CHAPTER 644: CHAPTER 644 DIE MANCHAFT (2)

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[10/11/2020 | 07:05 AM | Cologne Bonn Airport, Germany]

The terminal was quiet at that hour, bathed in cold morning light filtering through tall glass panels. Most travellers were business types — dressed in crisp coats, coffee in hand, the usual shuffle of a Tuesday morning. But in a private Lufthansa suite, two figures stood out immediately: both tall, athletic, and easily recognisable even under masks and hoodies.

Rakim adjusted his black TitanFit training jacket, the logo’s crest catching faint reflections from the window. He’d slept maybe four hours after the call, adrenaline and disbelief keeping him awake through most of the night. "You really should have slept more." Simba, his personal trainer, said, handing him a bottle with a green liquid.

"Yeah, well, it’s not every day you get told you could be making your international debit in a few days?" He responded, accepting the drink with a slight frown. "What did you put in here this time?"

"Oh, yk, Spinach, kale, cucumber, Celery, pineapple juice, Apple juice, mint leaves, 8 tsp lemon juice, 8tsp honey. You know all the good stuff." The man replied with a bright smile, using his thumb to rub his goatee, causing his raster locks to quiver lightly. "All the best ingredients to help you start the day right."

"Sure, sure, you still haven’t given up on your dream as a mixologist, huh?" It was the only reply he received as Rakim uncorked the 500ml bottle, gulping its contents down in one go. "Just make sure none of that stuff messes with my system. I don’t want to be accused of doping over a protein drink meant to keep me healthy. That would just be lazy."

Simba chuckled, folding his arms across his chest. "Relax, champ. I’d never get you popped for a smoothie. Besides, I clear everything I feed you with your mother, and she is the one who makes up all the recipes, so take it up with her."

Rakim wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing slightly, not even considering taking the matter up with his mother. "Still tastes like sweet grass."

Simba laughed, his deep voice echoing faintly across the near-empty terminal. "That’s the taste of greatness, my boy. A-Grade Grass-fed, you’re practically a prized bull."

Rakim shook his head in annoyance, leaning back in the chair by the window, watching planes taxi in the distance. "Should you really be saying that to your boss?"

"Nah, he’s tough; he can handle this; otherwise, the media would have torn him apart a long time ago," Simba said, grinning. "Just relax, I’ll wake you when we’re boarding."

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"Passengers for flight 421 to Leipzig, please proceed to Gate B17."

~~~

[10/11/2020 | 11:05 AM | Leipzig Airport, Germany]

In the Leipzig airspace, a slender 32-passenger plane drifted in the air, preparing for its descent. The faint hum of the jet engines softened as the aircraft cut through a bank of pale clouds, revealing the vast sweep of the Saxon countryside below. Patches of farmland and forest glistened under the late-morning sun, with the city of Leipzig sprawling out in neat geometric clusters.

Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was quiet with passengers doing what they needed to calm themselves before the touchdown. Rakim, sitting in business class, hardly cared as he continued listening to music, the voice of Ninho covering his senses. His gaze remained on the landscape getting close just beyond the oval window.

Simbad was in the seat next to him with Tah, the other Leverkusen player to be called up, sitting a row in front of him. He no longer felt conflicted about not representing the US on the world stage, having fallen in love with the eagle of Europe. He also figured it was hard enough trying to win an international trophy with a good country, let alone one that was barely doing the minimum.

The pilot’s voice came over the intercom: "Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll be landing in approximately ten minutes. The weather in Leipzig is clear, six degrees Celsius. Please fasten your seatbelts."

The descent accelerated before he knew it as the stewardess completed their last checks. Before he knew it, the runway came into view, coming closer by the second. "I am strong, I am brave," he faintly heard Simbad mutter, going off on a tangent of prayer, entirely unlike the strong and confident man he had gotten to know.

The plane touched down with a gentle thud, tyres kissing the tarmac before the engines reversed thrust, slowing them to taxi speed. Rakim felt the familiar lurch in his stomach as they decelerated, the ground outside his window now moving at a manageable pace—hangars, service vehicles, and the distant terminal coming into view.

"Thank you, Jesus," Simba muttered beside him, finally opening his eyes and releasing his death grip on the armrest.

Rakim couldn’t help but smirk. "You good, Unc? Thought you were about to pass out there."

"Listen, I don’t care how many times I fly—I still don’t trust these metal tins, it’s just not natural," Simba replied, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "Give me solid ground any day."

Tah stretched his arms overhead with a groan. "Finally. My muscles were about to cramp up in that seat."

"Bro, we sat in business class, you don’t get any more comfortable seats on the plane. Even the pilot’s seat is uncomfortable." Rakim retorted with an eye roll, falling into step.

Rakim was tall, having grown an extra inch in the past year, standing comfortably at 6’2 ", but his teammate was a 6’5" giant. With his well-built frame —87% pure muscle —he was a beast to play against. "Short people wouldn’t understand, but from up here comfort is hard to find."

"Dude, you’re just getting old, bro," Rakim said, grinning as he donned his mask, already used to wearing it in such places. "Hey, Unc, get over it already, you landed safely. Man, they must have skipped your generation when they tell ’back in my days’ stories.’"

~~~

The crisp November air hit them the moment they stepped out of the aircraft. Rakim inhaled deeply, adjusting the strap of his black duffel bag as he followed the others toward the terminal. The air smelled faintly of jet fuel, wrapped in the cold weather as passengers got on with their day.

As they entered the arrivals hall, the bustle of a few photographers who had been waiting since the early hours caught their attention. They had connected the dots and figured out the estimated arrival day of the players who would be called up. A security guard was already guiding a path through the small crowd, leading them to a well-dressed official.

"Welcome to Leipzig, gentlemen." The DFB Staffer dressed in a sharp black suit greeted them near the exit with a clipboard in hand. "We’ll handle your luggage; the van is waiting outside. Coach Löw is expecting everyone at the hotel by noon for a briefing and medical checks."

The sliding doors at the exit parted, and a gust of cold air swept through the terminal as Rakim, Tah, and Simba followed the DFB staffer toward the waiting Mercedes Sprinter van. Outside, a few photographers jostled for position behind the police officers, flashes already going off. Even through the muffled layers of masks and scarves, the faint echo of shouted names followed them—

"Rakim! Over here!""Tah, one photo, please!""Tah, is it true your girlfriend has a blue toe?!"

Rakim kept his head up, adjusting his duffel strap with one hand, and quickly slipped into the van. He wasn’t ready to deal with sleep-deprived reporters who were liable to ask anything for a scoop. Just listening to what they were asking, Tah sent shivers up his spine. Luckily, the guy managed to slip into the van, shielded by Simba and the staffer sliding the door shut.

"Man," Rakim muttered under his breath as they settled into their seats. "They act like this isn’t for a friendly and not even a European or African powerhouse."

Tah chuckled, settling into the seat next to him, wiping a bead of sweat. "Give them a week. If you score against the Czechs, they’ll make a Netflix documentary about you by next Tuesday."

The van pulled away from the reporters quickly, leaving the airport, with the police running interference to get rid of the disaster that was them as quickly as possible. They all breathed a sigh of relief, settling into a comfortable silence as the van merged into traffic. "So about your girlfriend’s blue toe?"

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To Be Continued...