12 Kilocalories

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Karl, a young talent from 2005, was recently caught between happiness and anxiety. His joy stemmed from officially signing a first-team contract on March 1st. Although it wasn’t during the usual summer or winter transfer windows, Uli Hoeneß was so impressed with him that he locked Karl in early.

“Your supervisors and coaches have always mentioned you, though every year they hype up one kid, so I didn’t pay much attention,” Hoeneß joked while Karl was signing. “But you should keep them in mind, alright?”

Karl nodded earnestly.

Hoeneß was pleased with how obedient Karl seemed. He actually preferred players with a bit of character—like people find feisty kittens cuter—but not too much, because a temper would quickly sour his mood. After all, Hoeneß was the chairman, and he wasn’t about to tolerate players acting like they owned the place.

His favorite type was someone like Bastian Schweinsteiger—lively, playful, straightforward, and pure-hearted.

Now, Hoeneß had taken a liking to Karl, whose obedient nature carried a certain clarity. Karl appeared intelligent but was still innocent in interpersonal dealings—a type of kid that even hardened old men found endearing. It reminded Hoeneß of his own days before becoming the tough chairman.

Though Karl initially seemed a bit mature for his age, unlike the unlikable Sami Khedira, deeper conversations revealed his childlike nature. The only one truly unlikable was Khedira; Karl was genuinely charming.

Hoeneß imagined pairing Karl with Schweinsteiger in the squad—a vibrant duo of homegrown talents. It wasn’t much different from putting together two favorite rabbits of different colors and raising them side by side.

But not everyone shared this view. Uli Hoeneß’s colleague, Karl-Heinz Rummenigge, believed Karl should follow Khedira’s path—being loaned to a mid-table Bundesliga club for experience. Stuttgart, Leverkusen, Schalke 04, or Borussia Dortmund were all options. Werder Bremen and Wolfsburg could be considered, so long as it wasn’t Hamburg.

They understood that central defenders differed from other positions: midfielders relied on talent, forwards on physicality, but defenders needed solid physiques and experience. They never rushed young defenders into the spotlight—only full-backs had a bit more leeway.

Everyone saw teenage midfielders and forwards dazzle early, but defenders of the same age often struggled not to be toyed with by attackers, mere punching bags on the pitch.

In football, which demands youthfulness, central defenders generally mature later—around 22 they stabilize, peak at 28, and retire by 33 to 35. This was the life cycle of a defender.

Many defenders at 18 were mere lackeys, made to cry by forwards; by 28, they shattered countless striker dreams—a cycle repeating across generations, each in their own time zone. This position exudes a “fatherly” aura; without some age and experience, defenders just seem unreliable, like surgeons who appear too carefree to be trusted.

Karl, barely 17 by year’s end, was considered far too young. Rummenigge insisted keeping him at Bayern would be a lose-lose. Hoeneß liked Karl and saw his rare intelligence and agility as tactical assets but hesitated about loaning him. Deep down, Hoeneß agreed that a loan spell was more suitable.

Everyone knew this was the wiser choice, Karl himself included.

This was the source of his recent worries.

With the new contract, his salary would start in June, better than expected—not three thousand euros per week, but five thousand. The contract length was three years, not two.

The youth academy director clapped him on the shoulder, telling him this deal was even better than what Khedira and Schweinsteiger had when they signed. Karl was touched. Words were light, but nothing conveyed the club’s regard more than black-and-white contract terms.

They offered more money and time to prove himself. Three years—a length that eased the suffocating feeling Karl had long carried, as if floating on a board in water. This was a career he had forged, something solid to rely on. Before leaving the academy that day, he barely remembered his conversation with Müller and Kroos, only that they argued half the time about how to celebrate, before Karl decided to treat them all.

On the subway ride home, he sat early for once, repeatedly reading the contract in the dim, swaying carriage, feeling an almost unbelievable happiness.

Yet strangely, though he had desperately wanted a contract to stop his mother’s tears, when the time came to share it with her, Karl hesitated. The contract came out of his bag several times, then went back in.

For the same reason, he hadn’t told Lila yet—she was too transparent; she would instantly tell their mother.

Since it only took effect in June, he decided to announce it then.

Graduating from a rigorous secondary school while securing a Bayern professional contract—that was the perfect story his mother had dreamed of. It made Karl smile with bittersweet sweetness. Despite often being criticized and held to high standards, rarely satisfied or proud of success, he couldn’t imagine doing better.

After signing, his mindset shifted. Though still financially tight, he no longer needed to fret over expenses. Somehow, his father had heard the news and joyfully opened a separate bank account, depositing a lump sum of 100,000 euros as pocket money.

His father probably expected Karl to go out and indulge in nightlife, buy new clothes, throw lavish meals.

“Do you want a car? What kind? I’ll buy it for you. You’re almost an adult, Karl—you should have a car. That was my biggest dream at your age, though I never had the means. But you’re different. Just tell me what you want, no matter how expensive. An adult’s car is special.”

Karl sensed genuine paternal love in his father’s enthusiasm—an impassioned generosity fueled by hopeful investment in a future career.

Before draining Erika’s money in their marriage, his father was a man who bent over backwards to please. Most men, even if they lived off their wives, couldn’t humble themselves consistently. Rolf was different—so straightforward that others didn’t see his behavior as shameless greed but as true gratitude and care for Erika.

In society, he was warm, generous, and likable.

Though initially ostracized at the bank—anyone with experience knew he wasn’t naïve—in the end, people honestly sided with Rolf. When assets were drained, no one warned or aided Erika.

Karl’s feelings toward his father were complicated. Raised by him with lessons in social conduct, Karl knew Rolf wasn’t worthless. If strangers, perhaps they might get along. But as father and son, everything was terrible.

The same applied to Erika. Mentally unstable at home, she was shy, silent, and selfless in society, never arguing, enduring discomfort alone. She sponsored Rolf’s education not just because he was handsome and young but because he worked hard in his spare time, widely known.

She gave money expecting nothing in return. Rolf was overwhelmed, spending his first internship paycheck on gifts and visiting her to thank her. One never had such generous, unconditional kindness; the other had never felt truly needed, appreciated, and respected. This was their story’s beginning. They always shared it with Karl with deep emotion, explaining how he was born from love that eventually dissipated.

Thinking of his parents’ disparities made Karl feel strange—like he wasn’t a product of love but a volatile toxin. Why did their worst sides manifest in the family? Marriage law gave humans too much license to scheme and hurt one another. Karl found this terrifying.

He didn’t ask Rolf for a car but accepted the transfer—Lila’s conservative treatment hadn’t improved since last year; doctors recommended surgery. Karl wasn’t sure if his mother could afford it, so he needed some funds ready.

The loan concerned Lila most. She was still young and needed care. A caregiver could handle daily needs, but what about companionship and love?

Though Karl had struggled in recent years, he once enjoyed a wealthy childhood—being chauffeured in luxury cars, playing, and training with his parents. He had experienced material comfort and parental love, so even if he now felt down, he wasn’t destitute or broken.

Lila’s situation was different. From her earliest memory, the family’s finances declined. She even worried about the cost of a single picture book.

Leaving her behind in the city if he went elsewhere was emotional abandonment.

Yet Munich had the best medical care. No matter how unstable Erika’s mental state, she never abused Lila and always supported her medical and caregiver expenses. Karl wasn’t yet of age to claim custody.

Even if his mother agreed to let him take Lila, his net salary might not cover her maintenance. Changing hospitals and schools was a huge challenge—if his loan lasted two years, Lila would have to move again, an unsettling experience for a child her age.

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If only he could be sure he’d be promoted directly to the first team next season instead of being loaned out, Karl thought helplessly. Compared to fighting for a big contract, this was even harder. His skills and potential were recognized; everyone expected him to grow properly, but Karl couldn’t mature overnight.

Still, worrying about a loan was better than no contract at all. He felt more at ease and focused on playing well.

The school, aware of his professional path and the high-stakes cup match ahead, reduced his coursework as much as possible, only reminding him to attend quizzes and keep up to graduate smoothly.

With less pressure, studying became less painful. No more pointless group projects—he enjoyed reading alone for once. Karl had never found school this pleasant. It was a small irony that just as he discovered joy in learning, he was about to graduate.

After knocking out the home team in the quarterfinals, they created another miracle by defeating their opponents in the semifinals.

As a second team, this was unprecedented history, earning Karl more praise and exposure.

He worried the media might leak his contract signing, but fortunately, since it wasn’t the official announcement period, nothing was revealed. He sighed in relief.

Reaching the German Cup semifinals was already beyond expectations. What came next was simply giving their all.

The most important match in April was against Schalke 04’s second team in the 2. Bundesliga. With both teams neck and neck in points, it was a six-pointer deciding promotion or relegation—a crucial sprint to season’s end.

Close points meant close strength. Schalke’s second team was tough to handle. Off the pitch, Karl’s friends on the opposing side were equally challenging.

“Karl, if you don’t buy a phone soon, I’ll go crazy. You won’t let anyone gift you one, and you won’t buy one yourself. Are you going to rely on landlines and handwritten letters forever?”

They had landed in Gelsenkirchen the day before. The second team lacked fame and discipline was loose. After settling in, they were free to explore.

Spring was here. Karl felt comfortable in a T-shirt with a jacket but was surprised when Neuer answered his call wearing only a short top.

The huge, muscular Neuer stood there, and when he hugged Karl, who was over 1.8 meters tall, Karl’s feet lifted off the ground like a tiny doll.

Neuer playfully swung him around, making Karl blush with embarrassment.

“You’ve grown again, Manu,” Karl said, half in despair, trying to ignore passing glances. “Can I get down?”

Neuer laughed proudly, pressing his face to Karl’s: “No.”

Though he said so, he soon released him.

Neuer was a year older and had signed his contract last year. Schalke registered him as the third-choice goalkeeper for the first team. He had been on the bench twice this season but mostly trained with the second team.

They had been teammates since the U15 national youth team, then U17. They had just played the World Championship and U17 World Cup last year. Despite finishing fourth and third, they set a remarkable record: Germany conceded the fewest goals in both tournaments.

Both were named in the tournament Best XI.

Newly appointed coach Klinsmann reportedly glanced at their games but dismissed the content, firing a senior defender who argued with him, citing that even U17 players defended better.

“Why lose if you concede so few?” The question pointed to a lackluster attack. Neuer once knelt, pleading for a good striker (not really), but their performance was commendable, with great partnership.

Karl was the only defender who tolerated Neuer’s habit of rushing out. Most found it reckless, but Karl thought it made sense, always covering for him.

Karl joked he might become a versatile player—goalkeeper included.

Neuer teased, “Then I’ll cover for both you and your teammates. Aren’t you going to like me soon?”

Surprised, Karl said, “Don’t I like you?”

Neuer replied, “Then why don’t you kiss me?”

Karl corrected, “I don’t like you.”

Neuer lunged to ‘kidnap’ him; Karl fled.

In the youth national team, they often roomed together. At U15, around thirteen or fourteen, Karl, already mature, saw it as a summer camp relationship and didn’t get deeply attached. Though he got along with Neuer and exchanged numbers, each returned home.

Later, Karl found it odd that Neuer called daily, wondering if he had nothing else to do.

When they met again, Neuer was upset, complaining, “I’m the only one calling you; you don’t call me.”

Karl apologized but then forgot again until back in the youth team, when he liked Neuer again and grew close. After this back-and-forth twice, Neuer broke down, climbing into Karl’s bed late at night, pressing his shoulder and asking:

“Karl, are you asleep? I know you’re not because I can’t sleep—outside the moon is too bright. Do you consider me a friend? What does this mean?”

Karl, roused from deep sleep, was stunned.

“Save me! What’s this huge thing lying on my blanket?”

Neuer scolded him for the “ghostly look.”

After that night, Karl’s attitude improved, but Neuer had to accept that being from two cities and clubs meant they couldn’t be each other’s closest friends. Accepting this brought a rare joy when they met, sharing things they couldn’t with others, like now.

The match was tomorrow, but they just sat in a warm hamburger joint, watching the evening rush outside.

Karl joked the coach would kill him for eating this; Neuer told him to eat salad since he wanted to bulk up. Karl laughed and tried to steal Neuer’s burger; Neuer opened it and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Here, I wasn’t going to eat the cod burger anyway,” the goalkeeper grumbled. “You’re shameless; it was for you.”

Though chatting, Karl was mindful, avoiding hardships, preferring to talk about trivial things like snowy platforms and spring flowers outside bookstores.

Neuer laughed, teasing Karl as an artsy youth, then harshly wiped salad dressing from his nose.

Karl found these details boring and instead shared his most exciting stories—Müller and Kroos—but Neuer listened patiently yet frowned at the childish tales, preferring silence. He was the older brother type who didn’t like young boys’ trivial stories.

“Why don’t you eat?” Karl asked.

Though it was only their second visit here, the last meal had been delicious, so Karl insisted on returning.

“I usually don’t watch my diet, but you’re different,” Neuer said, propping his chin. “How can a burger taste so good? You must be chewing leaves every day.”

Karl hadn’t been hungry lately but had no time or money to fuss over meals—boiled vegetables, protein, carbs, some oil—focused on nutrition, not taste. Burgers were a rare treat; of course, they’d taste great.

He felt more like a country boy in the city than a Munich city boy, and laughed awkwardly.

“Maybe…”

“Is yours better? Let me taste.”

Karl cut a piece and offered it. Neuer took it without hesitation, saying it was good, though not his favorite.

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“Got the contract? How’s your goalkeeper? Will he move up with you to the first team?”

“No,” Karl mumbled. “Maybe one or two chances this year; they’ll keep spots open for summer signings.”

“You Bayern guys are such a pain… Is your keeper worse than me?”

“No one’s better than you, Manu,” Karl said, puzzled. He didn’t understand the question—U17 filtered players ruthlessly; Neuer held his spot because he was far better than his peers.

“You’re about to be teammates with Kahn.”

“Yeah…” Karl’s expression softened, resting his face on his hands by the window, eyes shining with admiration. “I watched him as a kid. Now I get to be his teammate.”

“Who didn’t? He’s an old geezer,” Neuer snorted, kicking Karl’s foot under the table, grabbing his wrist, feeding him mashed potatoes, and puffing out one cheek, forbidding such fangirl expressions. “No taste.”

At their age, who didn’t admire Kahn among German goalkeepers? Karl felt wronged but forgot as he enjoyed the mashed potatoes, focusing again.

The next day’s match was as expected—stalemated, both sides strong in defense but impotent up front. Even passionate Schalke fans lacked energy. The game ended 0-0.

The six-point showdown turned into a mere exchange of one point each, as if nothing happened. After the final whistle, Karl wiped sweat from his brow, frustrated. While defenders took pride in securing safety and victory, without goals from forwards, they’d never win—a frustrating reality.

No wonder Neuer knelt, begging for a good striker. A good attacking midfielder like Ballack would be great. But if Ballack were everywhere, he wouldn’t be a star.

Karl sighed in regret when Neuer grabbed him suddenly, washing his face with splashy water. Karl cursed his height of nearly 1.9 meters.

“I hate facing you. You keep attackers crying and me suffering all match. So unfair.”

Karl laughed, pushing him away. “You’re going to smother me.”

Neuer unusually dropped the teasing and spoke seriously, perhaps truth held in since yesterday:

“I know your loyalty to Bayern is strong, but think about other things—how can a young defender fight for a spot? Two years loan would be better, like your teammate Khedira.”

“If loaned, why not come to me?”

“Next year I might be second-choice keeper, training with the first team. It looks shabby compared to your ‘Southern Star,’ but Bavarians think we’re all black-faced miners and poor folks. Once you’re here, you’ll see, Karl, this is the best place. You won’t regret playing for Schalke 04.”

He seemed embarrassed but sincere, lowering his voice:

“Stay at my place. My parents can look after you. We’ll play well together.”

Karl felt warmth and tenderness but also worry. He couldn’t explain Lila’s situation in a few words, though he wished to be honest about avoiding loans or at least staying close to the south.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Benedikt Höwedes, a handsome peer and Neuer’s best friend at the club, approaching. Like seeing a savior, Karl waved.

“Alright, Manu, you don’t need me. Look, you have your defenders.”

Karl laughed, kissing Neuer’s handsome left jaw:

“I’m off, Manu. Our team meets early... See you at U19.”

After last summer’s matches, both were immediately called up to U19 and would continue with the youth national team this summer.

But Karl didn’t expect he wouldn’t go then. The loan was put on hold because something shocking happened.

In May, with the season ending—third in the German Cup and eighth in the 2. Bundesliga—Karl closed his youth career perfectly. He and teammates posed together in uniform for one last time as cameras flashed, freezing youth forever. He officially graduated from the academy.

Days later, he took the Bavarian Abitur exams. After a week of discussions, pleas, and arguments with Erika, she finally agreed to Lila’s immediate surgery. The money came from Rolf’s prior transfer to Karl’s account. When Erika learned Karl’s higher salary would start in June, she wept with joy, holding his arm, playfully chiding him for not telling her sooner.

Karl felt a flicker of relief at completing his mission but mostly a strange numbness, like eight spider legs pressing on his arms. This terrifying feeling nearly drove him mad; he shivered in the shower, wishing to shed his skin. Though he couldn’t explain why his mother’s touch made him nauseous, he resolved to avoid it next time.

This was probably his most peaceful May, spent mostly caring for Lila. When his Abitur results came—1.5 points, excellent—he donned his meticulously crafted uniform one last time, standing with classmates under bright daylight flashes—shutters designed for farewell.

His father attended the ceremony, blending in effortlessly. Karl thought at least he was better than the drunken man beside him who wanted to jump onstage naked. He didn’t have to cry like that child. That was enough.

Sitting in the audience, Karl worried about his loan’s destination—four or five Bundesliga clubs were interested, all in the north.

Other leagues weren’t considered, but Sir Alex Ferguson of Manchester United extended an offer, causing hesitation. The Red Devils were nearly overtaking Bayern in football prominence. Hoeneß saw it as a great opportunity but worried Karl would stay in England two years and never return.

Schweinsteiger shouted in the locker room, “What a chance! He should go!” Only to get a reprimand from the jealous chairman.

England? But Lila was still recovering from surgery.

Still, Karl couldn’t gamble with his career.

If no better option came, he couldn’t find a reason for someone like him to refuse Manchester United.

Amid this turmoil, just after arriving home and before changing out of his suit, Karl received a call from Berlin.

National team coach Jürgen Klinsmann lounged at his desk, tapping the table, holding the roster:

“Karl Heermann, right? I think you’re still a bit young, but among your peers, you play best. I watched your U17 games last year, and the German Cup matches this year. Our previous center-back from Leverkusen—Wohnts, what was his name? Oh right, Wohnts—he had a terrible temper. I can’t use players like that. He’s not coming back.”

“But I’ve already tried four or five young players this year, none satisfactory. Recently, Philipp calls me every day, persuading me to call you up. I’ve told him off, but in the end, you’re the only option. Your style fits well with him. That’s your strength and luck.”

Karl’s pupils dilated:

“Let me be clear—I’m not the kind of coach who sweet-talks kids. If you play badly, I’ll kick you out. No bench. Understand? This is serious and a great honor. The Confederations Cup starts on the 15th. It’s our rehearsal for the World Cup. And you’re on the list! Go breathe. I never had such luck or a wise coach like me!”

“There’ll be staff contacting you with time and place. Now, whether you scream or cry, hang up. I’ve got others to call. Pack up; see you in Berlin!”

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