The months after the 2010 World Cup kept the Brandt family moving. Niklas was twenty years old that summer. He still woke up early for shifts at the metal workshop with his father, but his real work began when the sun went down.
Erik, twenty-seven now, had grown tired of the lathes and sparks. He started studying markets late into the night in their small living room. Sometimes he took the train to Frankfurt for weekend courses. He told everyone he would jump into full-time trading the next year.
One quiet evening Jonas, twenty-three, watched Niklas hunched over the old television in the corner. Stacks of DVDs and notebooks covered the coffee table. Jonas finally spoke up.
"You're always staring at those games," Jonas said. "What's the plan?"
Niklas looked up from his notebook. "I want to be a coach."
Jonas thought about it, then broke into a grin. "Then I'll help you. Maybe I can become a talent agent. Find young players, sign them, and make deals."
Niklas liked the idea right away. He knew the game would change fast in the next ten or fifteen years. Smart agents would earn a fortune. He told Jonas to study law first. It would open every door he needed.
Jonas took the advice seriously. From that night on he read thick law books at the kitchen table after work. He dreamed out loud about sitting across from future superstars and shaking their hands.
Meanwhile, Niklas buried himself deeper in football. Every evening after the workshop he went to Demir's small sports bar. He no longer watched matches like a normal fan. He paused the tapes, rewound them, drew formations on piles of paper, and scribbled notes about how players moved and where the ball went.
At first it felt strange. He used to love the roar and the excitement. Now he saw the hidden patterns. Why a defense suddenly fell apart. Why one team owned the middle of the pitch. Why some goals looked lucky but were built piece by piece over minutes.
Demir noticed the change. The older man started ordering extra DVDs and recordings from old European leagues just for Niklas. The bar stayed quieter at night with Niklas there, so Demir was glad to help.
Time moved steadily. By 2012 Niklas had learned more from those late nights than he ever thought possible. He wanted real training. He signed up for coaching courses in Hamburg while still working full days at the workshop.
The family money grew too. Erik had used the World Cup winnings wisely. When markets dipped again in the years after 2010, he listened to Niklas's quiet advice. He borrowed carefully and bought into strong companies when prices were low. By 2014 the numbers on paper looked almost unreal. Lukas and Hanna could not believe how far their small workshop had come. It now felt like a side job.
Niklas used some of the family money to travel. He visited youth tournaments across Germany, crossed the border to watch games in the Netherlands and Scandinavia, and earned higher coaching badges. He saw the game changing in front of him; faster pressing, smarter fitness work, teenagers who developed quicker than anyone expected.
He still hated the old "kick and rush" style he saw in many lower German leagues. It reminded him of the loud, angry crowds at HSV matches. He wanted something smoother and sharper, something modern.
The years kept passing. 2015, 2016, 2017. Every major tournament Niklas placed a few careful bets using what he remembered. The winnings added up quietly. The Brandt family moved into a bigger house with a garden that looked over the Elbe. Erik drove a nicer car. Jonas started making small contacts in the football world through his law studies.
By early 2018 Niklas had finished his highest coaching licenses. He had studied data and sports science that most German coaches still laughed at. He kept a private list of teenagers playing in small clubs across Europe, boys nobody talked about yet who would one day become legends.
One warm evening in late May 2018, Niklas walked home from Demir's bar. The house glowed with light and noise even before he reached the door.
"Happy birthday!"
The shout hit him the second he stepped inside. Confetti rained down on his head. His mother Hanna rushed forward and pulled him into a tight hug. Lukas stood behind her, smiling with a cold beer in his hand, his belly round from years of good food and easier days.
Erik stepped up and gave him a strong hug. "Your gift is in the study," he whispered. "You're going to like it."
Jonas laughed and pressed a cold Alsterwasser into his hand. The living room was packed with neighbors from Wilhelmsburg, old friends from the workshop, and a few new faces from Erik's growing business circle. Everyone wanted to talk to the youngest Brandt son who had spent years chasing football instead of the metal business.
Niklas smiled and chatted with them all, but inside he felt restless. Late that night, after the last guests had gone home, he climbed the stairs to his study.
A thick folder waited on the desk.
He opened it slowly. Inside lay a contract. His eyes moved across the pages. His name. And the name of the club.
Hamburger SV.
It was not full ownership as that would have been impossible right now. But it was a controlling stake and, more importantly, a formal role inside the club's youth setup and first-team coaching staff. The kind of door that almost never opened for a twenty-eight-year-old from Wilhelmsburg.
Niklas sat down heavily in the chair. He read the contract again, then once more.
As he knew, the atmosphere in Hamburg was suffocating, but not because of the heat. It was the "Black Summer" of Hamburger SV.
For the first time in the club's history, the legendary "Dinosaur" of the Bundesliga had been relegated. The famous clock in the Volksparkstadion had stopped. The city was divided between those in mourning and those mocks from the rival St. Pauli fans.
The Dinosaur had been stomped to the ground. And now he had just been handed the chance to help it stand up.
A slow, determined smile spread across his face. The real work was about to begin.