Become A Football Legend

The sliding doors of Sabiha Gökçen Airport hissed open, and a wall of noise hit him like a sudden gust of wind.

It was barely past nine on a damp Wednesday morning, but the terminal entrance was already a riot of yellow and navy blue. Fenerbahçe flags whipped in the breeze, smoke from a flare curled upward, and the low murmur of the crowd had swelled into a thunderous roar the moment the team bus rolled into view.

Lukas followed his captain — Trapp — down the steps, backpack slung over one shoulder, and felt the vibration of hundreds of voices in his chest. It wasn't cheering. A chorus of whistles, jeers, and deep, guttural chants poured across the barricades. Fans banged on the metal railings, waving scarves like battle standards. Some held up mocking banners in Turkish, others simply shouted his name followed by words he didn't need to translate.

"Jesus," muttered Koch, the center-back just behind him. "They sound like we stole their trophies."

"Don't look at them," Trapp said without turning. "Straight inside."

Airport security formed a shaky cordon, but it did little to mute the chaos. Camera flashes strobed across the tarmac. Someone lobbed a handful of yellow confetti that drifted down like taunting snow.

"Stay tight, guys," one of the security officers barked over the din in Turkish which Uzun translated . "No stops for photos — keep moving."

Lukas kept his head down, earbuds in but no music playing, heart hammering. A flare burst with a sharp pop, sending up a plume of acrid smoke.

"Smells like fireworks and trouble," Larsson whispered, half a grin on his face. "Welcome to Istanbul, huh?"

Inside the bus, the automatic doors slid shut behind them, cutting the noise to a dull rumble. Uzun exhaled hard and bumped his shoulder. "Europa nights," he said with a crooked grin. "You ready for this?"

He gave a quick nod, the echo of the crowd still ringing in his ears. The real battle, he knew, was still a day away — but this welcome made it clear that Istanbul intended to start the fight early.

Once everyone was seated, the bus turned on a moved as the jeers from the Fenerbahçe fans intensified with stones being hurled at the bus.

* * *

The team bus eased up the circular driveway of the Holiday Inn Istanbul–Kadıköy, brakes sighing as it came to a stop beneath the glass canopy. A light drizzle slicked the pavement, catching the reflections of yellow taxi lights and the green hotel sign. Lukas pressed a hand to the window and caught a glimpse of the lobby through the glass façade — warm light, polished marble floors, and a staff already lined up to greet them.

"Finally," Larsson groaned from the seat behind him, stretching his legs as the bus door hissed open. "I thought that ride from the airport would never end."

"Don't complain," Trapp said, slinging a duffel over his shoulder. "At least traffic wasn't as bad as they warned us."

The players laughed as they filed out. The air smelled faintly of wet concrete and roasted chestnuts from a street vendor across the road. Lukas adjusted his jacket and followed the others through the sliding doors, the hum of the lobby swallowing the sounds of the street.

Inside, the hotel felt like an oasis — soft lighting, the faint scent of fresh flowers, and a modern lounge that looked made for post-match interviews. A manager in a dark suit welcomed them with a practiced smile while bellboys rushed forward to collect bags.

"Alright, lads," the coach called, clapping his hands. "Dinner at seven. Rest, recover, no wandering too far."

Uzun nudged Lukas as they waited for the elevator. "You hear that? He said 'no wandering too far.' That means sightseeing is on the table."

"Sightseeing?" Lukas raised a brow. "We've got training early tomorrow morning."

"Yeah, but the Hagia Sophia isn't going anywhere," Uzun said, lowering his voice. "Come on — Blue Mosque, Grand Bazaar… we can be back before the coach notices."

Across the hallway, Larsson chimed in, grinning. "Istanbul's calling, boys. Don't tell me you flew all this way to stay in a hotel room."

Lukas chuckled, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder as the elevator dinged. "Fine," he said, stepping inside. "But if we get lost in a bazaar, you're explaining it to the coach."

Uzun smirked. "Deal. Besides, getting lost is half the fun. But that won't happen, I know this place like the back of my hand."

The doors slid shut, and for a moment the buzz of Istanbul outside felt like an adventure waiting just beyond the hotel walls.

* * *

The time was about 8:30pm when the group sneaked out of the Holiday Inn to go sightseeing.

Lukas, Knauff, Larsson, , Collins, and their guide — Uzun — left through a side-exit the manager — a Besiktas supporter — had shown them as they tried to avoid the Fenerbahçe fans camped near the hotel entrance.

"These fans are a bit crazier than even ours, I can't deny it," Collins said as he pulled down the top of his hoodie to hide his face even better.

"What are you hiding your face for? They don't even know who you are," Larsson said as the boys started laughing.

"Seriously, though. The biggest three teams have some of the craziest supporters you'll see anywhere in Europe," Uzun began explaining. "The intercontinental derby between Fenerbahçe and Galatasaray is considered — in Istanbul — to be as big, if not bigger than El Classico. It almost always breaks out into a fight whenever they meet," he continued as the black Uber he ordered pulled up on the by the roadside.

"Where are we going now?" Lukas asked as he got in the back with the rest while Uzun got in front.

"The Grand Bazaar. It's so big, man. They have everything there," Uzun responded as the driver took off.

* * *

The narrow streets around the Grand Bazaar were alive with sound—vendors calling out prices, the shuffle of shoes over worn stones, the faint clink of copperware from a nearby stall. Lukas stepped through the arched entrance with his teammates close behind, eyes widening at the explosion of color inside.

"Man, this place is massive," Collins said, craning his neck at the endless rows of lamps and carpets overhead.

Uzun grinned, walking backward a few paces to face the group. "Welcome to Kapalıçarşı. Don't get lost. It's like a maze—four thousand shops, maybe more."

Knauff let out a low whistle. "Feels like I just walked into Aladdin's cave."

Larsson leaned toward a display of hanging lanterns, the glass mosaics shimmering in red and turquoise. "If I stay here too long, I'm buying half of this stuff."

"Only half?" Uzun teased. "Wait until you see the spice section."

The air smelled of roasted nuts and sweet apple tea as they turned down a narrower corridor. Larsson paused to admire a cluster of copper coffee pots, their polished surfaces catching the light. Vendors called out prices in Turkish, their voices mixing with the steady hum of footsteps on stone.

Lukas slowed at a small stall where glass beads glimmered under a strip of warm light. Rows of bracelets — deep blue with tiny white centers— hung like droplets of water. The familiar design of the nazar boncuğu, the Turkish evil eye, seemed to watch from every piece.

He reached for one with a simple silver clasp, its deep blue charm catching the light. "Jo would like this," he thought as he handed some Turkish Lira Uzun had given him when they were in the Uber to the salesman.

"Lukas, you good?" Knauff called from a few steps ahead.

"Yeah, just a sec," he said, keeping his voice casual.

He nodded to the shopkeeper, who smiled and quickly wrapped the bracelet in a small paper bag. Lukas slipped it into his pocket and rejoined the group before anyone could ask questions.

Uzun waved them forward. "Tea break. Best apple tea in the bazaar—you'll thank me later."

Lukas followed, the small package resting against his palm, its weight a quiet promise as the maze of colors and voices closed in around them.

As they sat down in the medium sized stall at the end of an alleyway and Uzun ordered the tea for the group in fluent Turkish, Lukas felt his phone vibrating in his pocket.

"Who's calling me now?" he thought as he brought out the phone. "João?"

"Yo, what's up?"

"Where are you, dude?" João's voice asked frantically from the other end of the phone.

"What's wrong? I'm in Istanbul for the Europa League game tomorrow, remember?"

"Yeah of course I remember. Where in Istanbul are you now?"

"We are sightseeing at a place called the Grand Bazaar. What's wrong?"

"Wait, you're not watching the pre match press conference?"

"Nah. Does it really matter?"

"Bro go see what Mourinho's saying about you."

"Huh? Mourinho? What did he say?"

"Wait I'll send you a link," João said as he ended the call.

"What's wrong?" Uzun asked as Lukas looked at his phone, waiting for João's texts.

"I don't know. My friend said Mourinho said something about me in the press conference," Lukas responded without looking up from his phone as he clicked the YouTube link João sent him.

"What the—"