Luka stepped off the team bus outside Signal Iduna Park. A sea of black and yellow greeted him, fans bundled up against the cold but radiating warmth and excitement. Luka took a deep breath, bratwurst and beer mingling with the sharp winter air.
Inside the locker room, the atmosphere was electric. Players joked and laughed, trying to dispel the nervous energy that always preceded a big match. But as Luka sat down to lace up his boots, he felt a tightness in his chest. His hands trembled slightly as he tied the laces, and he frowned, confused by his own reaction.
"You alright, mate?" Jude's voice cut through Luka's thoughts, Bellingham watching him with concern.
Luka forced a smile. "Yeah, just... focused."
Jude nodded, but Luka could tell he wasn't convinced. As Jude moved away to finish his own preparations, Luka closed his eyes, trying to center himself. Just a day ago he was no prepared, now he was filled with anxiety, why?
The answer came unbidden: Because it's Bayern. Because you're really, truly scared of failing. Just as you were with Sporting.
Luka shook his head, as if he could physically dislodge the doubts. He stood up, stretching his muscles, feeling the familiar pull and release. His body was ready. Now he just needed to get his mind on board.
He found a quiet corner of the locker room and put in his earbuds, queuing up the playlist he'd curated for moments like this. The familiar beats washed over him, and he began his pre-game ritual. Slow, controlled movements. Visualizing perfect passes, precise shots. Imagining the ball at his feet, an extension of his own body.
As the team gathered for the pre-game talk, Luka felt calmer, but the nervousness still lurked at the edges of his consciousness. He pushed it aside, focusing on Rose's words.
"Alright, lads," Rose began, his voice steady and confident. "We know what Bayern brings to the table. They're fast, they're skilled, and they're relentless. But so are we."
Rose moved to the tactical board, outlining their approach. "What we're going to control the middle of the park today. Possession is key. We keep the ball, we control the game. But to do so we'll need change, and that's why we're not using our usual formation. No wingers today, a 4-4-2 Diamond. Luka, you'll be playing as our CAM."
Luka's head snapped up, sure he'd misheard. But Rose was looking directly at him, a challenging glint in his eye.
"You've got the vision and the skill," Rose continued. "I want you orchestrating our attacks from the center. Can you handle it?"
Luka swallowed hard, then nodded. "Yes, coach. I won't let you down."
As Rose continued detailing their tactical approach, Luka's mind raced. CAM. Central attacking midfielder. It was a position he understood theoretically, but he'd never played it in a professional match, let alone against a team like Bayern.
The nervousness he'd been fighting all morning surged back, stronger than ever. But even that wasn't enough to wane the shock that Rose believed in him. Believed in him enough to put him in this crucial role in one of the biggest matches of the season.
As they finished their warm-ups and prepared to head out onto the pitch, Luka caught sight of the Bayern players in the tunnel. Lewandowski, Müller, Kimmich…
The roar of the crowd grew louder as they approached the tunnel's exit. Luka could feel the vibrations in his chest, his heart beating in time with the rhythmic chants of the Dortmund fans.
"Echte Liebe!" The cry rang out, a declaration of "true love" that sent shivers down Luka's spine.
As they emerged onto the pitch, the noise was deafening. The Yellow Wall loomed before them, flags waved, scarves held aloft, creating a mesmerizing sea of motion.
From the Bayern end came an answering roar. Their fans, though outnumbered, were no less passionate. Luka caught snatches of their chant as he walked to his position:
"FC Bayern, Stern des Südens,
Du wirst niemals untergehen,
Weil wir in guten wie in schlechten Zeiten
Zueinander stehen!"
The words floated across the pitch, a declaration of unwavering support for the "Star of the South." The atmosphere was intoxicating, nerve-wracking, and exhilarating all at once.
As the players lined up for the pre-match handshakes, Luka found himself face-to-face with Thomas Müller. The German veteran grinned at him, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Ready for some fun, kid?" Müller asked in English, his accent thick but friendly.
Luka managed a smile in return. "Always," he replied, proud that his voice didn't betray his nerves.
Müller's grin widened. "Good. That's what it's all about, yeah? The fun."
As Müller moved on, Luka felt some of his tension ease. It was a reminder that, for all the pressure and expectation, this was still the game he loved.
The anthem began to play, its majestic tones filling the stadium. Luka closed his eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over him.
As the anthem faded and the players took their positions, the commentators' voices drifted down from the press box, setting the scene for the millions watching around the world.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to what promises to be an absolute cracker of a match," the English commentator began. "Borussia Dortmund hosting Bayern Munich in a clash that could have major implications for the Bundesliga title race."
His German colleague chimed in, "Ja, und es ist ein besonderer Tag für den jungen Luka Zorić. Zum ersten Mal spielt er als zentraler offensiver Mittelfeldspieler."
The English commentator translated for international viewers, "Indeed, and it's a special day for young Luka Zorić. He's being deployed as a central attacking midfielder for the first time."
"A bold move by Marco Rose," the first commentator continued. "Zorić has shown flashes of brilliance on the wing, but playing him centrally against a team like Bayern? That's a real test of faith."
"Aber wenn es funktioniert, könnte es ein Geniestreich sein," the German commentator added. "If it works, it could be a stroke of genius."
The whistle blew, sharp and clear in the cold December air. As a Bayern player kicked off, sending the ball arcing through the air, Luka felt time slow down. The roar of the crowd faded to a distant hum. All he could see was the ball, all he could feel was the turf beneath his feet and the pounding of his heart.
Goretzka quickly passed to Thomas Müller, who drifted into a pocket of space between Dortmund's midfield and defense. Luka's eyes locked on Müller, he knew Müller's game—finding space in the chaos and exploiting it. Before Müller could release the ball, Axel Witsel stepped in, closing him down. The ball ricocheted off Witsel's shin and rolled back to Bayern's half. A momentary relief.
Luka exhaled, his breath visible in the cold air. He sprinted forward, pressing Goretzka as he received the ball again. Bayern moved it quickly, though, their typical possession game suffocating Dortmund's attempts to close them down. It was a masterclass in ball control, with Kimmich and Goretzka dictating the tempo. But Dortmund held their shape, waiting for the chance to break.
As the ball was worked out wide to Alphonso Davies, who sprinted down the left wing, Luka's heart rate quickened. Davies had beaten Meunier seven times in the DFL Cup with his electric pace. Meunier stepped forward, trying to contain Davies, but the Canadian dipped his shoulder and surged past him with ease.
Davies didn't hesitate, whipping a ball into the box. Robert Lewandowski loomed large in the penalty area, waiting like a predator, but Mats Hummels rose higher than anyone else, clearing the ball with a firm header. The ball spun out toward the edge of the box, where Kingsley Coman was waiting.
Luka sprinted back to cover, but Coman was quick to pounce, he wound up for a shot, his foot slicing through the air, but before the ball could fly toward the goal, Emre Can slid in, blocking the shot and sending the ball spinning away from danger. A collective gasp came from the Dortmund fans, followed by loud cheers as the threat was averted.
The ball bobbled around midfield before landing at Jude Bellingham's feet. Luka called for it, raising his hand as he found a sliver of space in the middle of the park. Jude saw him and threaded the ball through, but it was slightly overhit. Luka reached out with his right foot, stretching to control it, but his touch was too heavy. The ball bounced awkwardly, and before he could regain control, Alphonso Davies was on him in a flash, dispossessing him with ease.
"Relax, Luka," he muttered to himself as Davies immediately triggered another Bayern counter. Luka turned, watching as Bayern's midfield reset and moved forward, once again controlling the game's rhythm.
Davies passed to Müller, who turned on the ball just outside Dortmund's box. His movements were fluid, graceful even, as he danced around Axel Witsel's challenge. Müller didn't see much in front of him, so he recycled the ball, passing back to Kimmich. Dortmund regained their defensive shape, denying Bayern a clear shot at goal.
The ball found its way to Davies again, who continued to terrorize Dortmund's right side. He dribbled effortlessly past Meunier, hugging the touchline as he advanced down the left wing. Meunier chased but couldn't keep up. Luka's heart raced. Bayern were moving like a well-oiled machine, and Dortmund seemed to be holding on by a thread.
Davies crossed again, aiming for Lewandowski at the far post. The ball soared through the air, and for a moment, it seemed inevitable that Lewandowski would connect with it. But at the last second, Nico Schulz stepped in, heading the ball out for a corner. The Dortmund fans let out a roar, but there was still tension in the air. Bayern's relentless pressure wasn't letting up.
Luka jogged back into position, catching his breath. He could feel the sweat starting to bead on his forehead despite the cold. He glanced toward the corner flag, where Kimmich was placing the ball down for the set piece. Everything felt like it was happening in slow motion. Kimmich took a few steps back, surveyed the box, then raised his hand before whipping the ball into the crowded penalty area.
Lewandowski jumped, towering over the Dortmund defenders, but Hummels was there again, his presence crucial. He got just enough of a touch to send the ball skimming off the top of Lewandowski's head, directing it away from danger. It bounced toward the edge of the box, and Luka sprinted toward it, determined to clear it. His heart was pounding as he reached the ball, took a touch, and looked up.
In that moment, he saw the opening.
Erling Haaland was making a run up the pitch, his hand raised, signaling for the pass. Luka didn't hesitate. He sent a long, curling ball down the left channel, perfectly weighted to meet Haaland's sprint. The crowd buzzed with anticipation as Haaland latched onto the ball, using his strength to hold off Dayot Upamecano, who was frantically trying to keep up.
Haaland was through on goal.
The roar from the crowd grew louder as Haaland approached Bayern's penalty area, his eyes locked on goal. But just as he pulled his foot back to strike, the whistle blew—offside. Luka's heart sank as he glanced at the linesman. The flag was up.
Haaland turned, frustration etched on his face as he looked toward Luka. It had been close, but not close enough. Luka jogged over, apologizing with a slight nod. Haaland gave him a tight-lipped smile, but the moment was gone.
As Bayern took the free kick, Luka could feel the frustration building. They had Bayern on the ropes, but they weren't making it count. He wiped his forehead, the cold sweat now mixing with the icy breeze.
Ten minutes in, and Bayern was still dictating the tempo, their midfield pivoting like a metronome, controlling the pace. Kimmich was at the heart of everything, always available for a pass, always scanning the field.
Luka found himself tracking Goretzka, keeping close to the Bayern man but not quite tight enough to cut off the passing lanes. Bayern's passes were crisp, their movement fluid. Luka shifted his weight from foot to foot, constantly on alert, watching as the ball pinged around. He needed to get more involved, more central to the action, but Bayern's high press was relentless.
In the 13th minute, Jude Bellingham found himself with a bit of space in midfield. Luka called for the ball, his arm outstretched. Jude looked up, nodded, and sent a pass toward Luka's feet. This time, Luka's touch was clean. He controlled the ball with the inside of his right foot, his body turning smoothly as he began to scan the field.
Bayern's defense was pressing up high, leaving space behind their backline. Haaland was making another run, but this time, Luka hesitated. He could feel the pressure mounting from behind—Kimmich was closing in. He looked left, then right, weighing his options, and decided to play it safe. A quick one-two with Witsel gave him enough space to breathe.
Luka turned again, pushing the ball forward, driving into the open space. He could feel the game opening up. Reus was hugging the right touchline, looking for an opening, and Haaland was dragging the Bayern center-backs with his movement. Luka saw the chance.
He sent a through ball toward Reus, the pass threading perfectly between Bayern's midfield. Reus took off, sprinting down the right flank, the crowd rising to their feet as he approached the penalty area.
Reus reached the edge of the box, and Luka made his run into the middle, anticipating the cross. Haaland and Malen were just behind him, ready to pounce. Reus looked up and whipped a low ball across the six-yard box.
The ball was perfect.
Luka's heart leapt as he watched it roll toward the goal, Malen had made the far post run and the ball was coming perfectly toward him for the tap in, but just as the ball came to him, he swung his leg over the ball, scuffing the shot by completely missing the ball and even falling over.
The stadium groaned in unison, and Luka threw his hands up in disbelief. Another chance wasted.
"Come on, man!" Jude shouted from the middle of the pitch, his voice full of frustration. "We've got to take those!"
Malen looked devastated, his hands on his head as he turned back toward Luka and Haaland, apologizing with a grimace. Luka forced a nod, but inside, the frustration was building. That should have been 1-0. They should be ahead.
As Bayern took the goal kick, Luka jogged back into position, trying to shake off the disappointment. Fifteen minutes in, and Dortmund had already missed two golden chances. Bayern hadn't punished them yet, but Luka knew it was only a matter of time if they didn't get their act together.
He looked up at the scoreboard—0-0. But it felt like the clock was ticking faster than usual.
The fans' energy surged through the stadium, but Bayern was Bayern—they were too experienced to be rattled by the crowd.
Neuer placed the ball down for a goal kick, and Luka scanned the field, already anticipating where the ball might go. Neuer's kicks were always precise, and sure enough, the ball rocketed into the midfield, straight toward Joshua Kimmich. Luka sprinted to close down, but Kimmich brought the ball down effortlessly, his body positioning perfect. With one quick flick, Kimmich sent it out wide to Davies, who was already charging down the left flank.
"Damn it," Luka muttered under his breath, as he shifted his body to sprint back into position. Davies was a nightmare to deal with.
As Davies flew down the wing, Meunier stepped up, trying to block his path. But Davies barely hesitated, knocking the ball ahead and simply gliding past Meunier with ease. Luka winced as Meunier stumbled, barely able to recover in time to give chase. The Dortmund right-back was already looking tired, his legs sluggish as he tried to track Davies' run.
Davies, with his blistering pace, approached the byline and whipped in a low, driven cross.
Luka's heart stopped as Lewandowski made his move, feinting one way before spinning the other. Hummels, caught in the twist, lost his footing, and before anyone could react, Lewandowski had the ball at his feet. Hummels tumbled awkwardly to the ground, legs splayed in a split.
Lewandowski took one calm touch, his eyes locked on the goal. He didn't rush, didn't panic. Then, with a lethal strike, he buried the ball into the bottom corner.
The net rippled as the ball slammed into the back of the net. 1-0 to Bayern.
Luka's stomach twisted as he watched the Bayern players celebrate, Lewandowski's name echoing through the stadium as the Bayern fans erupted. Hummels, still on the ground, slammed his fist into the turf in frustration. Luka could see it in his eyes—the defeat, the embarrassment.
"Come on, Mats," Luka whispered, trying to shake off the sinking feeling. "We can come back from this."
But inside, Luka was rattled. Bayern had barely gotten out of second gear, and they were already ahead. Dortmund couldn't afford to fall apart now. Luka turned to Witsel, who was barking instructions, trying to rally the team. Jude Bellingham jogged over, his face set in determination, clapping his hands to fire up the squad.
"Keep your heads up!" Jude shouted, his voice cutting through the noise. "We're still in this!"
Luka nodded, even though his nerves were gnawing at him. He needed to step up. He needed to make something happen.
Minutes later, Bayern won a corner, and Luka dropped deep to defend. He could feel the pressure mounting, Bayern pushing for a second goal to put the game out of reach early. Kimmich stood over the corner, surveying the chaos in the box. He delivered a dangerous, curling ball toward the near post, where Lewandowski and Müller were both waiting.
Chaos ensued as bodies clashed in the air. The ball pinged around the penalty area, deflecting off knees and shins, but Dortmund managed to clear it—barely. The ball popped out to the edge of the box, where Luka was already on the move, reading the play before it even developed.
The ball came hurtling toward him, and Luka, without a second thought, flicked it up over the head of Müller, who had charged in to press him. Müller missed entirely, stumbling as Luka pulled off the audacious move. The ball dropped perfectly in front of Luka, and he was off, sprinting down the field with Bayern's midfield trailing behind him.
Kimmich and Goretzka were closing in fast, but Luka's quick acceleration gave him the edge. He glanced up, scanning the field. Bayern had left themselves exposed—only two defenders were back, and one of them was Alphonso Davies. The Canadian was fast, but Luka knew that with the right move, speed alone wouldn't be enough to stop him.
Luka pushed the ball ahead with the outside of his boot, making a beeline toward Davies, who stood like a wall between him and Bayern's goal. Davies was jockeying, waiting for Luka to make the first move. Luka could see the determination in his eyes, the sheer confidence that came from being one of the fastest players in the world.
But Luka wasn't intimidated. He'd faced fast defenders before. What mattered was outsmarting them.
As Davies lunged forward, looking to close the space, Luka could feel the Bayern fans hold their breath as the duel unfolded. Luka shifted the ball to his right, then suddenly performed a swift elastico—his body contorting like a dancer as the ball flicked through the legs of Davies.
Davies, now caught off balance, stumbled. Luka could hardly believe it as the Canadian's legs tangled beneath him, and he fell, his momentum carrying him to the ground. The crowd gasped. Luka was through.
One-on-one with Neuer.
His heart raced. He could hear the pounding of his pulse in his ears, the roar of the crowd dimming as the world seemed to slow down around him. It was just him and Neuer now.
Luka's nerves flared. His hands felt sweaty, even though he wasn't using them. He could hear his own breath, ragged and heavy, as he closed in on goal. For a split second, he considered passing it off, maybe to Haaland, who was sprinting from behind him. But the defenders would be able to get back in time, no, he had to shoot.
Neuer came off his line, crouching low, ready to make himself as big as possible. Luka's eyes flickered up, scanning the space, the angles. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but his mind was sharp now, locked in.
One last touch to set himself, and Luka slotted it low, sending the ball skimming across the turf. Neuer dove, stretching out his massive frame to try to stop it, but it was too late. The ball slipped past him and nestled into the bottom corner.
GOAL.
The stadium erupted. The Yellow Wall roared with joy, the sound a wave of relief and elation that washed over Luka. His teammates came charging toward him, their faces lit up with pure adrenaline. Jude was the first to reach him, throwing an arm around his shoulder.
"That's what I'm talking about!" Jude shouted, his voice barely audible over the crowd.
Luka, breathless and exhilarated, allowed himself a moment to soak it in. The pressure, the nerves, the tension—it all melted away as he looked up at the scoreboard. 1-1.