January 23rd, 2005
Sunday dinner at the Reus household.
The smell of his mother's Sauerbraten filled the small kitchen as he helped set the table—a ritual that felt both familiar and strange, given that his mind still occasionally defaulted to his past solitary microwaved meals.
"You look good, Marco," his father said, studying him over the newspaper. "Healthier than December. More color in your face."
"Been sleeping better. Eight hours most nights now."
His mother emerged from the kitchen with a steaming platter. "That's because you actually listened to us about rest. Miracles do happen." She set the food down and kissed the top of his head. "Now eat. You're still too thin."
"Mama, I've gained three kilograms since Christmas."
"And you need three more."
Manfred chuckled. "Let the boy breathe, Margit. He's an athlete, not a—" He paused as the phone rang. "I'll get it."
He returned a minute later, expression puzzled. "Marco, that was Coach Werner. He wants to see you tomorrow morning at eight. Before training. Something about an opportunity."
Marco's fork paused halfway to his mouth. "Did he say what kind of opportunity?"
"No. Just that it was important." His father sat back down.
"Is everything alright at the academy? You're not in trouble?"
"No, Papa. Everything's fine. Actually better than fine." Marco resumed eating, though his mind was already calculating possibilities. An opportunity important enough for Werner to call on Sunday evening?
His mother's concern was more immediate. "You'll call us after the meeting? Let us know what this is about?"
"Of course, Mama."
But the rest of dinner carried an undercurrent of tension. His parents tried to hide their worry behind small talk, but Marco caught the glances they exchanged, the way his mother's smile didn't quite reach her eyes.
They're scared, he realized. They think I might be getting moved somewhere. Or cut. They don't understand that my position is secure now.
After dinner, as his father drove him back to the academy, Marco tried to reassure him. "Papa, whatever the meeting is about tomorrow, it's nothing bad. Werner wouldn't call on Sunday evening to deliver bad news."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure. My last evaluation was excellent. I'm playing well. The coaches have been positive." Marco placed a hand on his father's shoulder. "Trust me on this."
Manfred nodded slowly. "Alright. But you call your mother tomorrow, yes? She'll worry all night otherwise."
"I promise."
* * * * *
Next day - 7:55 AM
Marco arrived at Coach Werner's office five minutes early, as was his habit now. Punctuality was another form of discipline, another way to demonstrate professionalism.
Through the door's window, he could see Werner wasn't alone. Two men sat across from the coach's desk—one in a suit, the other in more casual attire but clearly professional. Neither wore club colors or identifying badges.
Werner saw Marco waiting and gestured him in.
"Marco, right on time. Come in." Werner indicated the two men. "This is Herr Dietrich from the German Football Association's youth department, and this is Herr Müller, a youth team coordinator. Gentlemen, this is Marco Reus."
They shook hands. Dietrich's grip was firm, assessing. "Thank you for meeting us on short notice, Marco. We'll be brief—I know you have training."
"Please, sit," Werner said, gesturing to an empty chair.
Dietrich opened a folder. "The DFB has been monitoring your development closely. Your recent tournament performances, combined with coach reports, have impressed our selection committee. We're extending an invitation for you to join the U17 national team training camp next month. February 14th through 20th in Frankfurt."
Marco kept his expression neutral, though internally, excitement surged. National team. Official invitation.
"It's a preliminary camp," Müller added. "We're evaluating players for the European U17 Championship qualifiers in March and April. If you perform well, you'll be selected for the competitive matches."
"What would this involve?" Werner asked, protective. "Training schedule, travel requirements?"
"One week in Frankfurt. All expenses covered, of course. The players will train twice daily, plus tactical sessions and match simulation. No competitive games at this camp—that comes later if they're selected for the actual squad." Dietrich looked at Marco. "This is a significant opportunity. We only invite thirty players to these preliminary camps, and we're selecting eighteen for the competitive squad."
"I'm honored," Marco said carefully. "What do you need from me?"
"Continued performance at club level. Maintain your current trajectory. Show up to camp prepared to compete for a spot." Dietrich slid a packet across the desk. "These are the details—dates, location, what to bring. We'll need confirmation of your participation within forty-eight hours."
After they left, Werner leaned back in his chair, studying Marco. "This is significant, but it comes with complications."
"The camp is mid-February. That's two weeks before the evaluation."
"Exactly. You'll miss club training for a week. And if you're selected for the competitive squad, you'll miss more training in March." Werner's expression was serious. "I'm not trying to discourage you—national team experience is valuable. But you need to understand the risk.
Missing training time could impact your final evaluation."
"What would you recommend, Coach?"
Werner was quiet for a moment. "Honestly? Go to the camp. This is the kind of opportunity that doesn't come twice. You're talented enough that one week away won't destroy your progress. And if you're selected for the competitive squad..."
He shrugged. "That might actually help your case here. Shows the club that you're operating at national level. But you need to be disciplined about it. Extra work when you can. Stay sharp. Don't let the camp become a vacation." Werner pulled out his own notes. "I'll speak with Coach Hoffmann. We'll prepare training materials you can do independently—technical work, tactical study. You'll need to put in extra hours before you leave and after you return."
"I can do that."
"I know you can. That's why I'm comfortable recommending you accept." Werner smiled slightly. "Four months ago, I wouldn't have trusted you with this. But you've proven yourself. You've earned the opportunity to take on more."
At morning training, word had already spread. Dennis practically tackled Marco coming onto the pitch.
"National team camp? Are you serious? That's incredible!"
"It's just a preliminary camp. Not even the competitive squad yet."
"Still! That's huge!" Dennis grinned. "Man, I wish I got selected alongside you."
Leon jogged over, more measured in his response. "Congratulations. That's well-deserved. When's the camp?"
"Mid-February. I'll miss a week of training here."
"You worried about that?"
"Should I be?"
Leon considered. "If it were me? No. You're miles ahead of where you need to be for March. One week won't hurt you. And honestly, training with national team coaches might teach you things that help here."
The morning session was intense. Coach Hoffmann had clearly been briefed by Werner—several times during drills, he pulled Marco aside for specific instructions.
"Work on this combination in your own time. Practice the movement pattern. When you're at national camp, they'll run similar sequences—being familiar helps."
"Your weak foot has improved, but at national level, it needs to be even better. Keep working it. Thirty minutes daily minimum, even during camp."
"Study this tactical pattern. I want you understanding it completely before you leave."
The extra attention wasn't burden—it was investment. The coaches were preparing him to succeed at the next level.
During the water break, Sebastian approached. Since their conversation weeks ago, the dynamic between them had shifted. Not quite friendship, but professional respect.
"Heard about the national camp. That's good news."
"Thanks."
"You nervous?"
Marco shook his head. "Just more work to do. Same as always."
Sebastian studied him for a moment. "You really don't get nervous anymore, do you? Like, at all?"
"Nerves don't help performance. So, yeah."
"That's..." Sebastian laughed. "That's the most Marco Reus answer possible. 'Nerves don't help performance.' Others getting called up to national team camp would be freaking out.
Must be nice. Living in your head." But Sebastian said it without resentment. Almost admiringly.
That evening, Marco called home as promised.
"National team camp!" His mother's voice was a mix of pride and concern. "Marco, that's wonderful, but... are you sure you're ready for that level?"
"Mama, they wouldn't invite me if I wasn't ready."
"I know, but..." She paused. "It's just happening so fast. I still can't believe it..."
"And it's all because of the work. That's what I keep trying to tell you—there's nothing magical happening. Just consistent effort producing results."
His father took the phone. "Son, your mother's proud. We both are. She's just worried you're taking on too much."
"I can handle it, Papa."
"I believe you can. But remember—if it becomes too much, if the pressure gets too high, you can step back. You don't have to prove anything to us."
But I have to prove it to myself, Marco thought. I have to know how far this can go.
"I appreciate that, Papa. But I promise, I'm fine. Better than fine. This is exactly what I've been working toward."
After they hung up, Marco reflected on his parents' concern. They saw the external markers of success—national team invitations, scout interest, tournament performances—but they didn't see the internal certainty those achievements had built.
They worried because they still saw him as their fifteen-year-old son navigating overwhelming pressure.
He saw himself as someone executing a plan that was working exactly as designed.
The gap between those perspectives was natural, probably unavoidable. His parents couldn't understand the confidence that came from watching every training session translate into measurable improvement, from seeing four months of disciplined work compound into something substantial.
They'll understand eventually, he thought. When I sign a professional contract. When I make the first team. When the foundation I'm building becomes visible to everyone.
* * * * *
January 28th, 2005
The week passed in focused intensity. Marco confirmed his participation in the national camp and immediately adjusted his training schedule. Morning sessions now started at 5:15 instead of 5:30—fifteen extra minutes for weak foot work.
Evening sessions extended by twenty minutes for tactical study.
[Overall Rating: 69.1 → 69.4 (+0.3)
- Weak foot finishing: 7.6 → 7.8
- Tactical knowledge: 8.5 → 8.7]
Friday brought the week's final training session and an unexpected visitor. During the cool-down, Coach Werner called the advanced group together.
"I have an announcement. The regional tournament final is next Saturday, January 29th. We'll face Hertha BSC Berlin U17. It's their third consecutive final appearance. They're experienced, disciplined, and talented." Werner paused for effect. "This is the kind of match that defines seasons. And for some of you—" his eyes found Marco, Leon, Dennis—"it's the kind of match that defines careers."
After Werner dismissed them, Leon pulled Marco aside. "He's right, you know. Scouts will pack that final. It's showcase time."
"Every match is showcase time."
"You know what I mean. This is different. This is the championship. The thing everyone remembers." Leon's usual calm demeanor showed cracks of excitement. "I'm not saying to play for the scouts. But... it's there. The opportunity."
Marco understood what Leon wasn't quite saying. For Marco, the tournament final was one more step toward securing his Dortmund position. But for Leon, for Dennis, for the older prospects—this might be their last major showcase before clubs made serious offers.
"Then we win," Marco said simply. "We play our game, execute properly, and win. That's the showcase—demonstrating we can perform when it matters."
"That some confidence." But Leon smiled.
"Alright. Let's do it. Let's win this thing properly."