The euphoria of the Wolfsburg victory, with its spectacular free-kick and the promise of a deep cup run, had carried Mateo through the initial hours of post-match celebration.
But as the adrenaline faded and the quiet reality of his apartment replaced the roar of Signal Iduna Park, a different kind of tension began to settle in one that had nothing to do with football and everything to do with the 1,500 kilometers separating him from Isabella.
Their scheduled video call that evening began with the usual warmth, her face appearing on his laptop screen like a beacon of normalcy in his increasingly surreal life.
She congratulated him on the victory, her praise genuine and her excitement infectious. But as the conversation shifted from the match to their respective lives, a subtle but unmistakable distance began to creep into their interaction.
