Chapter 738: Step by Step |
The days that followed moved with a rhythm, unlike the earlier months. Where the first stretch of recovery had been a battleagainst pain, against uncertainty, against timethese last two months felt almost like a glide. Still demanding, still meticulous, but fueled now by momentum. Purpose.
Zachary had transitioned into more dynamic routinesintegrated strengthening, full-weight-bearing agility drills, and resistance-band training to improve proprioception.
His gait had returned to a natural, effortless flow, the stiffness in his right ankle all but gone thanks to the consistency of his regimen and the precision of the Brostrm-Gould procedure. Plyometric work was now standardbox jumps, short sprints, lateral shuffles. Still no contact play, but the ball had finally returned to his feet.
It felt like breathing again.
Each morning began in the hydrotherapy pool or on the AlterG anti-gravity treadmill, followed by a battery of exercises fine-tuned by Aspetars team. And in the afternoons, under the open Doha sky, he ran. Slow strides, then faster ones, then accelerationstesting corners, pivots, angles. He was building confidence with every cut.
Through it all, Kristin was still his constant.
More than a PA now, she had become his quiet anchorsomeone who understood not just the mechanics of his recovery, but the emotional turbulence that swelled beneath the surface.
They shared a bond that went back further than most people realized. Their story began in Lubumbashi, years ago, during the local scouting trials her father had flown in to attend.
Kristin had been there toocurious, observantstanding at the edge of the partly dusty pitch while her father took notes. She had noticed Zachary even before the others dida teenager with raw talent, restless energy, and a fire in his eyes that refused to dim.
And now, trust had grown into something more.
It had happened quietly, organicallyone night during his fourth month of recovery, while they were sitting under the stars after a particularly good physio session.
Hed thanked herfor staying, for helping him hold things togetherand shed leaned in, teasing something about being the responsible one during his recovery. Their laughter faded. Their eyes lingered. Then they kissedgently, uncertainly, but as if theyd both known this was where it was always going.
And now, it was habit. Simple, unforced. She still brought his post-workout smoothies and managed his schedules, but sometimes her hand found his in quiet moments. Sometimes hed pull her close after long days, when silence said more than words.
It was the one unexpected thing in all thisthe kind of light that crept in when you werent looking. And Zachary welcomed it.
Emily came by twice during those final two months, once at the end of April and once again just after Eid. Her visits were brief but warm, laced with banter and sharp-eyed questions about endorsements, rehab clauses, and the quiet rumblings of summer transfer whispers. She never overstayed, always sensing that Zachary needed space more than strategy. Still, she left behind little remindersa new pair of custom boots, an updated commercial brief, and the reassurance that the world outside hadnt forgotten him.
Messages from teammates also filtered in regularlyshort videos from training at Melwood, inside jokes from the locker room, even the occasional shoutout from the manager during post-match pressers. Each one brought a smile to Zacharys face. They reminded him of what waited beyond the clinics sterile wallsof the world he was still part of, even from afar.
Thinking about the team always stirred something deep within him. Sometimes it was joy, sometimes longing, and other times a quiet ache that he couldnt quite name. But whatever it was, it never stopped him from watching. He hadnt missed a single game.
Throughout his recovery, he had followed Liverpools season like a lifelinewatching matches from his hospital bed, then from the rehab centers common lounge, and now, often from the quiet of his room with Kristin at his side. The journey hadnt been smooth. Without him in midfield to break lines and dictate tempo, the team had stumbled. Four losses. Eight draws. They were no longer the unbeaten juggernaut theyd been when he was still on the pitch.
And yetLiverpool still stood at the summit, having accumulated 91 points. Manchester City had found their stride late, closing the gap fast with 86 points. But now, it was simple math: win away at Newcastle in two days, and the Premier League title would finally come home to Anfield. Their last game against Wolves wouldnt matter.
Hed circled the Newcastle match on his mental calendar. May 4th. The date hummed in the back of his mind like the rhythm of a chant.
As for the Champions LeagueZachary couldnt help but smile at the irony. History, it seemed, had a funny sense of dj vu. Liverpool was in the semi-finals again, and once more, they had lost the first legthis time 2-0 to Barcelona. In his past life, it had been 3-0. And they had done the impossible.
Now, with only a two-goal deficit, Zachary was quietly confident. Maybe even certain.
He remembered how it had felt the first timewatching that miraculous comeback on TV back in DR Congo, suspended but electrified, as the Kop roared and legends were made. Fast forward to this life, he was part of the Liverpool side, but he was absent and still recovering. There was a chance he might physically be there againnot on the bench and not in the kit, but present. With the team.
That possibility pulled him through the final stages of rehab like a rope through thick water.
By now, his fifth month in Aspetar had begun. He was stronger. Leaner. Every tendon, every ligament had been tested and strengthened. There was no margin for error. No shortcuts. The Brostrm-Gould procedure and the follow-up rehab had done their job, and now, his body was holding up its end of the bargain.
The final tests loomed in mid-May. Muscular endurance. Joint stability. Explosiveness. Agility. A battery of assessments that would determine whether he could resume elite-level training.
Kristin, ever attentive, had already started syncing with Liverpools medical team to prepare a transition planshould all go well. Liverpools private jet would soon be on the way to ferry them back. Then, coordination of re-entry into Melwoods rehab protocols would follow.
If things stayed on course, Zachary would be back in Liverpool before the end of May. Just in time for the Champions League final on June 1st.
He wouldnt play. That was clear. But he could be there. Suit up. Maybe, warm the bench. Stand in the tunnel. Sing the anthem.
And when the final whistle blew, he hoped hed be runningnot limpingonto the pitch to celebrate with his teammates.
That thought kept his spirit sharp and his will unshakable.
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