Julian stepped through the entrance—
and the world of Hamburger SV opened around him.
The HSV Campus swallowed him whole.
Inside, the air carried a mix of scents—fresh turf, laundry soap, and the faint steam of morning als drifting from the cafeteria. The lobby glead, minimalist yet alive: white walls, clean lines, sunlight pouring through tall glass panes that stretched across the entire front of the building.
To his left, a corridor branched off toward classrooms and analysis rooms, each door marked with sleek silver naplates. Inside, glimpses of screens, diagrams, and tactics boards hinted at the strategic backbone of the academy.
To his right, through a wall of clear glass, he caught sight of the gym—
racks of weights lined in symtry, treadmills humming in rhythm, balance stations arranged with surgical precision.
A handful of academy players moved through their drills in silence—bodies balanced, breathing sharp, every motion asured and deliberate.
Their focus filled the air, a pressure he could almost touch.
Discipline lived here—woven into the walls, the routines, the very breath of the place.
Farther down, voices carried from the canteen—the tallic clatter of trays, laughter breaking through in sudden bursts.
Above, a stairway curved upward, leading toward dormitories where narrow windows shone like watchful eyes.
Everything was modern. Efficient. Almost clinical.
Yet beneath that polish, Julian could feel sothing deeper—
a pulse.
The heartbeat of ambition.
Of players who had left hos, families, and comfort behind to chase the sa dream.
Every hallway whispered the sa truth: If you falter here, you’re replaced.
David’s voice cut through his thoughts. "Julian, this way."
He followed, Crest walking silently beside him, her gaze sweeping the facility with quiet scrutiny.
They moved deeper into the building—past the analysis rooms, past the academy board lined with frad jerseys of players who had risen to the senior squad.
Julian’s eyes lingered on those nas.
Each one represented soone who survived the grind.
Who fought for every inch.
"Impressive, isn’t it?"
Loïc’s voice carried from ahead, smooth and easy.
"This is where the future is built. Every player here fights for the sa goal—to earn the crest, to stand in the Volksparkstadion, and hear the crowd chant their na."
Julian nodded slowly, his fingers brushing the edge of his jacket.
"That’s the path I ca for."
Loïc smiled faintly. "Good. Then let’s get started. dical first—then the fitness assessnt."
Julian inhaled once, deeply. The scent of grass, sweat, and ambition filled his lungs.
This is it.
Ti to prove I belong here.
...
Julian followed Loïc and David down a quiet corridor until they reached the dical Wing. The scent of disinfectant lingered faintly in the air, clean and sharp—sterile, like a hospital.
Before he stepped inside, David rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Rember," he said, voice low but firm, "surpass your last results. I told HSV managent you always break your limits. So—keep proving right."
Julian nodded, eyes steady. "Got it."
He pushed open the door.
Inside, the room glead—white tiles, polished counters, dical machines lined neatly against the walls. A team of staff in navy-blue coats moved with quiet efficiency.
The tests began.
Height: 177 cm.
Weight: 67 kg.
Body Fat Percentage: 13.4%.
A balanced, athletic build. Clean numbers.
Next ca blood pressure, pulse, and standard lab samples—blood and urine.
Every result, clean.
No drugs. No deficiencies. No illness.
Julian stood calm throughout, breathing steady, posture composed. To him, this was just another form of battle—a test of control, of inner balance.
Then ca the vision test.
Letters flashed across a digital screen, shrinking line by line.
Julian read them all, effortlessly, down to the smallest font.
"Perfect," the technician murmured.
Finally—the hearing test.
A soundproof booth waited in the corner, its glass door glinting beneath the lights.
Julian stepped in, settled into the chair, and slipped the padded headphones over his ears.
Loïc’s voice crackled softly through the headset.
"Can you hear , Julian?"
"Yeah. Loud and clear."
"Good. You’ll hear a series of tones. Each ti you catch one, tap the button on your right. Understood?"
"Understood."
The test began.
A tone sounded—clear, strong.
Julian tapped the button.
Then another.
Each pitch dipped lower, softer, more elusive.
He closed his eyes, tuning out the sterile air, the hum of distant machines.
Soon, the tones beca faint—whispers on the edge of silence.
"Still hearing it?" Loïc asked.
Julian frowned slightly. "Not anymore. Repeat the last one—I’ll focus."
"Alright."
Julian drew a deep breath.
[Rule the Pitch – Lv.3: 10 to Perception]
The tone returned—barely there.
He caught it.
The sound faded further.
[Rule the Pitch – Lv.3: 20 to Perception]
Again, he heard it—like a breath against the void.
And again.
Until finally—
[Rule the Pitch – Lv.3: 50 to Perception]
Julian’s eyes twitched open.
Silence.
"I can’t hear it anymore," he said quietly.
"Alright, that’s the limit. You can co out."
The door hissed open. Julian stepped out, removing the headset with asured calm.
Behind the glass, two technicians exchanged stunned glances.
One whispered, half in awe, half disbelief,
"...This kid’s a monster."
Julian didn’t hear it.
He didn’t need to.
For him, it was just another test passed.
Another limit touched—then left behind.
Loïc was waiting by the console, arms folded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"That was an impressive result, Julian," he said.
Julian gave a polite nod. "Thank you, sir."
As Loïc turned to make a note on the clipboard, he paused. "Hold on—you’re speaking German now?"
Julian blinked, realizing it too. "Ah... yeah. I’ve been practicing. Just learned it recently."
Loïc chuckled softly, shaking his head. "For soone who just learned it, your pronunciation’s better than half the academy. That’s... another level."
Julian smiled faintly. "I try to adapt fast."
"Clearly," Loïc said, amused. "Alright, next up—the cardiological tests. This’ll be the last stage of your dical before we move on to your physical assessnt."
"Understood, sir."
"Good. Let’s see what your heart says about all that focus."
Julian followed as Loïc led him toward another room—machines lined with monitors, treadmills connected to cables, electrodes glinting under fluorescent light.
The hum of equipnt greeted him like a challenge.
Another test.
Another battlefield.
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