesliga! Today's match here at the Waldstadion is Eintracht Frankfurt against Borussia Mönchengladbach! The starting eleven for Eintracht Frankfurt are.."
The commentators began to announce their messages to the entire stadium, a lowly roar hurting Cass's ears as he followed behind his teammates like a lost puppy. He couldn't help himself from looking around the stadium, his head turning both sides as he spun slightly in a circle.Lights of the stadium reflected back onto his eyes, like stars on a dark canvas of sky. His captain greeted the referees and the opposing team's captain. The line was beginning to move as his teammates started exchanging handshakes and wishes to the other players. He trailed behind, distracted, until his mood began to sour.The forward had been shaking the hands, patting the backs, and briefly wishing good luck to the other Mönchengladbach players. It was all respect, as he didn't really care all that much in reality. Cass didn't think of himself as self-absorbed, just focused on the game. Eventually he'd have to break out of autopilot, once he reached the end of the line sooner than he realized.
"Hey."
The two Germans, one in white-green and the other in red-black, came eye to eye again. Unlike their staring in the tunnel, both were only a few centimeters away from eachother now. Their eyes, instead of being locked like predators, were now exchanging soft glances. Both the men could closely analyze the details of the other's face, especially how detailed their eyes were. Marco was practically stripping Cass naked with his trailing vision, while Cass took his observations slowly.
"Hey?"
Time didn't slow down, it seemed to have completely frozen in place. Was Cass dreaming? Was the blondie in front of him dreaming? What was happening, and why couldn't he snap out of it?His eyes were glossy and wide, like an innocent, yet horrified doe. The boy's mind ran frantic, as his thoughts kept racing over him, seemingly losing control over his body. He was supposed to greet the guy who's been staring at him in the tunnel, shake his hand, and meet up with his teammates for a chant. But the brunette was frozen, his legs and psyche failing him as he lightly shook in place.
"Good luck."
He blinked softly, his eyes looking up at the tall, pale man in front of him. The fellow German's eyes were curious and inviting, unlike the rest of him, which had the aura of a fool. The blonde's gaze had a lovely mix of green, with some additions of hazel and blue. Cass had never seen anything like it, unless it was in nature. The light sky of an early summer day, the landscape of blossoming trees, and the flowing hazel-green grass in the wind. A mural he could admire forever. Holy shit, what was he thinking? What was happening to him?? The game was about to start, and he didn't even know this guy!Cass blinked frantically, snapping out of his own headspace as he looked at the blonde in front of him. He took his hand, small and soft, and forcefully put it in the other man's grasp. The other German seemed to have been dazed out too, blinking with shock as he looked down to Cass shaking his hand. Perhaps he was in some sort of trance? Cass remembered only a few minutes earlier, the player's eyes were looking him up and down in the tunnel before he had to snap him back to reality. Perhaps this guy was emitting some sort of aura that was now affecting Cass. However, atleast he could recognize how wrong it was for him to be thinking these things. All that mattered to him at the moment was this match, not some guy.
"You too?"
The brunette ignored the blonde's awkward reply, as he pat him on the back before running to the opposite side of the pitch. The rest of his team, clad in the red and black of their uniforms, were all huddled in a circle. Cass joined in, awkwardly as he could tell they waited for him. They didn't seem to be mad, as what seemed like eternity for Cass was only a few minutes for them. He turned his head back, and saw the blonde had already scurried off to the huddle of his own team. Who was he, and what was his problem? That could be asked another time. The young German threw his thoughts of earlier away, as he wrapped his arms around the back of the shoulders of two of his nearby, bigger teammates. His captain, Chris, perked his head up with an authoritative stare as he looked Cass in the eyes coldly. His dark eyes stared back at the smaller forward, a look that could only be compared to a mountain lion, before looking up at the other men in the circle. "Now, we can't afford to lose anymore games. You play at this club for a reason; you play here to carry the fighting mentality of players before you. You are all men, we are all men. We are Frankfurt, goddammit, and we'll play like it. Whenever we lose, everyone loses. Let's work to win and bring glory to this team," his eyes shot from looking around to the rest of the grown men in red and black, to directly at Cass. The boy felt sweat and the beginning of a light shower fall on his skin and long, slightly messy, dark hair as it rest on his shoulders. "And you, son, are the key. Impress our fans and show the other team why we're no joking matter," the Brazilian captain kept his cold stare at the young German, giving a soft yet serious gaze before going back to his speech.Chris began to move closer in the circle, as all eleven of the team became tighter together. Cass was starting to get crushed by the older, taller teammates on either side of him, as if he was a sandwich in a tight bag. As the newly-senior player tried ignoring how squished his smaller body was now becoming, his captain spoke once more, "Now, men, let's come and show them who we are. Forza SGE!" The men loosened, as Cass was able to get a breath and soothe his squished cheeks, until they began to go back in position and raise their voices in unison. The boy followed his fellow teammates in their chant, as they came to yell, "FORZA SGE!" before beginning to run to their positions on the now, increasingly-wet pitch. Cass's balance almost failed him as he had to catch himself from falling. His other teammates were leaving, and the game was about to start. Rain was beginning to fall as clouds started to roll in the midday sky, the water affecting the boy's messy hair by clinging it to his skin. The boy looked up at the sky and the stadium lights, as droplets began to sprinkle onto his tanned, shining skin. He breathed out a sigh as he closed his eyes and took in the atmosphere, thinking to himself, "I will prove my worth and show the world why I play for this team."The German sighed as he moved his dark, increasingly-wet hair out of his face. The rain was beginning to pick up as he adjusted his socks, to barely cover his shinpads. He wasn't afraid of getting muddy; he'd get as dirty as he need to in order to prove his skills. Perhaps he was a young fool, or perhaps he had good mentality. Whatever it was, he was stalling time thinking about it, so he bit his lip hard enough to snap out of his thoughts."Fuck," he spat to the turf below as he licked a small bit of blood from his dark, yet slightly peachy, bottom lip. Cass began to get a move on, looking around to where his accompanying center-forward was. His boots moved like silk on the wet pitch, as he grabbed his shirt to kiss the red crest of the Frankfurt Eagle. He murmured to himself as he began walking to the side of his teammate, feeling an arm on his back. "To God above, I cancel all my bad luck. Wish a glorious win, for me and the SGE," he kissed the crest one last time as he sighed and blessing his chest and head with a cross. Cass looked up to the sky, currently sprinkling down on his dark hair and face, before continuing his path.Once the boy made his way to the starting circle in the middle of the pitch, alongside his fellow forward, he stared down at the ball. He ran a hand through his shoulder-length, brunette hair, before he fiddled with the blue-spotted ball underneath the dark, rough texture of his Adidas boot. His gaze darted to his teammate, then to the referee watching the ball, and then to the view in front of him. The rain continued to increasingly pour as the roar of the fans, along with the bright lights of the stadium, lit up the entire atmosphere around the young forward. His dark eyes shined like the night sky, as he looked on and squinted.Two forwards from Borussia Mönchengladbach were on the other side of the center circle. But the one on his side caught his eye again, as a smirk landed on the boy's tanned face. A white uniform with singular stripes of green and black. Spiky blonde hair, almost like a mullet, that resembled the cartoony haircut of a certain, animated woodpecker. Tall, skinny, and pale figure. Green, now locked and concentrated, eyes that perked up to stare into his.'We'll meet again,' he thought to himself as he stared at the taller German. When or where, that didn't matter, nor did he have the answer. Something about this man gave him a certain vibe, something.. dangerous. Alluring, but triggers were being set off. Cass chalked it up to how skeptical he was with everyone, so this blonde wasn't anything new. Besides, what was the most he was going to do? Break his ankles with a hard tackle? The kid could look after himself fine enough. The referee, dressed in a brightly colored uniform and black shorts, examined the position of the white and blue-spotted ball and the players. He looked around, before standing a good distance away from the starting forwards, including Cass. The youngster licked and chewed at the wound on his lip, making sure all the blood was away from the peachy area. His dark eyes focused as he looked down at the ball beneath his boot, squinting as he imagined passing it to his teammates behind him in center-field.The whistle finally blew, as Cass began to roll the ball. As the game started, the kid backheeled the ball to his teammate in midfield, before having it passed back to him. He ran and dodged a tackle as a Mönchengladbach player went sliding on the green pitch, rain coming down hard like bullets. Cass passed the ball to a teammate on the wing, before running and outpacing the other team's midfielders. The game had just begun, and it was already like the boy was on a muddy, chaotic field of war. God help him if he could win today with hitting the ball in the back of the net, and not break his legs and trip in the process.