Unspoken Battles

The night after the defeat, I lay awake, the silence suffocating.

My phone felt heavy in my hand, but I didn't call anyone. No apologies. No explanations. Just the cold weight of failure pressing down on me. 

Morning light did nothing to ease the storm.

Rumors swirled like wildfire. The papers said I was leaving Dortmund. That I couldn't handle the pressure. That I was broken.

I walked into the press room and faced every question with the same answer:

I'm not leaving. Not yet. This club is my home. And no matter how hard it gets, I'm not done fighting or that was what i thought. The season marched on toward its bitter end .we managed to secure our seats in the club europian championship and world champions league ,it was the only good thing happened that season now we are in the final league match Nico Weber's last game. 

The fans filled the stadium with cheers and chants — a hero's sendoff. when the final whistle happened nico started crying 

The big screen flashed his highlight reel — tackles, headers, shouts of passion from seasons past. The crowd clapped, sang his name. Even some of the boys emotional. He'd been with them for years.

He walked down the tunnel one last time. Waved to the fans. Hugged the staff. A long embrace with Coach Meyer. High-fives, dap-ups, one by one.

Then it was me.

He stopped in front of me. Hand extended.

I looked at it for a second. Not long enough to make it awkward, but long enough that he knew I had to think about it.

Then I shook it. Firm. Quick.

No words.

No eye contact.

Just the bare minimum.

And even that felt like too much.

He tried to hold the handshake a second longer. I let go.

And walked past him.

The cameras caught it. The fans felt it.

But I didn't care.

Some things you don't forgive just because the season ends. after the game They sat me under the lights, made me face them all — microphones lined up like arrows. 

I'd done this a hundred times. But this one felt heavier. Not because of what they'd ask, but because I already knew what I had to say.

First question came fast.

"Tough end to the season. How would you describe where the team stands?"

I didn't flinch.

"We're hurt. We know what this club expects. What the fans deserve. And we didn't deliver. But we're not hiding from that."

Another voice cut in. Sharper.

"Some say this team's fractured — that the unity's gone since Michael Keller left. Any truth?"

I felt that one. Deep.

"We're not the same team. That's true. But I'm still here. And I'm still fighting."

Then came the inevitable.

"liverpool. bayern. newcastle. Are you leaving?"

I gave them a little smirk. Not out of arrogance — just instinct.

"People will always talk. I'm a Dortmund player. And as long as I wear this badge, I give everything."

They threw one more in before I could stand.

"You had personal success this year — top scorer, most assists — but no trophies. What's next for Lukas Müller?"

That one stayed in the air a second longer. I leaned forward, looked straight through the glass lenses and blinking red lights.

"I don't play for stats. I play for legacy.I've failed this year — but I won't make peace with failure.Next season, we climb back." 

Then I saw her hand go up — quiet, respectful, like always.

Elise.

"Lukas," she said, voice calm but direct, "You've carried this team all season. But are you carrying too much? Are you tired?"

The room got quieter. I looked at her longer than I should've.

"Tired? Sure. Some days.But this isn't just a job for me. It's who I am.I don't run from weight. I grow under it."

A few pens stopped moving after that. One more question came through:

"You had personal success this year — top scorer, most assists — but no trophies. What's next for Lukas Müller?"

I leaned forward. Spoke clear.

"I don't play for stats. I play for legacy.I've failed this year — but I won't make peace with failure.Next season, we climb back. I promise."

I stood up. Walked past the lights. Past the noise. They shouted more — but I was already gone.

I said what I needed to.

Now it was time to become what I said.

I stood up. Walked past the lights. Past the noise. They shouted more — but I was already gone.

I said what I needed to.

Now it was time to become what I said.