Monday morning, eight o’clock sharp.
The grass of the training grounds at Säbener Straße was coated in a crisp layer of white hoarfrost.
The thermometer on the brick wall of the academy building read minus three degrees Celsius, but nobody on the pitch was feeling the cold.
At the base of the artificial training incline known notoriously across Germany as the “Hill of Agony,” Felix Magath stood with his arms crossed over a black thermal coat.
At his feet sat a wooden crate packed with twenty heavy, eight-kilogram medicine balls.
“Fifty repetitions,” Magath announced, his voice slicing through the biting morning air.
“Up the hill with the ball overhead, twenty squats at the summit, sprint down in reverse.
If anyone drops the weight, the entire squad starts over from zero.”
Bastian Schweinsteiger let out a quiet, pained groan under his breath, while Lúcio and Martin Demichelis adjusted their grip on the leather medicine balls with grim determination.
Leonhard Weiss stood at the front of the line.
He hoisted the eight-kilogram ball above his head with a smooth, effortless motion.
His core muscles engaged instantly, the newly allocated Matrix essence distributing the kinetic load evenly through his thoracic spine and thighs.
When the whistle blew, Leonhard charged up the steep incline.
His footing remained planted and precise on the frozen dirt, his breathing regulated into a steady three-beat rhythm.
While several veteran players were gasping for air by the thirtieth ascent, Leonhard completed his fiftieth sprint with his shoulders back and his eyes clear.
Magath clicked his stopwatch, glancing at the fifteen-year-old for three silent seconds before giving a barely perceptible nod.
“Inside for tactical analysis,” Magath said quietly.
By Thursday afternoon, the medical staff confirmed that Roy Makaay’s knee would keep him out for another week.
On the tactical whiteboard inside the main team auditorium, Magath pinned the starting lineup for Matchday 19 against Bayer Leverkusen.
In the center of the front three, flanked by Bastian Schweinsteiger on the right and Zé Roberto on the left, sat the magnet with the bold black number: 9.
WEISS.
Michael Ballack leaned over toward Leonhard, patting the boy’s shoulder with a firm grin.
They will try to bully you off the ball within the first ten minutes.
Stay close to me on set pieces.”
“They can try,” Leonhard replied with a calm smile.
Saturday, January 28, 2006.
Three o’clock in the afternoon.
Rising like a colossal glowing vessel out of the Fröttmaning plains in northern Munich, the Allianz Arena was lit in vibrant, electric crimson against the twilight winter sky.
Sixty-six thousand supporters packed every seat of the three-tiered stadium.
The air outside was freezing, but inside the arena, the collective roar of the Bavarian faithful created an electric cauldron of heat and sound.
In the stadium concourses, thousands of fans were proudly sporting brand-new number nine shirts with the name WEISS freshly printed on the back.
Inside the home dressing room, Leonhard pulled on the red Bayern jersey, smoothing the embroidered crest over his heart.
He strapped his shin guards tight, tied the laces of his black boots, and adjusted his left wristband.
In the tunnel, the two teams lined up in parallel rows.
To Leonhard’s right stood the visiting Bayer Leverkusen squad.
At the front of their line was their Bulgarian talisman, Dimitar Berbatov, exuding his signature languid elegance while adjusting his captain’s armband.
Behind him, Brazilian international center-back Juan and veteran German enforcer Carsten Ramelow were fixing their gaze on the fifteen-year-old debutant, their eyes cold and calculating.
Oliver Kahn stepped to the head of the Bayern column, slapping his chest with his gloves and letting out a low, guttural growl that made the stadium security guards take a step back.
“Nobody takes points from our home!” Kahn bellowed down the tunnel, his voice reverberating off the concrete walls.
“Show them what happens when they step into Munich!”
The referee signaled with two fingers, and the double doors leading to the pitch swung wide open.
A wall of deafening sound crashed over them.
Sixty-six thousand voices erupted in unison as the red-and-white banners unfurled across the Sudkurve.
The stadium announcer’s voice boomed over the state-of-the-art sound system, introducing the home starting lineup one by one.
LEONHARD…”
“WEISS!” sixty-six thousand fans roared in thunderous unison, the sound vibrating deep in the chest of every player on the pitch.
Leonhard stepped out onto the pristine, heated turf of the Allianz Arena.
The vast crimson sea of supporters stretched to the heavens on all four sides.
Looking up toward the lower tier of the main grandstand, his eyes locked onto a familiar slender figure.
Clara Schneider was standing against the railing, waving the bright red Bayern scarf over her head with a radiant, breathless smile.
Beside her, Hans and Greta Weiss were clapping with hands trembling in joyous pride.
Leonhard raised his right hand slightly in their direction, acknowledging the promise.
As he took his place in the center circle, the translucent crimson text of the Sovereign Matrix illuminated his retina:
[FOOTBALL SOVEREIGN MATRIX: ALLIANZ ARENA CONQUEST]
• Match: FC Bayern München vs.
Bayer 04 Leverkusen (Matchday 19)
• Venue: Allianz Arena, Munich (66,000 Capacity — Sell Out)
• Starting Status: Center Forward (#9) — Senior Home Debut
[SOVEREIGN OBJECTIVE: ESTABLISH HOME DOMINANCE]
• Objective: Lead Bayern to victory & score at least 1 goal in home debut.
• Potential Rewards: [1x Sovereign Essence Node] + [Thunder Strike Lv.
2]
• Opponent Key Targets: Dimitar Berbatov (90 OVR) | Juan (86 DEF) | Jörg Butt (84 GK)
Across the halfway line, Dimitar Berbatov rolled the ball under his studs, waiting for the whistle.
In goal for Leverkusen, veteran keeper Jörg Butt was crouched low, clapping his gloves together.
The referee raised his whistle to his lips and blew a sharp, commanding blast.
The match was underway.