The house was silent,except for the steady ticking of the old clock on the wall.
Mateo sat alone at the kitchen table,the phone resting before him like a loaded weapon.
He stared at it,his mind a storm of memories and emotions.
He remembered his childhood in Buenos Aires —playing barefoot on cracked streets,dreaming of becoming the next Messi.
He remembered his father's tearful goodbye at the hospital,his last words urging him to chase his dreams.
He remembered the plane ride to Munich,the loneliness, the hunger, the fire to prove himself.
He remembered the betrayal —the cold shoulders,the violence on the field,the shame forced upon him when he had tried to honor his father's homeland.
"What do I do...?" he thought desperately.
"If I play for Germany... will I be betraying him?"
"If I go back to Argentina... will I be betraying myself?"
The pressure in his chest grew unbearable.
Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and called Klara.
His voice trembled:
"Klara... can you come over? Please."
She answered immediately:
"On my way."
Ten minutes later, Klara arrived,bringing with her a light of calm.
Mateo's mother, hearing the urgency in his call, also came into the kitchen, sitting beside him.
Both women — the two anchors of his world — watched him with soft, concerned eyes.
Mateo finally spoke:
"I... I have a decision to make.Coach Schuster called.Germany wants me for the U-20 World Cup."
He swallowed hard.
"And I don't know what to do.I promised Papá... I'd represent Argentina.But after everything that happened there...after everything Germany gave me...I just — I don't know."
His voice cracked at the last word.
Klara reached across the table and squeezed his hand tightly.
His mother leaned in, placing her hand over his.
They didn't speak at first.They simply let him breathe.
Then his mother smiled softly.
"Hijo... follow your heart.Your father didn't want you to live in chains of promises.He wanted you to live — free, happy, proud."
Klara nodded, tears glistening in her blue eyes.
"You have nothing to prove to anyone," she said gently."Just be true to yourself, Mateo.That's what he would have wanted."
The weight began to lift from his chest.
Slowly.Painfully.But it lifted.
He stared at the ceiling, closed his eyes, and listened —really listened —to his own heartbeat.
Strong. Steady. Certain.
He picked up the phone, his fingers trembling slightly.
He scrolled to Markus Schuster's contact.
Pressed "Call."
The line connected instantly.
"Mateo," Schuster answered, voice calm but expectant.
Mateo took a deep breath.
"Coach..."he said firmly,"I've made my decision."
A pause.
"I would be honored...to represent Germany."
There was a silence on the other end —and then a clear, satisfied voice:
"Welcome to the team, Mateo.You just made history —for yourself, and for Germany."
Mateo lowered the phone slowly, his heart thundering.
Klara and his mother rushed to hug him, tears of pride and relief streaming down their faces.