07:00 AM The morning air in Bremen carried the smell of wet oak leaves, cold river mist, and freshly cut grass.
The rain from the previous night had not completely disappeared.
Thin drops still hung from the branches surrounding Werder Bremen’s training complex, falling occasionally onto the empty pathways as the city slowly woke up.
Most people had spent the last few days talking about Agastya Kaul’s Bundesliga breakthrough.
The teenager who had entered against Schalke and changed the rhythm of the match.
The boy who had danced through Gladbach’s midfield.
The Indian youngster whose name had suddenly started appearing alongside Germany’s most exciting young talents.
But inside the walls of the training ground, nobody cared about headlines.
Here, only improvement mattered.
Agastya stepped onto Pitch 3 wearing a simple black training jacket over his kit.
His hair was still slightly damp from his morning shower, and his boots left deep marks on the heavy grass beneath him.
Waiting near the centre circle were two of the most experienced midfielders in the squad.
Philipp Bargfrede.
Thomas Delaney.
They were not there to praise him.
They were there to make him better.
Agastya looked at the small training grid marked with cones.
Ten metres by ten metres.
A simple square.
A brutal lesson waiting inside it.
Yesterday, Florian Kohfeldt had explained the purpose.
Not creativity.
Not flair.
Not another highlight moment.
Survival.
The modern attacking midfielder needed to know how to create magic.
But before that, he needed to know how to survive when opponents tried to destroy it.
The drill was named: Defensive Escape & Shielding Protocol.
The rules were simple.
Receive under pressure.
Maximum two touches.
No unnecessary risks in dangerous areas.
Use the body before using the feet.
Bargfrede picked up a ball and rolled it under his boot.
“Ready?” Agastya nodded.
The older midfielder immediately fired the pass.
It came hard.
Low.
Directly toward Agastya’s back foot.
The moment Agastya opened his body to receive, Bargfrede exploded forward.
Shoulder into shoulder.
The impact forced Agastya backwards.
The ball bounced away.
Turnover.
Bargfrede collected it calmly.
“Again.” There was no anger in his voice.
Only expectation.
Agastya walked back into position.
The second attempt was better.
The third was worse.
The fourth ended with him losing balance completely and falling onto the wet grass.
Bargfrede extended a hand and pulled him up.
“You keep thinking about escaping,” the veteran midfielder explained.
“That is your first instinct because you are gifted technically.” He pointed toward Agastya’s feet.
“But sometimes the best escape is not moving away.” He tapped Agastya’s chest.
“It is making them unable to move you.” Agastya listened carefully.
That was something he had always appreciated about German football.
Nobody cared how beautiful the solution looked.
They cared whether it worked.
For the next forty-five minutes, the drill continued.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Every mistake was repeated until it stopped being a mistake.
Bargfrede attacked his blind side.
Delaney pressed from different angles.
Sometimes they allowed him space just to punish him when he hesitated.
Sometimes they gave him no space at all.
The rain slowly became heavier.
Agastya’s training shirt was soaked beneath his jacket.
His shoulders were red from repeated contact.
But he kept going.
The boy who once spent hours alone on Kolkata streets practising first touches against walls now stood inside one of Germany’s top football facilities, learning how to survive against players built for physical battles.
The fifty-fifth repetition finally showed progress.
Delaney moved in aggressively from the left.
Six months ago, Agastya probably would have tried something spectacular.
A flick.
A turn.
A risky escape.
This time, he waited.
He lowered his centre of gravity.
Allowed Delaney to make contact.
Used his shoulder.
His hip.
His entire frame.
The defender’s momentum disappeared.
For half a second, Delaney was stuck behind him.
Agastya calmly took his second touch and played the ball into the small target net.
The ball hit the centre.
Clean.
Delaney stopped and nodded.
A small smile appeared.
“That,” he said, wiping rain from his face, “is what we want.” Agastya breathed heavily.
“Less exciting?” Delaney laughed.
“Less exciting for the defender.” Bargfrede joined in, shaking his head.
“Your highlights will come from the final third.
But your career survives because of moments like this.” Agastya looked at the cones around him.
The simple grid.
The muddy grass.
The players who were trying to break his habits before Bundesliga defenders did.
He understood.
Talent had brought him here.
Discipline would decide how far he went.
After the morning session ended, the squad moved indoors for recovery.
While most players finished stretching and headed home, Agastya stayed behind for a few minutes.
Not because someone told him to.
Because he wanted to.
He opened the small leather notebook he carried everywhere.
Inside were pages filled with observations.
Opponent movements.
Training notes.
Things Kohfeldt said.
Things Kruse mentioned.
Even small details from matches.
On one page, written after the Gladbach game, were three words: See earlier.
Decide faster.
Agastya stared at them.
The Bundesliga was moving faster every week.
His feet were already good enough.
Now his mind had to catch up.
The rest of the squad had been given the afternoon free before preparations for the upcoming away match.
For most players, that meant resting.
Sleeping.
Playing video games.
Agastya usually did something simpler.
Exploring.
Since arriving in Germany, he had always enjoyed walking through unfamiliar streets.
Maybe because everything around him was still new.
Maybe because walking gave him time to think.
Football demanded constant decisions.
Outside the pitch, he enjoyed moments where nobody expected anything from him.
That afternoon, Lukas arrived outside the training centre in his old blue Volkswagen Golf.
The car looked older than some of the players in Bremen’s academy.
The engine made a strange sound every time it started.
Agastya stared at it.
“Are you sure this thing is safe?” Lukas looked offended.
“Of course.” The car made another loud mechanical noise.
A pause followed.
Agastya raised an eyebrow.
Lukas sighed.
“Okay.
Ninety percent sure.” From the passenger seat, Jonas laughed.
“You said the same thing last winter when the heater stopped working.” “It was character building,” Lukas defended.
“It was minus five degrees,” Jonas replied.
From the back seat, Hannah and Sophie waved.
“Agastya, get in before Lukas convinces himself the car is a historic monument.” Agastya laughed and opened the door.
For a player whose name had started appearing on television screens, this felt strangely normal.
No cameras.
No questions.
Just friends arguing about an old car.
And somehow, that was exactly what he needed.
The highway stretched endlessly ahead.
Outside the window, Germany unfolded quietly.
Green fields.
Wind turbines.
Small villages with red-roofed houses.
Agastya rested his head against the glass, watching everything pass.
“You always do that,” Hannah noticed.
“Do what?” “Look outside like you’re watching a movie.” Agastya smiled.
“I didn’t grow up around this.” He looked at the passing countryside.
“In Kolkata everything feels alive all the time.
Cars, people, noise.
Here it is quieter.” Sophie smiled.
“And you like quiet?” “Most of the time.” Jonas looked back from the front seat.
“Most footballers would say they enjoy fame.” Agastya shrugged.
“I enjoy football.
The other things are just attached to it.” Nobody mocked him.
Because they knew he meant it.
After nearly two hours, the group reached Lübeck.
The ancient Holstentor stood proudly in front of them, its massive brick walls surviving centuries of history.
Agastya stopped beneath the towering structure.
For a moment, he simply looked upward.
Sophie noticed.
“You have that expression again.” “What expression?” “The one where you look like you’re about to write a philosophy book.” Agastya laughed.
“I am just thinking.” “About?” He touched the old brick wall lightly.
“How many people have walked here before us.
Kings, merchants, travellers.
Everyone thought their problems were the biggest thing in the world.” He smiled.
“And now we are standing here arguing about whether Lukas’ car will survive the journey home.” The group burst into laughter.
Even Lukas had to admit that was fair.
The first thing Agastya noticed about Lübeck was that the city did not seem to hurry.
Bremen had a rhythm built around football.
Even when there was no match, the city carried the presence of Werder.
Green scarves hanging outside cafés, discussions about weekend fixtures at bakeries, old supporters debating tactics on street corners.
Lübeck felt different.
The old Hanseatic city seemed to exist outside time.
The narrow cobblestone streets, the red-brick buildings, and the ancient walls carried centuries of history without needing to announce it.
There was no noise demanding attention.
For Agastya, that was strangely comforting.
For the first time in days, nobody was asking about his debut.
Nobody wanted to know about the assist against Schalke.
Nobody wanted his opinion on whether he was the next big Bundesliga prospect.
He was just Agastya.
A seventeen-year-old walking through an unfamiliar city with his friends.
And he appreciated that more than he expected.
The group walked beneath the massive Holstentor, the famous medieval gate that had guarded Lübeck for hundreds of years.
Agastya slowed down slightly, looking upward at the old brick towers.
The others noticed.
They had become used to this habit of his.
Whenever they visited somewhere historical, Agastya always stopped.
He looked.
He thought.
Sometimes he touched the walls as if trying to understand how much history they had witnessed.
Sophie smiled while watching him.
“You always do that whenever we visit an old place.
You disappear into your own world for a few minutes.” Agastya looked back at her, slightly amused.
“I don’t disappear.” Jonas immediately laughed.
“You absolutely do.
Yesterday at the training ground, everyone was leaving and you were standing near the pitch staring at the grass like it had given you a life lesson.” Agastya shook his head.
“I was thinking about my first touch.” “That is exactly what I mean,” Lukas replied from ahead of them.
“Normal people look at grass and think, ‘nice field.’ You look at grass and probably calculate ball speed after rainfall.” Agastya smiled.
“That is not true.” The group looked at him.
He paused.
“Okay, maybe a little.” Everyone laughed.
They continued walking through the old streets, passing small shops, quiet courtyards, and cafés decorated with autumn flowers.
Lukas suddenly stopped in front of a small antique store.
The others immediately became suspicious.
Agastya noticed their expressions.
“What happened?” Jonas sighed.
“Nothing happened yet.” “Yet?” “Whenever Lukas stops like this, it means we are about to spend twenty minutes listening to him explain why something random is historically important.” Lukas looked offended.
“It is not random.” He pointed toward an old wooden ship model displayed in the window.
“That represents Lübeck’s maritime history.” Hannah crossed her arms.
“Last week you told us your broken Volkswagen represented German automotive history.” Lukas defended himself immediately.
“Because it does.” “The engine makes strange noises.” “That is character.” “It failed to start before training.” “That is personality.” Agastya covered his mouth, trying to hide his laughter.
Lukas noticed.
“You too?” Agastya finally gave up and laughed.
“I am sorry.
I just never thought I would hear someone describe a damaged car like an old football legend.” Jonas nodded seriously.
“Exactly.
Next month he will give the car a farewell ceremony.” “I would never do that.” Everyone looked at him.
Lukas hesitated.
“…Unless it deserved one.” The laughter continued as they walked away.
Later, they reached the banks of the Trave River.
The water moved slowly beneath the grey afternoon sky.
The group sat on a wooden bench, watching boats pass through the distance.
For several minutes, nobody spoke.
It was comfortable silence.
Something Agastya had always valued.
Eventually, Hannah looked toward him.
“You know something?” Agastya turned.
“What?” “I think this is the first time I have seen you actually relax since you came into the first team.” Agastya smiled slightly.
“Maybe.” “Most players would be celebrating after what happened.
Interviews, attention, social media.
You barely talk about it.” Agastya looked toward the river.
“I enjoy playing football.” He paused.
“But everything around football is complicated.” Jonas nodded.
“Because people start expecting things.” “Exactly.” Agastya leaned back.
“When you are unknown, nobody cares if you make mistakes.
When people start noticing you, every mistake becomes a discussion.” He looked down at his hands.
“I know that is part of football.
I am not complaining.
Playing in the Bundesliga is something I dreamed about.
But I also know I am still learning.” Sophie smiled.
“That is probably why Kohfeldt trusts you.” Agastya looked curious.
“Why?” “Because you don’t act like you have already arrived.” He thought about that.
Then smiled.
“I haven’t.” Jonas laughed.
“That answer was too serious.” Agastya looked confused.
“What?” “You just gave the perfect humble footballer answer.” “I was being honest.” “That makes it worse.” Agastya laughed quietly.
“Maybe I need better answers.” “No,” Hannah replied.
“Keep those.
Just occasionally remember you are allowed to enjoy things.” Agastya nodded.
“I am trying.” And he meant it.
Near St.
Mary’s Church, they entered a small traditional café.
The warmth inside immediately felt like a different world.
Outside, the cold wind moved through the streets.
Inside, the smell of coffee, baked bread, and sweet pastries filled the room.
They ordered Lübeck marzipan, hot cider, and pretzels.
Agastya looked suspiciously at the marzipan.
Sophie noticed.
“Why are you looking at it like it is an opponent?” “Because nobody has explained what it is.” “It is a famous local sweet.” Agastya took a small bite.
Everyone waited for his reaction.
He remained completely expressionless.
Lukas leaned forward.
“That is worrying.” Agastya took another bite.
Then finally nodded.
“It is good.” The table relaxed.
“But…” Everyone groaned.
“Here comes the comparison.” Agastya smiled.
“Indian sweets are still better.” Jonas laughed.
“You were here for five minutes and already started defending Indian food.” “Because it deserves defending.” “Have you even tried every German dessert?” “No.” “Then how can you decide?” Agastya calmly picked up another piece of marzipan.
“Because I have experience with Indian sweets.” Everyone stared.
Lukas pointed at him.
“That is the most confident thing you have said all day.” Agastya smiled.
“Food is serious.” The afternoon continued without any plans.
They talked about childhood memories, travel dreams, music, and football.
Not transfers.
Not headlines.
Not expectations.
Just normal things.
And for Agastya, that normality felt valuable.
Because football had suddenly made his world much larger.
But moments like these reminded him not to lose the smaller things.
The sun had already begun disappearing behind the old brick buildings when the group reached the river docks.
The cold air carried the smell of water and wood, while small boats moved gently along the Trave.
Lukas immediately pointed toward a rowboat rental stand.
“We should do that.” Everyone looked at him.
Jonas narrowed his eyes.
“Why do I feel like this is going to end badly?” “Because you have no faith in my abilities.” “Last time you said that, you tried fixing your bicycle and somehow created three extra problems.” Lukas ignored the comment.
“A peaceful boat ride.
Beautiful scenery.
No football discussions.
Perfect afternoon.” Agastya looked at the calm water.
“It actually sounds nice.” Hannah smiled.
“Good.
Then we have someone responsible with us.” Everyone immediately looked at Agastya.
He noticed.
“Why is everyone looking at me?” Sophie laughed.
“Because you are the only person here who looks like he can actually control something.” Agastya looked toward Lukas and Jonas.
“That is not a very high standard.” The two midfielders immediately protested.
“We are perfectly capable.” “Of course,” Hannah replied.
“That is why we are giving you the easier task of not sinking.” The first five minutes went exactly as expected.
Badly.
Lukas and Jonas sat opposite each other with the oars.
The boat moved forward.
Then sideways.
Then somehow backwards.
Agastya watched silently from the back.
Jonas frowned.
“I don’t understand.” Lukas looked annoyed.
“We are rowing correctly.” “Then why are we going in circles?” “Because the river is difficult.” Agastya looked at the water.
“The river is completely calm.” Lukas immediately pointed at him.
“See?
You are already taking the river’s side.” Agastya laughed.
“I didn’t know rivers had teams.” Hannah was trying desperately not to laugh.
After another unsuccessful attempt, the boat turned sharply and splashed water onto Jonas’s jacket.
Everyone froze.
Jonas slowly looked down.
“My jacket.” Lukas tried to remain serious.
“It is only water.” “It is freezing water.” “Still water.” Jonas stared at him.
“You are not helping your argument.” Agastya finally laughed openly.
It was rare enough that everyone noticed.
Sophie smiled.
“There it is.” Agastya looked confused.
“What?” “You actually laughing without trying to control it.” He shook his head.
“You all make me sound like some serious old man.” Jonas pointed at him.
“You analyse your own training videos after dinner.” “That is different.” “You carry a notebook everywhere.” “That is useful.” “You once wrote down how different defenders approach tackles.” Agastya paused.
“…That was useful.” Everyone laughed again.
Eventually, Agastya took the oars.
The difference was immediate.
His movements were controlled and balanced.
Years of playing football had given him an unusual understanding of rhythm and body coordination.
The same patience he used while controlling the tempo of a match appeared in the small wooden boat.
The boat moved smoothly along the river.
Lukas stared.
“I refuse to accept this.” Agastya looked back.
“Accept what?” “You can play football, understand history, speak three languages, and now you can apparently operate a boat.” Jonas leaned back.
“At this point, I think he is hiding something.” Agastya smiled.
“I am not.” “Everyone says that before revealing something strange.” “Like what?” Lukas thought for a moment.
“Maybe you secretly know how to fly a plane.” Agastya laughed.
“No.” “Good.” “Not yet.” Everyone became silent.
Then Hannah threw a small piece of bread at him.
“Do not encourage him.” The group ended their day beneath the streets of Lübeck in a traditional cellar restaurant.
The stone walls, wooden tables, and warm candlelight created an atmosphere that felt centuries away from modern football.
They ordered potato soup, dark bread, and local dishes.
The conversation moved naturally.
They talked about school.
Academy memories.
The strange habits of different footballers.
Eventually, Lukas brought up the topic everyone had been avoiding.
The attention around Agastya.
“You know the newspapers are going crazy, right?” Agastya looked up from his soup.
“I know.” “Does it feel strange?” He considered the question.
“It does.” Everyone listened.
“Two weeks ago, most people outside Bremen had no idea who I was.
Now every mistake I make will be compared to the good moments.” Jonas nodded.
“That is football.” “Yes.” Agastya smiled slightly.
“But I don’t want to spend every day thinking about what people expect.
I still have training tomorrow.
I still have things I need to improve.” Sophie smiled.
“That sounds exactly like something your coach would say.” Agastya laughed.
“Probably because he says it every day.” The drive back was quieter.
Not because anyone was tired of each other.
Because everyone was comfortable.
The highway lights passed across the windows as Bremen slowly approached.
Agastya rested his head against the glass, watching the countryside disappear into darkness.
For a brief moment, he thought about how strange life had become.
A few years ago, he was a teenager in Kolkata dreaming about European football.
Now he was travelling across Germany with friends after making his Bundesliga debut.
But he also knew something important.
The difficult part had not started yet.
One good performance could create attention.
But consistency created careers.
The calm of Lübeck disappeared quickly.
Football returned.
And football never waited.
Outside the Werder Bremen training centre, cameras had become a regular sight.
Journalists from German newspapers waited near the entrance.
Indian media outlets had started following every update.
Agastya’s name was no longer only known inside the academy.
But inside the club, nothing changed.
At least not from Kohfeldt’s perspective.
The manager made sure the teenager understood that attention meant nothing once the next match arrived.
During tactical analysis, Kohfeldt paused the highlight videos from Schalke and Gladbach.
Instead, he loaded footage of 1.
FC Köln.
The room became quiet.
On the screen appeared Salih Özcan stepping aggressively into midfield battles.
Then Dominique Heintz winning aerial duels.
Then Köln compressing space between the lines.
Kohfeldt looked around the room.
“This is what happens after a player has a good match,” he said.
“The opponent studies you.” The coach stopped the video.
“They know Agastya likes receiving between the lines.
They know he wants to turn.
They know he wants runners beyond the defence.” He looked directly at him.
“So they will try to remove those options.” Agastya nodded.
“What do they want me to do?” Kohfeldt pointed toward the tactical board.
“Think faster.” He drew a simple movement pattern.
“Against Gladbach, you had moments where your ability solved problems.
Against Köln, your intelligence has to solve them before they appear.” Agastya studied the board carefully.
Kohfeldt continued.
“You don’t need to prove you can beat three players.
Everyone knows you can create moments.
The next step is showing you can control matches when the opponent refuses to let you play.” The words stayed with Agastya.
Because that was the challenge.
Not becoming famous.
Not becoming a highlight.
Becoming reliable.
On Saturday morning, the Werder team bus arrived in Cologne.
The RheinEnergieStadion stood ahead, surrounded by thousands of red-and-white supporters.
Agastya looked through the window.
The roar from outside already felt different.
Max Kruse noticed his expression.
“You are studying the stadium again, aren’t you?” Agastya smiled.
“I have never been here before.” Kruse shook his head.
“You can admire the cathedral later.
Right now, focus on the forty-eight thousand people who want you to have the worst match of your life.” Agastya laughed quietly.
“That is a very welcoming way to introduce a city.” Kruse smiled.
“Welcome to Bundesliga away games.” Inside the dressing room, Kohfeldt gathered the squad.
The atmosphere was serious.
No celebration.
No discussion about headlines.
Only preparation.
Agastya pulled on his number 11 shirt and looked at the badge on his chest.
Another stadium.
Another challenge.
Another opportunity.
The noise outside grew louder.
But this time, he was ready for it.
The next test was waiting.