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[2021-05-15 | Stadion an der Alten Försterei, Leipzig, Berlin | 15:30 CET]

[FT: Union Berlin 0-2 Bayer 04 Leverkusen]

*Fweet, FWEEET, FWEEEEEEET!*

"They have done Leverkusen are Bundesliga champions." Derek Rae animatedly said as the final whistle fell. "We saw them lift the DFB-Pokal just three days ago, and now they’ve completed the domestic double! For the first time in their 117-year history, Bayer Leverkusen are champions of Germany!"

"Exceptional Performance," Stewart Robson added, his voice tinged with awe at witnessing yet another moment of history. "They came, they saw, and they conquered. No one will be able to argue that this year belongs to them."

The away section erupted, the travelling fans on their feet, scarves held high, voices cracking as they sang. Smoke flares ignited, red and black plumes rising into the Berlin night sky. On the pitch, the reactions were scattered with more players than three days ago, flooding the field in celebration.

Rakim, dressed in the team’s tracksuit, joined Wirtz in walking around the pitch as the latter hobbled along in his crutches. For obvious reasons, Florian hadn’t been picked, and Rakim, along with the 1st string players, were rested in the reserve. Despite having two weeks of time to prepare for Chelsea, Bosz wasn’t taking any risks and tried to give them as much rest as possible.

"Bro, you reckon we will get a mural at the club after this season?" Rakim suddenly asked, slinging an arm around Witz. "Like, surely we exceeded all expectations, Genghis Khan, who went from bringing peace to his homeland to bringing it to everyone else."

"What are you even on? Genghis Khan was a warlord," Wirtz retorted, flicking his arm off him. "We might get a picture at best, oh, and a parade."

"Name me a successful country that didn’t start because of a warlord, plus compared to them the man was quite humane and accepting, just ask Marco Polo," he retorted with a kiss of his teeth. "Still, we should at least get a team dinner at Ox & Klee."

"Marco Polo, the Netflix show, isn’t based on real events. Ever heard of artistic liberty?" He snorted for some reason unwilling to let that point rest. "And Ox&Klee is like 250 a plate minimum, no way you can convince the gaffer to spring for a hundred members."

"We’ll just go to his boss, Simon, and if that doesn’t work, we’ll hit up the Bayer Chairman." He naturally responded with a shrug. "Oh, and I wouldn’t quite call historical text artistic liberty. Genghis was a Dog."

"You’re insane," Wirtz muttered, shaking his head. "But I’m not complaining if we actually get that dinner."

"Bet," Rakim said, grinning. "Two weeks from now, we’ll be Champions League winners too. Then they’ll have no choice but to feed us properly."

"*If* we beat Chelsea," Wirtz corrected, his tone sobering slightly. "That’s not guaranteed."

"Mate," Rakim said, stopping and turning to face him. "We just won the Bundesliga. We beat Bayern at their own stadium, knocked out PSG, and we’re going to Porto. Why go all the way there and not bring that trophy home? Just focus on getting better and Trust."

Wirtz stared at him for a moment, then cracked a smile. "Alright. I trust."

They continued walking toward the centre of the pitch, where the rest of the squad had gathered in a massive huddle. Players still in full kit, soaked with sweat and champagne, surrounded those in tracksuits. Lars stood in the middle, the captain’s armband still fastened to his bicep, as they took a group selfie.

~~~

A small stand with the Bundesliga plate was placed at the centre spot, its silver metal gleaming under the afternoon sun. There wasn’t a big ceremony like the DFB Cup, but none of the players cared, as they eagerly received their medals from the league officials. They gathered behind the short podium, eager to get their hands on the Meisterschale as they waited for Lars to lift the plate.

"Twelve years of service, 341 appearances captained for five seasons, and he is finally lifting the trophy that has eluded him." Derek Rae spoke in an animated tone as they watched Lars proudly step behind the Meisterschale. "Lars Bender—a Leverkusen man through and through. What a moment for him."

"Absolutely deserved," Robson added. "He’s been the heartbeat of this team for over a decade. To see him finally get his hands on the Bundesliga title—it’s poetic."

Lars gripped both sides of the silver plate, his knuckles white from the pressure. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at it, his expression softening as his eyes misted. He blinked once before stepping to the side of the podium and bending down slightly, "OooooooooHHHHH" The players behind him shouted in turn as he lifted the plate in one fell swoop.

The moment the Meisterschale rose above his head, the team erupted. Despite the lack of confetti cannons decorating the sky above them, the fans in the stands and the players jumped for joy. "We are the cannons CHAMPIONS!" The chant erupted from the Leverkusen contingent as Lars held the Meisterschale high, his arms trembling slightly from the weight and emotion.

His twin brother, Sven, appeared beside him, grabbed one side of the trophy, and together they lifted it higher. The Bender twins held the Meisterschale together, sharing in the moment as the away section vocalised their support. "CHAMPIONS! CHAMPIONS! ¡OLÉ, OLÉ, OLÉ!" Lars finally lowered the trophy and passed it to Charles.

After raising the trophy for the umpteenth time and controlling the crowd’s cheers with its height, the players began running around the field with it, showing it off to the fans. It was a reward for the fans who had made the effort to travel out to be a part of this moment. Many more would be watching from behind the screens and even outside, and would only get to see the trophy at the winners’ parade when the team activities ended.

But for the few thousand fans in attendance, they would get to see the trophy up close on the night the trophy was claimed. This experience, if you asked any true fan, was priceless, something that long-time fans like those of Leverkusen had dreamt of, yearned for, and even sacrificed for. As football fans, it was easy to chase your favourite player and support their team when they were achieving glory.

However, only a few club fans know what it is to be hopeful before a season, only to come to terms with the fact it won’t be your year in December. Or get so close to tasting the sweet taste of victory, only to lose it in the last few matches. Fans like that are worth their weight in gold and silver, and players yearned for the days when they could meet their expectations.

The reporter’s camera lights never stopped flashing, as if they had been set to a timer, trying to capture the best angle. And players, not trusting the professionals, pulled out their own phones and took pictures or recorded the memory themselves. Some even went live on social media or FaceTimed their significant others who couldn’t be there.

Rakim had gotten hold of the Leverkusen flag and draped it over his shoulders, using it to wipe tears that involuntarily escaped his eyes. He took a seat outside the penalty box, watching his teammates eagerly meet the request of the fans. The flag draped over his back looked like an ornate cape accentuating his figure, and a certain reporter took the chance to snap a picture of this scene with the fans in the background.

Not knowing that a photo he would later pay a pretty penny to acquire had been taken, he answered the FaceTime call, smiling at the figure on the other end. His phone screen illuminated his face as May’s image appeared, her peach-blonde hair neatly styled, professional makeup accentuating her enchanting green eyes.

"Hey, Babe, how’s your day going?" he asked, his voice slightly hoarse from shouting.

Her red lips curved upward into a bright smile as she placed her phone in a holder, adjusting it to show more of her figure. She was dressed in a champagne-colored satin slip dress that caught the studio lights beautifully. The fabric draped elegantly over her frame, thin straps resting delicately on her shoulders, the low cowl neckline sitting perfectly against her collarbone.

"How’s *my* day?" She chuckled, shaking her head slightly. "Babe, you just won the Bundesliga! The *Bundesliga*! And you’re asking about my day?"

"Just another Saturday at this point!" He nonchalantly responded, scratching his chin, trying to hide his smug smile.

"Your eyes are red. Did you cry for joy? Awe, that’s cute, babe!" She commented, her expression noticeably softening, not even acknowledging his brag. "OMG, Anna, come see the mighty Rakim is crying out for joy."

"Oi, stop that."

"No, babe, don’t be shy, crying is manly."

"Ehm, I think they’re calling me. I should probably go take some pictures or something."

"You really want your puffy eyes on people’s selfies?"

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To Be Continued...