When they arrived in Berlin, they were greeted by a small but vocal group of Dortmund fans who had traveled ahead to welcome them.

The players, touched by the gesture, stopped to sign autographs and take pictures, their faces a mixture of gratitude and determination.

They were not just playing for themselves; they were playing for these people, for the thousands who would be in the stadium tomorrow, for the millions who would be watching around the world.

That night, in his hotel room, Mateo had a final video call with Isabella. She looked tired but happy, her own exams now behind her. "I'll be watching tomorrow," she said, her voice full of love and pride. "I'll be with you every step of the way. Just remember what I told you: you're ready for this. You were born for this."

He didn't need the words. He could see it in her eyes, could feel it in her voice. Her belief in him was a tangible thing, a force that gave him strength, that gave him courage, that made him feel like he could do anything.

After the call, he opened his physics textbook one last time. Not to study, but to look at the picture he kept tucked inside the front cover. It was a picture of him and his mother, taken just a few months before she had passed away.

They were in a park in Málaga, the sun shining, their faces filled with a simple, uncomplicated happiness. He missed her every day, but in moments like this, the ache was particularly sharp. He wished she could be here to see this, to share in this moment. But he knew that she was with him, that she was watching over him, that she was proud of him.

He closed the book and took a deep breath. The final exam was over. The preparation was done. The time for thinking was past. Now, it was time to play. It was time to fight. It was time to become a champion.

That night, the team gathered in a conference room in the hotel to watch the evening news. The lead story, of course, was the Bundesliga final.

The screen was filled with montages of their season, dramatic music swelling as highlights of their victories and Bayern's played out. Pundits debated their chances, their voices a cacophony of opinions and predictions.

Some praised Dortmund's heart and attacking flair, while others predicted that Bayern's experience and relentless efficiency would win out in the end.

"Look at them," Großkreutz scoffed, pointing at the screen. "They act like we're the underdogs. Like we haven't been fighting them all season."

"Let them talk," Hummels said calmly, his voice a steadying presence in the room. "It's just noise. What matters is what we do on the pitch tomorrow. Nothing else."

Mateo watched the screen, a strange sense of detachment washing over him. It was like they were talking about someone else, about a character in a movie. It was hard to reconcile the media narrative with the reality of his life: the dorm room, the physics homework, the constant ache in his ankle. The pressure was immense, but it was also abstract, a story being told by others.

Later, back in his room, the absurdity of his situation hit him full force. He was trying to understand the concept of wave-particle duality while also preparing to face a Hertha Berlin defense that would be doing everything in its power to stop him. He and Lukas were hunched over their textbooks, the silence broken only by the scratching of pens and the occasional frustrated sigh.

"Okay, I give up," Lukas said, throwing his pen down. "If light can be both a wave and a particle, then I can be both a professional footballer and a theoretical physicist. It's decided. I'm quitting football to pursue a Nobel Prize."

Mateo laughed silently, shaking his head. "I think Herr Schmidt would have something to say about that."

"Probably," Lukas admitted. "He'd probably say my understanding of physics is a black hole from which no intelligence can escape. But seriously, how do you do it? How do you switch your brain from this" he gestured to the textbook "to that?" He pointed towards the window, in the direction of the Olympiastadion.

Mateo thought for a moment, then signed. "I don't know. I just… do. They're different parts of my brain. One is about rules and logic. The other is about instinct and feeling. It's like speaking two different languages."

"Well, I'm barely fluent in one language," Lukas grumbled, picking up his pen again. "Let's just get this over with. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can go back to worrying about things I actually understand, like offside traps and zonal marking."

Their study session was interrupted by the video call from Isabella. Her face, bright and smiling, filled the laptop screen, a welcome dose of warmth and normalcy in the sterile hotel room. She had finished her last exam and was celebrating with friends, but she had stepped away to call him.

"I just wanted to see your face before tomorrow," she said, her voice soft. "And to tell you that I love you. And that no matter what happens, I am so, so proud of you."

"I love you too," he signed, his heart aching with a mixture of love and longing. "I wish you were here."

"Me too. But I'll be there in spirit. And as soon as the match is over, I'm booking a flight to Dortmund. We have a whole summer to celebrate." She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"You know, it's funny. I was so stressed about my architecture finals, about my future. But watching you, seeing everything you've been through… it puts things in perspective. My exams are important, but they're not life or death. They're just… exams. You're out there, living your dream, fighting for something you believe in. It's inspiring."

Her words were a gift, a reminder that his journey was not just his own, that it had an impact on the people he loved, that it gave them strength and perspective in their own lives. It was a responsibility, but it was also a privilege.

They talked for a little while longer, about her plans for the summer, about his hopes for the match, about the simple, everyday things that connected them across the distance. And when they finally said goodbye, Mateo felt a sense of peace that had been missing all week. The pressure was still there, the anxiety was still there. But so was the love, the support, the unwavering belief of the woman who was his anchor in the storm.

He was about to get ready for bed when there was a knock on the door. It was Sebastian Kehl, the team captain, his face serious but kind.

"Got a minute?" Kehl asked.

Mateo nodded, inviting him in. Kehl sat down on the edge of Lukas's bed, his presence filling the small room with a quiet authority.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing," he said. "I know this is a lot for a kid your age. The final match, the title on the line, the whole world watching. It's enough to make anyone nervous."

Mateo signed that he was okay, that he was focused.

"I know you are," Kehl said with a smile.

"But I also know that you're human. And it's okay to be nervous. It means you care. I've played in a lot of big matches in my career. And I can tell you one thing: the key is to not let the moment get too big. It's just another game of football. Ninety minutes, two goals, eleven players on each side. Don't think about the trophy, don't think about the fans, don't think about the media. Just think about the next pass, the next tackle, the next run. Stay in the moment. And trust your teammates. We've got your back. Always."

He stood up and patted Mateo on the shoulder. "Get some sleep, kid. We need you tomorrow."

After Kehl left, Mateo lay in bed, the captain's words echoing in his mind. Stay in the moment. Trust your teammates. It was simple advice, but it was profound. And it was exactly what he needed to hear.

He had passed his final exam in the classroom. He had the love and support of his family and friends.

He had the trust of his coach and his captain. He was as ready as he would ever be. And as he drifted off to sleep, the roar of the crowd already a distant echo in his ears, he knew that tomorrow, he would not just be playing for a title. He would be playing for everyone who had ever believed in him. And he would not let them down.

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