CHAPTER 184: LET’S TALK (GT)

The car fell quiet at once. A kind of palpable silence. Even the soft hum of the engine seemed to fade.

Javi kept his eyes forward.

"It was... an injury," he said eventually, voice low. "A reserve team match. I completely tore my Achilles. Actually—’tore’ isn’t even the right word. The doctor said it was like a shattered rope. A nasty one."

Lukas’s chest tightened. He swallowed.

"I didn’t know it was that bad," he whispered.

"It was," Javi said gently. "After rehab, I could walk fine, run a little... but not like before. Definitely not enough for professional football." He shrugged lightly, as though brushing off decades of a dream cut short. "But hey. It was a blessing in disguise."

"How?" Lukas asked.

Javi finally glanced at him through the mirror, his expression soft.

"Because everything that happened after led me to you," he said. "All of it. Every turn, every setback... it all led to this moment. To watching you grow into one of the brightest young players in Europe. So no—I wouldn’t trade any of it, Lukas. Not one thing."

Mrs. Brandt placed her wrinkled hand over Lukas’s. "You see? Your father’s football career didn’t end. It continued through you."

Lukas didn’t know what to say. His heart felt warm and heavy at the same time.

They drove the rest of the way with lighter hearts, and by the time they turned into the familiar narrow street of the Brandt family home, he felt the ache of the draw fading into something small—something unimportant compared to this.

The Brandt house was a modest detached home, the kind that had lived many lives. Its white exterior walls had been repainted countless times over the decades, but the shape of the building still carried the charm of older German architecture. The front garden was small but tidy, with trimmed hedges and a stone path leading to the wooden front door. It was warm inside, literally and figuratively, with pictures lining the walls, knitted blankets folded neatly on the couch, and soft yellow light filling the living room.

"This place has been in the family for generations," Mrs. Brandt announced proudly, taking off her coat. "Your great-grandfather built the original foundation, you know."

Javi rolled his eyes affectionately. "She says that every time."

"Because it’s worth saying," she snapped playfully.

They took off their shoes, and Lukas followed his grandmother up the creaking wooden stairs. She stopped in front of a door with a small metal plaque on it, worn with age, engraved with a young boy’s messy handwriting: MICHA.

"Here we are, liebe," she said, opening it.

The room instantly stole Lukas’s breath.

It was almost untouched. Cleaned, dusted, and freshened... but the soul of it was intact, as though someone had pressed pause on Javi’s life at eighteen.

The Werder Bremen double-winning team of 2003/04 was plastered across one wall, every player frozen mid-celebration. A framed newspaper clipping celebrated Klose receiving his Bundesliga top scorer award from 2006. Little Bremen pennants hung proudly beside old football scarves. The desk was simple, wooden, old. A shelf still held a couple of comic books, a dusty trophy from a youth tournament, and a faded Bremen match ticket pinned to the corkboard.

Javi stepped into the room slowly, almost reverently. His eyes softened with nostalgia.

"They... kept everything," he said quietly.

"Of course we did," Mrs. Brandt said, lifting her chin with pride. "This was your room."

Lukas walked in and slowly turned, taking it all in. He never imagined his father as a starstruck boy with posters of legends on his wall. He never imagined this side of him — the Bremen side.

"You were... really a fan," Lukas said, amused.

"Was?" Javi scoffed, jabbing Lukas lightly in the shoulder. "First love stays forever."

"Yeah? Well, this room is mine now," Lukas teased, immediately stepping inside and sitting on the bed to claim it.

"You rascal," Javi muttered, but he was smiling, one of those quiet smiles that dripped with warmth and memory.

Anne appeared at the doorway, looking between the father and son with soft eyes.

"Guest room for us," she said, patting Javi’s back. "You two can sort out your territory issues."

Mrs. Brandt laughed. "He already claimed the room, Javi. You can take the guest room. Get ready, dinner will be ready in 15 minutes."

"Unbelievable," Javi muttered. "My own mother is kicking me out," he added as he did an exaggerated walk out of the room with Anne.

Lukas laughed as he lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling where faint glow-in-the-dark stars — faded with time — still clung stubbornly to the plaster.

It felt strange.

It felt comforting.

It felt like a piece of his father’s past was reaching out to him... and for the first time, he reached back.

Just as he looked around, he stomach growled. He was ready for dinner.

"Lemme get changed!" he thought as he flung himself up from the bed and started taking off his shirt.

* * *

Ma Brandt’s dining room smelled incredible.

It was the kind of smell that wrapped itself around you—rich, warm, nostalgic. The long wooden table was set simply but elegantly, with mismatched ceramic plates that had clearly been in the family for decades. The centerpiece was a steaming platter of Königsberger Klopse, delicate veal meatballs in creamy white sauce scattered with capers. Beside it was a large bowl of Kartoffelpüree (her homemade mashed potatoes that had a slight nutmeg aroma), roasted Rotkohl, and a basket of freshly baked Brötchen that she had bought from their favourite local bakery earlier that afternoon.

Anne closed her eyes dramatically at her first bite.

"Oh my god... Frau Brandt, this is heavenly."

"Of course it is," Ma Brandt said with a wink. "Only the best when my boys are home."

They ate together, the clinking of cutlery the soundtrack to soft conversation. Lukas wasn’t usually one to overeat, but he couldn’t help himself—every spoonful tasted like warmth and memory he didn’t even know he had.

His grandfather insisted on passing him more potatoes.

"Eat, Junge. You burned half of Bremen’s grass tonight."

Lukas laughed and complied.

Anne told a small story about her first ever visit to Bremen years ago, Javi chimed in with nostalgic bits of his childhood, and Ma Brandt kept scolding her husband for taking too large of a portion. It was the kind of dinner that made the house feel alive, even more than usual.

At some point, as the plates were slowly emptied and conversation mellowed into soft hums. Javi glanced at Lukas, not in a dramatic way, not obvious enough to draw attention, but Lukas caught it.

After dessert — warm Apfelstrudel with a light vanilla sauce — everyone leaned back slightly in their chairs, full and content.

Javi wiped his mouth gently with a napkin before turning toward Lukas.

"You tired from the match?" he asked casually.

Lukas blinked. "Not really."

He took a sip of water. "Why?"

Javi hesitated — not his usual kind of hesitation, but the kind that came from somewhere deep, somewhere old.

He set his napkin down slowly.

"Do you want to come with me?" he finally asked. "Just a short walk around the neighborhood."

Lukas’s eyebrows furrowed, but he nodded.

"Sure. What’s up?"

Javi held his gaze for a few seconds too long.

"There’s... something I want to talk to you about."

The table went quiet.

Anne’s hands stilled around her teacup.

Ma Brandt looked at her son briefly, concern flickering across her eyes.

Lukas swallowed, a faint chill creeping down his spine despite the warmth of the room.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

Javi pushed his chair back, stood up, and motioned toward the hallway.

"Let’s take that walk," he said softly.

And Lukas followed him,

out of the dining room,

down the narrow staircase,

and into the quiet Bremen night...