The crisp November air did little to cool the frustration simmering within Mateo. It was a Tuesday morning, a day like any other, yet everything felt wrong. The source of his irritation wasn't a missed pass or a tactical error, but something far more fundamental and maddening: his own clothes.
He stood in the center of the dormitory room he shared with Lukas, staring at his reflection in the wardrobe mirror with a look of profound betrayal.
The official Borussia Dortmund training shirt, once a comfortable fit, now clung to his shoulders and chest with the tenacity of a second skin.
The sleeves, which were supposed to reach his elbows, ended a good two inches short, exposing a length of forearm that seemed to have materialized overnight.
The shorts were even worse, sitting higher on his thighs than was decent for any self-respecting athlete. He looked less like a rising football star and more like a tourist who had accidentally shrunk his laundry.
