The Dortmund players trudged off the pitch with their heads down, the frustration clear on their faces.
In the locker room, the atmosphere was tense. The players were silent, catching their breath, and wiping sweat from their brows. Rose stood at the front, his arms crossed, he didn't speak immediately, allowing the weight of the situation to settle in.
"Alright," Rose began. "We're down, but this isn't over. We need to stay disciplined, keep our shape, and stick to the plan. They're sitting deep and hitting us on the counter, so we need to be smarter with our positioning."
He walked over to the tactical board and began drawing out adjustments, focusing on how to break down Ajax's defensive setup. "We're controlling possession, and that's good. But we need to make our movement sharper in the final third. Haaland, I need you to stay more central. We need your presence in the box. And Jude, I need you to be more aggressive with your runs from deep. Find those pockets of space and exploit them."
As Rose continued to speak, Jude glanced over at Luka, who was sitting on a bench near the back, still seething with frustration. Jude made his way over and sat down next to him, leaning in close so that only Luka could hear him.
"Hey," Jude said softly. "I know this is frustrating, man. But keep your head up. We'll get through this."
Luka nodded, but his jaw remained clenched, his mind still racing with anger. "We're controlling the game, but we're not getting anywhere. It's like we're just passing for the sake of it."
"I get it," Jude replied, his tone understanding. "But we've got to trust the plan. When you get your chance, make sure you're ready to take it. We're going to need you out there."
Before Luka could respond, Rose called the team's attention back to the front. "We're still in this game. We need to be more clinical and more aware defensively. They're waiting for us to overcommit, so we need to be smarter. We need to tighten up our marking and be quicker to close down space."
He looked around the room, making eye contact with each player. "This isn't about individuals. It's about the team. We win and lose together, so let's get out there and fight for each other."
The players nodded, a murmur of agreement spreading through the room. Rose clapped his hands, signaling the end of the talk. "Alright, let's get back out there and turn this around."
As the players began to make their way back to the pitch, Jude turned to Luka one more time. "Stay ready, man. We're going to need something special."
Luka didn't respond, but he appreciated the support. He knew Jude was right. As much as he was angry about being on the bench, he couldn't afford to let that cloud his focus. When his moment came, he needed to be ready to seize it.
The second half kicked off, and Dortmund resumed their dominance of possession. They were patient, working the ball from side to side, trying to pull Ajax out of their defensive shape. But Ajax was disciplined, their backline staying compact, and their midfielders dropping deep to help cover the spaces. Dortmund was probing, looking for openings, but they were still struggling to create clear chances.
Then, in the 72nd minute a misplaced pass from Akanji in midfield was intercepted, and Ajax pounced on the opportunity. In a flash, they were down the field, a slick passing move carving open Dortmund's defense. Antony found himself in space on the right wing, and with a burst of pace, he raced past Wolf and whipped in a cross. Haller, unmarked in the box, met it with a powerful header that left Kobel with no chance.
3-0 to Ajax. Haller hattrick.
The Dortmund players looked shell-shocked, their heads hanging low as they made their way back to the center circle. They were getting humiliated again.
Rose turned and signaled to Luka, indicating that he was about to be subbed on. Luka quickly pulled off his training top and made his way to the sideline.
As he approached Rose, the coach grabbed his arm and started giving instructions. "Luka, I need you to stick to your position on the left. Don't drift too much. We need width, but we also need to be disciplined in how we attack. If we overcommit, they'll hit us on the counter again."
Luka nodded but said nothing. His mind was already made up. He wasn't going to stick to the touchline and wait for the ball to come to him. But there was no point in arguing now.
As he stood on the sideline, waiting for the substitution to go through, he watched as Reus picked up the ball just outside the box. With a quick shimmy, Reus created space for himself and unleashed a powerful shot that flew past the Ajax goalkeeper and into the top corner.
3-1. There was hope.
Luka jogged onto the pitch, replacing Hazard on the left wing. The crowd's roar intensified, the Dortmund fans sensing that the game might not be over just yet. Luka felt a surge of adrenaline as he took his position, his eyes scanning the field, already looking for opportunities.
Immediately, Luka made his presence felt. He received the ball on the left touchline, and with a quick burst of pace, he skipped past Mazraoui, driving towards the box. The Ajax defense scrambled to close him down, but Luka was too quick. He cut inside, leaving two defenders in his wake, before threading a pass into the path of Haaland, who was making a run towards the penalty spot.
Haaland's shot was powerful, but it was blocked by Martínez, who threw himself in front of the ball. The rebound fell to Bellingham, who tried to curl it into the far corner, but it was tipped over the bar by Pasveer.
Luka could feel the momentum shifting. Dortmund was pushing hard, and Ajax was starting to crack under the pressure. But the clock was ticking, and they needed to find the back of the net again, and quickly.
Luka began drifting inside, ignoring Rose's instructions and looking to get more involved in the build-up play. He knew he had the ability to break down Ajax's defense, but he needed the ball at his feet. He received a pass from Witsel just inside the Ajax half, and with a quick turn, he was off, driving at the heart of the defense. Ajax's midfielders converged on him, trying to slow him down, but Luka danced through them, his quick feet and sharp changes of direction leaving them flat-footed.
As he approached the box, Luka saw Haaland making a run towards the far post. He whipped in a low cross, hoping to find him but the ball was cut out by Blind, who cleared it for a corner. Luka slapped his hands in frustration. It was close, but not close enough.
From the corner, the ball was cleared to the edge of the box, where Reus was waiting. He fired a shot through the crowded penalty area, but it was deflected wide. Dortmund was knocking on the door, but Ajax's defense was holding firm.
The game continued in this pattern, with Dortmund controlling possession and pushing Ajax back, but unable to find the final ball. Luka was relentless, constantly probing, taking on defenders, trying to create something out of nothing. But Ajax was wise to his threat, and they started doubling up on him the moment he was subbed on, with Mazraoui and Álvarez both shadowing him every time he got near the ball.
In the 84th minute, Luka finally got his breakthrough. He received a pass from Bellingham on the left wing and immediately drove towards the box. Álvarez came across to close him down, but Luka skipped past him with a clever step-over, leaving him stranded. As he entered the box, Martínez came flying in with a desperate tackle, but Luka saw it coming and cut inside, drawing the foul.
The referee didn't hesitate. Penalty.
The Dortmund fans erupted, sensing a way back into the game. Haaland stepped up to take the penalty, his face filled with concentration. Luka stood off to the side, his heart pounding. This was it.
But when Haaland struck the ball, it wasn't clean. The shot lacked power, and Pasveer guessed right, diving low to his left to make the save. The ball was parried away, and Ajax cleared their lines, the opportunity slipping through Dortmund's fingers.
Luka couldn't believe it. He stood there, hands on his head, as the realization sank in. They were running out of time.
With the missed penalty, Rose decided to make another change, bringing on Malen for Haaland. The move was meant to inject some fresh legs and pace into the attack, but it was a gamble.
In the 88th minute, Luka nearly produced a moment of magic. Dortmund was pressing high, and Ajax was struggling to play out from the back. The ball was played long towards the halfway line, where Luka rose to win the header. He cushioned it down to Bellingham, who immediately fed it back to him as he sprinted down the left wing.
Luka took off, the ball glued to his feet as he raced towards the box. Three Ajax defenders converged on him, but he was too quick. He danced past the first with a quick change of direction, then slipped the ball through the legs of the second. As the third defender lunged in, Luka flicked the ball over his head, leaving the defender stumbling past him.
Now in the box, Luka looked up and saw Malen making a run towards the far post. With a deft touch, Luka chipped the ball over the last defender, the pass perfectly weighted. Malen met it with a volley, but the ball sailed wide of the post, the chance gone.
Luka couldn't hide his frustration. He dropped to his knees, his head in his hands. It had been a perfect ball, but they couldn't capitalize on it. Time was running out, and it felt like everything was slipping away.
The final whistle blew shortly after, the scoreboard showing 3-1 in favor of Ajax. The Dortmund players slumped to the ground, exhausted and defeated. They had controlled possession, created chances, but in the end, they had been undone by their own mistakes and missed opportunities.
Luka trudged off the pitch, and all that was on his mind was anger, controlled anger. His breath came in short, ragged bursts as he tried to contain the emotions bubbling inside him. The game had slipped through their fingers, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he could have done more if he'd been given the chance from the start.
As he neared the sideline, wiping the sweat from his brow, Dusan Tadić approached him, a faint smile on his face.
"Hey, Luka," Tadić called out, his voice cutting through the din of the stadium. "Can I have your shirt?"
Luka blinked, taken aback by the request. It was a small gesture, but it made Luka pause. He nodded, quickly peeling off his jersey and handing it over.
"Thanks," Tadić said, offering his own shirt in return. "You've got talent, kid. Keep your head up."
Luka accepted the shirt, muttering a quick "thanks" before turning to leave the pitch. The frustration was still gnawing at him, but there was a slight sense of pride too.
But before he could make it off the pitch, Sébastien Haller appeared in his path, a grin plastered across his face, the match ball tucked under his arm.
"Tough match, eh?" Haller said, his tone dripping with faux sympathy.
Luka's eyes narrowed, the anger that had been simmering beneath the surface now boiling over. "Fuck you," he snapped.
Haller's grin only widened. He let out a chuckle, clearly enjoying Luka's frustration. "Take it easy, man," Haller said, still chuckling as he walked away, leaving Luka seething.
Luka clenched Tadić's shirt in his fist, his knuckles white with the effort of holding back his anger. The defeat, the taunts—it was all too much. He wanted to lash out, to let everyone know how he felt, but he forced himself to keep it together as he approached the sideline.
As he reached the edge of the pitch, Marco Rose was there, waiting. The coach stepped in front of him, placing a firm hand on Luka's chest to stop him.
"We'll have a talk about today," Rose said, his tone leaving no room for argument. It was clear he was referring to Luka's disregard for the tactical instructions.
Luka felt the anger flare up again. An expression of disdain escaping his lips as he pushed past Rose, intent on getting to the locker room and away from all of this.
But Rose wasn't having it. He grabbed Luka's arm, pulling him back with more force than necessary. "That disrespect will not be tolerated," Rose said sharply, his voice tinged with irritation.
Luka spun around, his eyes blazing. The frustration that had been building up all game now boiled over, and he couldn't hold back. "Do you have a problem with me?" he shot back, his voice controlled but laced with anger. "Because it feels like you do. You keep telling me what to do, but what you're asking for doesn't work. You're not letting me play my game!"
Rose's eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. "This isn't about you, Luka. This is about the team, and right now, you're not following the plan. You need to listen, or you're going to be a problem."
Luka's jaw tightened. "I'm a problem? Or are you just not willing to adapt to the players you have? Maybe the problem isn't me."
Before things could escalate further, one of the assistant coaches, Daniel Farke, stepped in, gently pulling Luka away.
"Luka, cool it," Farke said softly, trying to diffuse the situation. "Let's take this to the locker room."
Luka allowed himself to be led away, as he entered the tunnel, his frustration spilled out again, this time directed at anyone who would listen.
"He keeps making problems," Luka muttered, his voice tight with anger. "What he tells me to do on the pitch doesn't work."
Brandt, who had been walking alongside him, placed a hand on Luka's shoulder. "Relax, Luka," Brandt said gently. "I get it. It's frustrating, but you've got to pick your battles. Rose is the coach. You've got to work with him, not against him."
Reus, walking just ahead, slowed his pace to join the conversation. "Luka, take it from me," Reus said, his tone calm but firm. "There's going to be days like this. But you can't let it get to you. You're young, you've got a lot of time to show what you can do. Don't burn bridges over one game."
One game? Rose had been bothering him for weeks now. "I just feel like he doesn't trust me," Luka said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.
Reus nodded understandingly. "Give it time. Show him you can be the player he needs. It's all part of the process."