As Rose attempted to wrap up the press conference, another journalist from ESPN leaned forward, a glint of determination in his eye. "Coach Rose, if I may, one last question," he said, his tone polite but insistent.
Rose hesitated, then nodded, gesturing for the reporter to continue.
"After the previous match against Ajax, your team made a remarkable near comeback in the second half, scoring two goals. We've obtained footage from the tunnel that shows Luka Zorić in an intense discussion with Haaland, Bellingham, and Reyna during the break. Interestingly, these were the same players who noticeably changed their approach in the second half. Was Luka responsible for orchestrating these tactical adjustments?"
The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on Rose. The coach's jaw tightened, his fingers drumming an agitated rhythm on the table. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, the silence stretching uncomfortably.
"I... That's not..." Rose began, his usual composure slipping. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his footing. "Our halftime discussions are a team effort. Every player contributes their insights."
The ESPN reporter pressed on, sensing weakness. "But Coach, given the visible changes in those specific players' performances, isn't it possible that-"
"Enough," Rose cut him off, his voice sharp. "I've already stated that our tactical decisions are made collectively. Now, if there are no further questions about today's match, I believe we're done here."
As Rose stood to leave, another voice piped up from the back of the room. "Coach, this incident drops you to third in Group C, and it's the second time we've witnessed an on-field confrontation between you and Luka Zorić. How do you plan to address this recurring issue?"
Rose's shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of the repeated questioning visible in his posture. He turned back to face the room. "As I've said before," he began, his now had an edge of irritation, "these things can happen in the heat of the moment. But you're right, it can't keep happening. Respect for the coaching staff is paramount, regardless of a player's talent or status within the team."
He paused, running a hand through his hair. "Luka is an exceptional player, there's no denying that. But he's also young, still learning. Part of our job is to guide him, to help him channel that passion and talent in the right way."
Rose's gaze swept across the room, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room. "I want to be clear: this isn't about stifling creativity or silencing players' input. It's about maintaining a structure, a hierarchy that allows the team to function as a cohesive unit. We'll address this internally, work through it together."
As he turned to leave once more, a murmur rippled through the press room.
Meanwhile, in the Dortmund locker room, Luka sat alone, his head in his hands. The adrenaline of the match had long since faded, replaced by a gnawing sense of frustration and regret. He replayed the confrontation with Rose in his mind, wincing at the memory.
The door creaked open, and Luka looked up to see Jude Bellingham enter.
"Hey, mate," Jude said softly, taking a seat next to Luka. "Tough night, eh?"
Luka nodded, his throat tight. "I messed up, Jude. I let my emotions get the better of me."
Jude placed a comforting hand on Luka's shoulder. "Look, we all have moments like that. The important thing is how you respond to it."
Luka looked up, his eyes meeting Jude's. "But am I wrong? Rose's tactics, they're not working. We could be doing so much more, playing to our strengths instead of-"
"I get it," Jude interrupted gently. "Trust me, I do. But there's a time and place for those discussions."
Luka sighed, nodding slowly. "You're right. I know you're right. It's just... frustrating, you know? Feeling like you can make a difference but not being given the chance."
Jude chuckled softly. "Mate, you've beeen putting up Messi type of numbers. I'd say you're making plenty of difference."
"Messi-type numbers, huh?" Luka mumbled, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe. But what good are numbers if they don't translate to wins?"
Before Jude could respond, the locker room door swung open with a bang. Marco Rose strode in, his face set in hard lines, eyes blazing. The chatter in the room died instantly.
"Zorić," Rose barked, "Now."
Luka exchanged a quick glance with Jude, who offered a sympathetic shrug. With a deep breath, Luka followed Rose out of the locker room, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the empty corridor.
"This can't continue," Rose began, his voice tight with barely contained anger. "Your behavior on the pitch, your disregard for tactical instructions—it's unacceptable."
Luka bit back a retort, forcing himself to take a breath before speaking. "With all due respect, coach, I was trying to make something happen. We were losing—"
"And that gives you the right to undermine my authority?" Rose interrupted, slamming his palm on the desk. "I'm the coach, Zorić. My decisions are final."
"Even when they're wrong?" The words were out before Luka could stop them, his own frustration bubbling to the surface.
Rose's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Watch yourself, boy. I've dealt with players who thought they were bigger than the team before. Don't make me reduce your game time."
A bitter laugh escaped Luka's lips. "Reduce my game time? And you haven't already?"
For a moment, Luka considered saying he'd leave the club, the words dancing on the tip of his tongue. But even as the thought formed, he recognized it for what it was—petty, born of wounded pride rather than reason.
Instead, he took a deep breath, uncrossing his arms in a deliberate effort to appear less confrontational. "Look, coach, we both want what's best for the team. But I can't just stand by when I see opportunities to change the game. That's not who I am as a player."
Rose's jaw clenched, his own stubbornness evident in the set of his shoulders. "And I can't have a player who thinks he knows better than his coach. This isn't a democracy, Zorić. It's my way or—"
"Or what?" Luka interrupted. "You'll bench your top scorer? The player with the most assists? I'm not trying to be arrogant, coach, but facts are facts. I make this team better."
For a long moment, they stared at each other, neither willing to back down. Finally, Rose spoke, his voice cold. "We'll have to agree to disagree, then."
Luka nodded curtly. "I guess we will."
The flight back to Germany was a blur, Luka's mind racing with the implications of the confrontation. As soon as he was back in his apartment, he pulled out his phone, dialing a familiar number.
"Jorge? It's Luka. We need to talk."
Mendes' voice was calm, steadying. "I've heard about what happened. Tell me everything."
Luka paced his living room as he recounted the events, when he finished, there was a moment of silence on the other end of the line.
"Luka," Mendes said finally, his tone carefully neutral, "I need to ask you something, and I want you to think carefully before you answer. Do you want to leave in January?"
Luka's gaze drifted to the window, taking in the twinkling lights of Dortmund spread out below.
"If I'm not alienated from the squad..." he began slowly, weighing each word, "I don't know. I don't want to leave and I do at the same time."
He could almost hear Mendes nodding on the other end of the line. "I understand. Leave it with me. I'll have a discussion with Dortmund about the issue, see why Rose is being so hard on you. We'll fix this, Luka. Trust me."
<>
The Dortmund boardroom was thick with tension, Hans-Joachim Watzke, the club's CEO, sat at the head of the table, his fingers steepled in front of him as he surveyed the room.
"Gentlemen," he began, his voice grave, "we find ourselves in a delicate situation. The confrontation between Rose and Zorić cannot be ignored any longer."
Michael Zorc, the sporting director, leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "No player is bigger than the club," he stated firmly. "We have to back Rose on this. We can't have a teenager, no matter how talented, undermining the coach's authority."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room, but Sebastien Kehl held up a hand. "I understand that sentiment, Michael," he said, his tone measured, "but I think we need to consider this carefully. I know Luka a bit, and he's not arrogant or undisciplined."
Watzke raised an eyebrow. "You seem quite certain of that, Sebastien. Care to elaborate?"
Kehl nodded, straightening in his chair. "I've spoken with Dr. Braun," he explained. "Luka actually approached him about the situation. He didn't want it to escalate, but he was frustrated by Rose's forceful approach."
A silence fell over the room as the board members absorbed this information. Carsten Cramer, the managing director, was the first to break it. "That does paint a different picture," he admitted. "But how do we reconcile this with Rose's account?"
Watzke sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "We're walking a tightrope here, gentlemen. On one hand, we can't undermine Rose's authority. On the other, we have a generational talent who's clearly struggling with the current situation."
"And let's not forget the financial implications," added Thomas Treß, the club's CFO. "If we mishandle this and end up losing Luka, we'll be missing out on a potentially massive transfer fee down the line."
The room fell silent again, each man lost in thought. It was Kehl who finally broke the silence. "What if we brought them together? Mediate a discussion between Rose and Luka, try to find some common ground."
Zorc nodded slowly. "It could work. But we'd need to make it clear to both of them that this isn't about taking sides. It's about finding a way forward that works for everyone."
"Agreed," said Watzke. "And we need to impress upon Rose the importance of flexibility. Yes, he's the coach, but part of coaching is adapting to the strengths of your players."
Cramer leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "We should also consider how we're utilizing Luka. His numbers are incredible, but are we truly getting the best out of him? Maybe this is an opportunity to reassess our tactical approach."
"A fair point," Watzke conceded. "But we have to be careful. We can't be seen as letting a player dictate tactics, no matter how talented."
"What about bringing in a player for the discussions?" suggested Kehl. "Someone who's been through similar situations, who can help navigate these waters?"
The idea seemed to resonate with the room. Watzke nodded approvingly. "That could work. Someone like Reus, perhaps? He's respected by both Rose and the squad, and he's been with us long enough to understand the club's culture."
As the discussion continued, the tension in the room gradually eased. Ideas were proposed, debated, refined. Slowly but surely, a plan began to take shape.