Feverous chants resounded through the air as the Dortmund team bus wound its way through the fan laden streets of North Rhine-Westphalia. Weekends were always lively in Dortmund, however the city seemed to took on a new thrill as Dortmund fans, young and old alike raved, chanting and cheering with glee. Such was the mood after witnessing their team comprehensively trash Hoffenheim at their own home stadium.
But that wasn't the only reason.
Bayern had been bulldozing past teams so farm, steadily holding onto their position atop the table. Yet, to the satisfaction of Bundesliga fanatics who all wanted to see Bayern descend, baring the Bavarian team's own supporters, Bayern had finally faltered with a shocking defeat against VfL Bochum who sat 16th in the Bundesliga table. Coupled with successive draws against Augsburg and Leipzig the gap between first and second place had finally narrowed.
Dortmund were now 4 points behind Bayern. Though Bayern had a game in hand, which meant that they had to lose their match this evening in order to solidify that 4 point gap.
With their win against Hoffenheim, Dortmund had officially completed their January Bundesliga fixtures. Bayern on the other hand had one more foe to face and the nature of that club was the sole reason why the city of Dortmund was in such good cheer.
Bayer Leverkusen.
While the city hummed energy, inside the team bus the soothing backdrop of 505 by Arctic Monkeys played through Luka's headphones. His leg was propped up on the empty seat in front of him, ice pack carefully positioned after being on the receiving end of a number of 'poor' tackles from the Hoffenheim defenders. The victory still felt fresh, but now all eyes were on another match entirely.
"Oi, what's with that wrist position? Looking a bit pizzazz there, mate," Jude called out from across the aisle, mimicking Luka's relaxed pose with exaggerated flair.
Manuel Akanji's deep laugh rang out. "Man's thinking he's in a Renaissance painting or something."
"Nah, that's his Olivia Rodrigo pose," Gio chimed in without looking up from his laptop, where he was undoubtedly playing Football Manager.
Luka just shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips as he adjusted his position. "At least I don't spend my bus rides pretending to be Alex Ferguson."
"Hey, I'll have you know my Grimsby Town team is currently top of the Championship," Gio protested, finally glancing up from his screen.
Luka stiffled a laugh. "Can't win a championship in the table tennis room so you're restoring to Football Manager now, are you?"
"Speaking of championships," Malen said, cutting Gio's shot back dead, "that nutmeg you pulled off today, Luka – pure filth, man."
"Which one?" Jude grinned. "The one where he sent that defender for a hot dog, or when he had Vogt doing the splits?"
"Both were decent," Luka shrugged, though his eyes sparkled with pride. "But that volley from Ryerson, though..."
"First game and man's already trying to win Puskas," Malen laughed. "Julian, you been practicing that in secret or what?"
Ryerson, a few seats ahead, turned around with a sheepish grin. "Pure instinct, I swear. Though don't expect me to do it again anytime soon."
A sudden commotion drew everyone's attention to the front of the bus where Reus was gesturing animatedly at the tablet in his hands. "Guys, Leverkusen just won a corner!"
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Headphones came off, conversations halted, and all eyes turned toward their captain. Luka sat up straighter, Arctic Monkeys forgotten.
"Wait, hollon," Jude said, leaning forward. "Turn up the volume, let's hear this."
The commentator's voice crackled through Reus's tablet: "Wirtz with the corner... swinging in... SCHICK IS THERE! HEADER TOWARDS GOAL..."
The entire bus erupted in cheers before the ball had even crossed the line. Jude was already on his feet, fist pumping the air. "GET IN! Come on, you beautiful Czech bastard!"
But Luka noticed something in the replay. "Wait, wait – he's offside..."
The celebration died down as the VAR check began. The tension in the bus was palpable as they watched the lines being drawn. When the referee's whistle finally blew, signaling the goal had been chalked off, a collective groan filled the vehicle.
"Typical Bayern luck," Malen muttered, slumping back in his seat.
"Still plenty of time," Reus called out, ever the optimist. "They're playing well."
Luka leaned back, thoughts drifting. Leverkusen weren't pushovers, true, but they weren't yet the force they could become. Still, on their day...
A paper airplane soared past his head, interrupting his musings. "Who threw that?" Jude demanded, already reaching for his water bottle in mock threat.
"Wasn't me," Gio said quickly, though his poorly suppressed grin suggested otherwise. "Must've been Dahoud."
"Right, blame the injured guy," Mo shot back from the back of the bus. "I'm literally wearing a sling!"
The bus erupted again as the Bayern match played out on various screens and devices. "Oh for fuck's sake," Jude groaned as Lewandowski slotted home Bayern's first. "Course it had to be him."
"Phenomenal guy isn't he, can't believe you all let him go," Malen muttered.
"Let him go?" Mo laughed from the back. "Man was practically already wearing their jersey while still playing for Dortmund!"
A sudden roar from Marco's tablet cut through the dejected atmosphere. "DIABY! WHAT A STRIKE!" the commentator bellowed.
The bus exploded into chaos. Jude practically leaped across the aisle, shaking Luka's shoulders. "They're actually doing it!"
"Jude- Jude- my ice pack, bro!" Luka protested, scrambling to keep the pack from sliding off his leg.
The commotion paused briefly as several heads turned toward him. Reyna's grin was particularly wide. "Hey Luka, say 'bro' again."
"What? Why?"
"Just say it, man!"
Luka raised an eyebrow but complied. "Bro?"
The bus erupted in laughter. "One more time, but say 'bro are you nuts'!" Akanji called out, wiping tears from his eyes.
"Bro, are you nuts?" Luka repeated, completely bewildered by their reaction.
"Nah, this is mad innit?" Jude wheezed. "Man's starting to sound exactly like Jadon when he was speaking English with a German accent."
"Hey atleast my German is not bad," Luka protested, but he was grinning too.
"How's it coming along anyway?" Guerreiro asked from his seat, where he was attempting to balance a water bottle on his forehead.
"Pretty good now, honestly. Better than some people," Luka shot a pointed look at Jude.
"Was willst du damit sagen?" Reus called out playfully.
"Ich sage nur, dass manche Leute hier..." Luka began, but was cut off by another explosion of noise from the screens.
"WIRTZ! LEVERKUSEN HAVE DONE IT AGAIN!" The commentator's voice barely carried over the cheering in the bus. "TWO GOALS IN TWO MINUTES!"
This time Jude actually did knock Luka's ice pack off, but neither of them cared. The entire bus was on their feet, even Mo with his sling was jumping up and down.
"Oi, careful!" their driver called back, though he was smiling too.
"Sorry, Klaus!" several voices chorused.
"Speaking of German," Jude said as they settled back down, still buzzing with energy, "I'll have you know I'm actually decent now."
"Oh yeah?" Luka challenged. "Go on then."
"Ich bin... er..." Jude's face scrunched up in concentration. "Ein Fußballspieler?"
The bus dissolved into laughter again. "Mate, that's literally the first thing they teach you in football German 101," Reyna called out, finally closing his laptop after what appeared to be a devastating FM loss.
"Still better than your Spanish," Jude shot back.
"Hey, I lived in Spain!"
"Yeah, and all you learned was 'una cerveza, por favor'!"
Their banter was interrupted by a collective groan as Leverkusen's goalkeeper made a spectacular save to deny Müller.
"Look at Wirtz," Jude pointed, leaning forward, nearly knocking over a water bottle balanced precariously on the seat next to him. "That kid's got vision. He's threading passes through Bayern's midfield like they're not even there."
"Not like Reyna over here, did you lot see his through balls today?" Malen cut in, grinning. "Ah man, atleast Luka was getting on the end of those to chop up Vogt."
"Did you have to bring that up again?" Luka asked, shaking his head but smiling. "He'll probably hunt me down next time we play them."
"Let him try," Jude said, leaning back smugly. "We'll back you, mate."
"Sure," Luka replied dryly. "Because you're known for your tackling."
Their banter was interrupted by the commentator's voice echoing from Reus's tablet: "Kimmich spreads it wide to Sané... Bayern looking to build again..."
"Here we go," Malen muttered, adjusting his seat as the tension in the bus rose once more.
The play unfolded with true precision. Sané danced down the left flank, his touch soft as silk, drawing two defenders before flicking the ball back to Davies. The Canadian darted forward and squared it to Kimmich at the edge of the box.
Kimmich didn't hesitate. His shot was low, hard, slipping through a crowd of legs and nestling into the bottom corner.
The Dortmund bus erupted in groans and curses.
"Are you kidding me?" Jude threw his hands up. "That guy doesn't miss, does he?"
"Never does against us, either," Mo Dahoud muttered from the back, shaking his head.
Malen leaned closer to Reus's tablet, scrutinizing the replay. "Why didn't the defender close him down? Look, he's just standing there!"
"Easy to say from here," Akanji countered. "Kimmich doesn't give you time to think. Guy's a machine."
Luka stayed quiet, his eyes fixed on the screen. He watched as Leverkusen reset, their players visibly deflated but still pressing forward. He admired their tenacity, the way they refused to give Bayern any breathing room.
It was inspiring in a way, but Luka found himself growing frustrated as he watched one particular sequence. Diaby received the ball on the left, his marker shadowing him closely. Instead of cutting inside, where the space opened up, he sprinted down the wing, straight into the path of Kimmich and Goretzka.
"Come on," Luka muttered under his breath, leaning forward. "Why didn't he go inside? He had space to drive toward the box, maybe do a few stepovers, cut across, then shoot or pass. Running into Kimmich is just—"
"Talking to yourself now, Luka?" Jude interrupted, grinning.
Luka blinked, realizing he'd spoken louder than intended. "Just... analyzing," he said quickly, brushing it off.
"Analyzing," Malen repeated, smirking. "Not everyone can dribble around defenders like a Ballerina."
Despite Bayern's equalizer, Leverkusen didn't fold. If anything, they seemed galvanized, their press growing more aggressive with each passing minute. Every time Bayern tried to build from the back, Leverkusen swarmed them, forcing hurried passes and sloppy turnovers.
"Look at how they're pressing," Luka said aloud, unable to contain his thoughts. "They're not giving Bayern an inch. Every time Neuer rolls it out, there are three players on the ball within seconds."
"Yeah, but can they keep it up?" Reus mused, his voice tinged with doubt. "Pressing like that takes a toll. One mistake, and Bayern will punish them."
"Maybe," Luka said, his tone thoughtful. "But they're showing something. Belief. They're not afraid to take risks, even against Bayern."
The bus grew quieter as the final minutes ticked down. Even Gio paused his FM save, his laptop forgotten as everyone focused on the screen.
In the 89th minute, chaos erupted. Leverkusen won the ball deep in their half and launched a long pass upfield. Schick chased it down, his physicality forcing Upamecano into an awkward clearance. The ball ricocheted back into the box, where chaos reigned.
Diably stepped forward, his intent clear as he volleyed the ball, but Müller intercepted, only for the ball to bounce to Andrich. The ball pinged around like a pinball, neither side able to gain control.
Then it fell to Diaby once again.
The angle was tight, almost impossible, but the Frenchman didn't hesitate. He struck it low, the ball skimming past Neuer's outstretched foot and into the far corner.
The commentator's voice cracked with excitement: "Diaby... DIABY! Leverkusen have stolen it at the death!"
The Dortmund bus exploded.
"YES! YES! YOU BEAUTY!" Jude roared, grabbing Luka's shoulders and shaking him.
"Alright, alright!" Luka laughed, swatting Jude's hands away.
Reus turned up the volume, replaying the goal as the bus filled with cheers and laughter. Even the driver, Klaus, honked the horn in celebration, much to the delight of passing fans who waved Dortmund scarves.
As the bus began to settle, Luka leaned back in his seat, a small smile on his lips. Leverkusen's fight had been incredible to watch, but it was their courage—their refusal to bow to Bayern—that resonated most deeply with him.
"That's how you do it," he murmured to himself, the hum of the bus almost drowning out his words.
"What's that?" Jude asked, still buzzing with energy.
"Nothing," Luka said, though his mind was already turning. If Leverkusen could topple Bayern, then why couldn't Dortmund?
They had the talent, the passion. All they needed was the belief.