The victory over Hamburg was a hollow one. The three points were overshadowed by a single, sickening moment: the clumsy, reckless tackle that had sent Mateo crumpling to the turf. The collective gasp of the Westfalenstadion, the grim faces of the medical staff, the sight of their young star limping off the pitch – it was a scene that sent a shiver of fear through the heart of every Dortmund fan.

For Mateo, the initial shock and pain gave way to a cold, gnawing dread. He knew the feeling of a serious injury, the sickening crunch, the searing pain, the long, lonely road of rehabilitation. He had been there before, and the thought of going through it all again was almost too much to bear.

He sat on the bench, his ankle packed in ice, a helpless spectator as his team struggled to a 2-0 victory. He felt a sense of detachment, of unreality, as if he were watching the game from a great distance. His mind was a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty. What if it was a fracture? What if his season was over? What if he never played again?

---

The post-match press conference was a somber affair. Klopp, usually so ebullient, was subdued, his face a mask of concern. The questions were not about the victory, but about Mateo. How bad was it? When would he be back? What was the diagnosis?

"We don't know yet," Klopp admitted, his voice heavy with worry. "He's on his way to the hospital for an X-ray. We can only hope for the best. He is a special player, a special boy. We are all praying for him."

The news of Mateo's injury sent shockwaves through the football world. Messages of support poured in from players, from clubs, from fans around the globe. The hashtag #PrayForMateo was trending on social media. It was a testament to the impact he had made in such a short time, a reflection of the affection and admiration he had earned.

But for Mateo, the outpouring of support was a distant echo. He was in his own private hell, a world of pain and fear, of waiting and wondering. He sat in the cold, sterile waiting room of the hospital, his heart pounding in his chest. Isabella was by his side, her hand in his, her presence a silent, comforting anchor in the storm. Lukas was there too, his face pale with worry, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a quiet, anxious stillness.

---

Finally, Dr. Müller emerged from the doctor's office, a file in his hand. He had a serious look on his face, and Mateo's heart sank. This was it. The moment of truth.

"Well, Mateo," the doctor began, his voice grave. "I have the results of your X-ray."

He paused for a moment, a moment that seemed to stretch for an eternity. And then, a small smile broke through his serious expression.

"It's not a fracture. It's a sprain. A bad one, but just a sprain. You'll be out for a couple of weeks, maybe three at the most. But you'll be back. You'll be back stronger than ever."

Mateo felt a wave of relief wash over him, so powerful that it almost brought him to his knees. It was not the best news, but it was not the worst. He would miss a few games, but his season was not over. He would be back.

Isabella burst into tears, a mixture of relief and joy. Lukas let out a whoop of delight, his boisterous energy returning in a rush. Mateo just smiled, a weary, grateful smile. He had been given a second chance, a reprieve, a new lease on his footballing life.

---

The next few days were a blur of physiotherapy, of rehabilitation, of a slow, frustrating return to fitness. Mateo was a model patient, diligent, determined, and disciplined. He did everything the medical staff asked of him, and more. He was in the gym at the crack of dawn, he was the last to leave the training ground, he was constantly pushing himself, constantly striving to get back on the pitch as soon as possible.

But it was not easy. The ankle was stiff and sore, the pain a constant reminder of his vulnerability. He had to watch from the sidelines as his team prepared for their next match, a Bundesliga away game against Mainz. He felt a sense of helplessness, of frustration, of a deep, burning desire to be out there with them.

He sat in the stands during the match, a frustrated spectator. He kicked every ball, he made every tackle, he felt every emotion. He was a part of the team, even when he was not on the pitch. And as he watched them grind out a hard-fought 1-0 victory, he felt a sense of pride, of admiration, of a deep, unwavering belief in his teammates.

---

After the match, he went to see Klopp, a sense of determination in his eyes. "I want to play against Arsenal," he signed, his hands moving with a new-found urgency. "I know I'm not 100%, but I can play. I can make a difference."

Klopp looked at him, a mixture of admiration and concern in his eyes. He knew how much Mateo wanted to play, how much he hated being on the sidelines. But he also knew the risks. A premature return could lead to a more serious injury, a longer layoff, a potential disaster.

"I know you want to play, Mateo," he said, his voice gentle. "And I know you could make a difference. But I cannot risk you. You are too important to this team, to this club, to this city. We will not rush you back. You will play when you are ready, and not a moment sooner."

Mateo was disappointed, but he understood. He knew that Klopp was right. He had to be patient, he had to be smart, he had to trust the medical staff. He had to put the team first, even if it meant sacrificing his own personal desires.

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