The office smelled faintly of leather and ink — the scent of business, not battle.
Julian sat across from David, pen in hand, the contract before him glowing under the white light.
The hum of the ceiling vent filled the silence — soft, clinical, steady. The kind of silence that came before a verdict.
Outside the window, Hamburg's skyline shimmered beneath a pale drizzle, glass and rain merging into silver streaks. The world looked cold, efficient, and expectant.
"Not bad, kid," David said with a grin. "You really did it. A call-up before eighteen."
Julian's lips curved faintly. "I told you I would."
David chuckled, but his tone softened as he leaned back. "The deal's set. You're officially part of the first team now. But listen — they're fighting for promotion this season. Playing time won't come easy. I can't promise minutes."
Julian looked up, eyes steady. "That's fine. I don't need promises. I'll make them regret keeping me on the bench."
