Wednesday afternoon, Marco did light training on his own—jogging around the pitch, stretching, some technical work with the ball. Nothing intense, just keeping his body active while it recovered.
Tim found Marco after training, bursting with questions he'd been holding in for two days.
"Okay, you've rested. Now tell me everything. What was Özil like? Did you really beat him in dribbling? Is Hummels as good as everyone says?"
Marco laughed. "Okay, one question at a time."
They walked back to the dorm together, Marco recounting the camp experiences—the training sessions, the scrimmages, the tactical lessons, the moment Coach Müller told him he'd made the provisional squad.
"So you're actually going to play for Germany," Tim said, shaking his head in wonder. "That's insane. Six months ago, you were worried about getting released. Now you're a national team player."
"Provisional," Marco corrected. "Still have to prove myself in the qualifiers."
"You will. You always do." Tim's confidence was absolute. "So what's next? The contract signing?"
"Thursday. My parents are coming. Should be official by the weekend."
"And then?"
"Then I keep working. Make the U19 team here, keep developing, eventually break into the first team." Marco paused. His heart beating in anticipation for the future.
* * * *
Thursday morning, Marco's parents arrived at the academy just before 10 AM. His mother hugged him tightly as soon as she saw him, inspecting him like she hadn't seen him in months rather than weeks.
"You look tired," she said immediately.
"I'm fine, Mama. Just got back from national team camp. Been resting."
His father shook his hand, pride evident in his grip. "National team. Our son. Still can't quite believe it."
"Provisional squad, Papa. Not official yet."
"Still. It's remarkable." His father's practical nature asserted itself. "But we're here about your contract. Coach Werner wants to meet at 11."
At 10:45, they gathered in a small conference room in the academy's administrative building. Coach Werner was already there, along with the youth director—a man in his fifties named Herr Schulz—and a stack of papers on the table.
"Herr and Frau Reus, Marco, please sit." Werner gestured to the chairs across from him. "Thank you for coming. We want to discuss Marco's future here at Borussia Dortmund."
Schulz opened a folder. "Marco, you've had an exceptional six months. Your development has exceeded our expectations. The national team selection confirms what we've seen: you're an elite prospect." He paused. "We want to offer you your first professional contract."
Marco's mother reached for his hand under the table.
"However," Werner interjected, "before we discuss terms, we need to address something important. Marco is fifteen. You're his parents. And in situations like this, we strongly recommend you secure professional representation—an agent."
His father frowned. "We don't know any agents."
"We can provide recommendations," Schulz said. "Reputable agents who specialize in youth players, who won't exploit the situation. This is standard practice. The contract we're offering is fair, but you should have someone review it who understands football contracts."
Werner pulled out a sheet of paper. "Here are three agents we trust and strongly recommend. All are licensed, all have good reputations. I'd suggest meeting with each, seeing who you're comfortable with, then bringing them back for contract negotiations next week."
"Of course, if you have someone else you trust, you can also go with that. But be careful not to sign those money grubbing agents. This is also a decision that can change his career."
Marco's father took the list, scanning the names.
One from large agency based on Munich.
One was a medium sized firm. One was from a small firm.
* * * *
That afternoon, they made appointments with all three agents for Friday. Marco's parents had taken the day off work specifically for this—his father from the factory, his mother from the bakery—treating it with the seriousness it deserved.
"This is your future," his father said over dinner at a modest restaurant near the academy. "We need to get this right."
Friday morning, 9 AM: The first meeting.
Agent One was from Munich, representing a large sports management firm. His name was Marcus Berger. Slick presentation, glossy brochures, promises of sponsorship deals and media opportunities.
"Marco could be in advertisements within a year," the agent said confidently. "Boot deals, apparel, energy drinks. We maximize earning potential."
Marco's father asked the practical questions. "What's your commission?"
"Standard: Twenty percent of all earnings."
"Including salary?"
"Yes. It's an industry standard."
After he left, Marco's mother said quietly, "He talked more about money than football."
Agent Two, named Stefan Hoffman was from Köln, mid-sized agency, more measured approach. Twelve percent commission, solid reputation, professional presentation.
"We focus on career development," this agent explained. "Getting you to the right clubs, negotiating favorable contracts, managing your progression. Money comes naturally if the career path is correct."
Better, actually focuses on player's career than money. But Marco was not inclined to sign him. Because he knows which club is better for him and how to develop his skills more than anyone else. He felt like this type of agent will interfere with his career decisions. If he was just an ordinary fifteen year old, he would have considered him as a valid option.
Agent Three was Thomas Krahn.
He arrived at 2 PM in a modest car, wearing a professional but not expensive suit. His handshake was firm, his manner direct.
"Thank you for meeting with me," Krahn said, sitting across from the Reus family in the academy's guest room.
"I'm going to be honest with you from the start: I'm not a big agency. I have ten clients, mostly in the second Bundesliga, one in the first. I don't have fancy offices or big sponsor connections."
Marco's father leaned forward. "Then why should we hire you?"
"Because I actually care about player development, not just extracting maximum value." Krahn pulled out a thin folder—much thinner than the other agents' presentations.
"I played semi-professionally for fifteen years. Never made it big. Had an agent who rushed me into a bad situation, chasing money over fit. My career stalled because of it."
He looked directly at Marco. "You're fifteen. You have potential, clearly, but you're years away from knowing if you'll make it at the highest level. What you need isn't someone maximizing your current value. You need someone who'll help you make smart decisions, who'll be there when you're struggling, who'll tell you the truth even when it's not what you want to hear."
"Your commission?" Marco's father asked.
"Ten percent, but I don't take commission on youth contracts. You'll earn maybe a thousand euros a month to start—I'm not taking a hundred of that. My commission kicks in when you sign your first senior professional contract, if you make it that far."
Marco's mother glanced at his father. This was different.
"My job," Krahn continued, "is to protect you, guide your development, and make sure you don't make the mistakes I made. I can't promise you'll become a star. No one can. But I can promise I'll be honest, I'll work hard, and I'll prioritize your long-term career over short-term money."
He slid his folder across the table. "Here are references from my current clients. Call them. Ask about my work. Then decide."
The meeting lasted an hour. Krahn answered every question with straightforward honesty. No false promises, no inflated projections, just realistic assessment and practical advice.
After he left, the three of them sat in silence for a moment. Marco's father slowly asked:
"So what do you think?"