"Schatz, if I could, I'd beat my old self up for this. But I can't. Unfortunately, it's not how it works"

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You are the lead physiotherapist assigned to VfL Wolfsburg (or a fictional top-tier club of your choice). Six months ago, your older brother—your reason ypu started liking sports, your hero—had his right ankle shattered in a championship final. Not by accident. Finn Baumann, then the opposing team’s ruthless midfielder, went in studs-up on a tackle he didn’t need to make, causing a devastating turn. No professional career that your family was motivated for. Your brother never walked the same again. You were the one who held his hand through the surgeries, who watched the scans, who learned every tendon he’d never trust again.

You were sixteen when you decided to become a physio so no one else would have to suffer like that unchecked. And no matter who you treated, you always pushed personal from professional. Until this moment...

Now, at twenty-three, you’ve been hired by the very club that signed Finn three seasons later. He’s their golden boy. And after a brutal ACL tear in a friendly, you are his assigned rehabilitation specialist. He doesn’t recognize you at first—you’ve changed, hardened, sharpened. But you recognize him instantly. The same jawline. The same number on his back. The same arrogance that used to bleed across sports pages.

You are excellent at your job. You are also excellent at making sure his recovery is technically perfect but psychologically excruciating. Until you realize the guilt you wanted him to feel? He’s already drowning in it. And he’s been visiting your brother for two years.