The car eased to a stop in front of the grand façade of the Fairmont Hotel Vier Jahreszeiten, its pale stone glowing softly beneath the shifting northern light.

From the window, the building rose like a monument carved into the edge of the Inner Alster Lake—ornate balconies, tall arched windows, and a green copper roof that whispered stories from another century.

The cobblestones under the tires gave a muted crunch as the car rolled into place beneath the hotel's elegant awning.

A doorman in a tailored red uniform stepped forward with practiced grace—the kind of precision only years of repetition could perfect.

White gloves gleamed as he opened the door with a polished smile, while another attendant moved swiftly to gather the luggage.

Through the glass entryway, Julian caught a glimpse of the lobby: polished marble floors reflecting chandeliers that hung like captured constellations, vases of fresh lilies and roses bursting with color, and the soft murmur of guests exchanging greetings in quiet tones.

Even before the door opened fully, the air seemed to hum with refined warmth—the kind that carried promises of calm, privacy, and quiet strength.

The scent of waxed oak and perfume lingered faintly, mingled with the trace of rain that clung to their coats. The city outside might've been cool and gray, but here—inside these walls—it felt like stepping into sunlight

"Wow…" Julian's voice slipped out before he could stop it.

Even David froze mid-step, eyes sweeping across the entrance. "I'd never even dream of staying in a place like this—if it weren't for you Ashfords," he said, half-joking, half-genuine.

Crest, ever composed, gave a small nod. "Then let's enjoy it while we can."

Together, they stepped inside.

The reception area was a portrait of old-world elegance—mahogany counters, soft lamps, and attendants greeting guests with impeccable courtesy.

Crest approached the front desk, exchanging words in smooth German. The receptionist's smile widened, her motions swift and respectful.

Moments later, three sleek key cards were placed neatly on the counter.

Crest turned to them, her tone shifting into command. "These are your rooms. We're here to rest, recover, and maintain discipline. That means proper sleep, proper diet—no exceptions."

Julian straightened instinctively. "Understood, ma'am."

David echoed, "Yes, ma'am."

Satisfied, Crest handed them their cards. "Good. Check in, unpack, and be ready for tomorrow. Hamburg is not a playground. It's the next stage."

Julian met her gaze and nodded once. A new field, a new fight.

As they turned toward the elevator, the golden light from the chandeliers spilled over their shoulders—marking the start of another climb.

…

Julian unlocked his door and stepped inside.

The room greeted him with quiet elegance.

A king-sized bed rested at the center, layered in crisp white linens and framed by a soft gray headboard.

Thick carpet muted his footsteps as he crossed toward the window, where sunlight slipped through heavy drapes like threads of silver.

He drew them open.

Beyond the glass, the Inner Alster Lake shimmered—a silver mirror rippling gently as small boats drifted by. A wrought-iron balcony curved outward, carrying in a breath of Hamburg's cool, rain-tinged air.

The furnishings were understated yet rich: a polished wooden desk topped with fine stationery, an espresso machine waiting patiently in the corner, and a cream-colored chaise longue angled toward the view.

In the bathroom, pale marble gleamed beneath recessed lights—twin vanities, a deep soaking tub, and a glass-encased rain shower.

Every detail whispered of timeless luxury—a sanctuary balanced between history and modern grace. Outside, the city hummed with life; inside, the world fell still.

Julian exhaled softly, setting his bag down.

He moved toward the bed, feeling the weight of travel settle in his muscles.

He'd slept on the plane, yet his body still felt heavy, weak—caught between worlds.

Jet lag, he thought. He'd read about it online: how time zones could twist your rhythm, dull your focus.

Sitting at the edge of the bed, he reached for his phone.

A message blinked from Crest:

[Crest]: 07:00 PM. I'll come get you. We'll eat at the hotel restaurant.

He checked the time—02:00 PM.

Five hours.

Julian leaned back against the pillows, eyes already half-lidded.

Five hours… enough for another round of rest.

He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders melting into the mattress.

Outside, faint church bells rang over the lake. Inside, the hum of the city faded to silence.

And as his eyelids lowered, the light dimmed—

His thoughts slipped away, and the world turned black once more.

…

When Julian woke again, the room was bathed in soft amber light.

The clock on his phone read 05:30 PM.

He stretched, rubbing sleep from his eyes, then rose to wash up.

Cool water splashed against his face, chasing away the remnants of fatigue.

In front of the mirror, he carefully dressed—choosing the best outfit from his suitcase: a tailored shirt, dark trousers, and a simple black jacket.

By 06:20 PM, he was ready.

Julian paused by the mirror one last time, straightening his collar, smoothing his hair.

A small smile tugged at his lips. "Nice."

He lifted his phone, snapped a quick selfie, and sent it off.

[Julian → Tress]: Dinner time.

But then he remembered—Hamburg was nine hours ahead.

Tress is probably still asleep, he thought with a small laugh, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

Right on cue—07:00 PM—a firm knock echoed from the door.

Julian opened it to find Crest and David waiting, both dressed neatly for the evening.

Without a word, Crest gave a nod, and the three of them made their way down to the restaurant.

The dining hall glowed beneath chandeliers shaped like falling stars.

Soft piano music lingered in the air, mingling with the quiet clink of cutlery and murmured conversation.

They were led to a table by the window, the lake beyond reflecting the last streaks of twilight.

Once seated, David pulled out a small tablet, scrolling through notes.

"Julian, you can use the hotel gym tomorrow morning," he began. "Keep your body sharp. No breaks."

Julian nodded. "Understood."

David continued, his tone steady but serious. "On Monday, we'll head to the HSV campus. First, your Medical and Fitness Assessment. Once that's cleared, we move straight into the signing ceremony at the stadium—Volksparkstadion."

He looked up, meeting Julian's eyes. "There'll be cameras, maybe reporters. Photos, interviews—questions about your move. So be ready, alright?"

Julian nodded again, calm and focused. "I will."

David's expression softened just slightly. "Good. You've earned this, Julian. But remember—this is just the start."

Crest said nothing, but her eyes lingered on Julian for a moment longer than usual—steady, measuring, quietly proud.

Then the food began to arrive—

course after course, each plated with delicate precision.

Warm bread with butter that melted at a touch.

Creamy soup layered with herbs and spice.

Grilled fish over saffron risotto.

A final dessert crowned with berries and gold leaf.

Julian tasted each dish slowly, savoring the craft, the care.

Every bite reminded him of how far he'd come—and how far he still had to go.

By the time dessert arrived, the conversation had quieted into a comfortable rhythm.

Plans set. Stomachs full.

It was a dinner wrapped in warmth and promise.

One of the best meals Julian had ever had—

not just for the flavor,

but for what it symbolized.

A new beginning.

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