The quarterfinal draw was made on a Friday afternoon in Nyon.
Eight clubs. Four ties. The last eight arranged on a screen watched simultaneously in training grounds, living rooms and bars across the continent.
Borussia Dortmund vs Bayern Munich
Arsenal vs Atletico Madrid
PSG vs Inter Milan
Barcelona vs Porto
Richard watched it in the Brackel canteen with Lukas, Jobe, Sabitzer and Can. When Dortmund's ball came out and Bayern's followed the canteen produced a silence so complete that the sound of someone setting down a coffee mug at the far end of the room was clearly audible.
Four seconds of nothing.
Then Can said one word in German that Lukas did not translate.
"Of course," Jobe said quietly.
Then everyone started talking at once.
Bayern's response came within the hour.
Their captain posted the draw graphic on Instagram with a single line underneath — See you soon — the confidence of a club that had won this competition five times and considered the quarterfinal a place they belonged rather than an achievement in itself.
Their sporting director was more measured in his Friday press conference. "Dortmund are in excellent form. The Madrid result was extraordinary. We respect them completely." A pause. "But we are Bayern Munich. We know what that means."
At the Allianz Arena the groundstaff were already preparing the pitch for the first leg.
Across Europe the draw produced its own separate conversations.
In London, Arsenal's camp was focused entirely on Atletico Madrid — a fixture that generated its own enormous weight, two clubs with deep European histories meeting at the quarterfinal stage for the first time. Atletico's defensive organization against Arsenal's attacking quality. Simeone against Arteta. The tactical matchup consumed the English and Spanish press entirely and correctly — it was its own compelling story that needed no external reference points.
Barcelona's draw against Porto was greeted in Catalonia with the specific relief of a club that had watched the other ties emerge and understood they had avoided the most dangerous opponents. Yamal had been extraordinary all season — nineteen goals, sixteen assists, the kind of numbers that made the Ballon d'Or conversation feel premature only because he was seventeen and the award had not yet learned to account for him. Porto would be tested. Porto would not be enough.
In Paris, PSG against Inter Milan produced a different energy — a tie between two clubs rebuilding their European identities, PSG post their latest squad reconstruction, Inter the Italian champions who had reached this stage on defensive solidity and collective organization. Dembélé's form had been the story of PSG's campaign. Inter's response was built around their shape rather than individual brilliance. The neutral considered it the most tactically interesting tie of the four.
In Germany the conversation was its own thing entirely.
Bayern versus Dortmund in the Champions League quarterfinal was not merely a football match. It was Der Klassiker on the European stage — the two clubs that had defined German football for decades, meeting in the last eight of the continent's premier competition with consequences that extended beyond the tie itself.
The Bundesliga table added another layer. Bayern sat first, eight points clear, the title effectively theirs barring a collapse that their history suggested was not coming. Dortmund sat third, Champions League qualification the realistic ambition in the league. But in Europe the table meant nothing. In Europe it was two legs, aggregate score, and whatever quality each side could produce across one hundred and eighty minutes.
Kicker ran the numbers: Bayern had beaten Dortmund in their last four competitive meetings. Dortmund had beaten Bayern in only one of their last nine at the Allianz Arena.
Sport Bild ran a different number: Dortmund had eliminated Real Madrid, the fifteen-time champions, from this competition three weeks ago.
Both numbers were true.
Both were relevant.
Neither told the whole story.
Schmidt addressed it directly on Monday.
"Bayern," he said, standing at the board with his arms folded. "The best team in Germany. Possibly the best team in Europe this season." He looked around the room. "We beat Real Madrid. Some people have drawn conclusions from that about what we can and cannot do." He paused. "I have drawn one conclusion. That this squad, in this system, with this preparation — is capable of anything."
He held the room.
"First leg is away. Allianz Arena. Difficult environment. Difficult opponent." A pause. "We go there to win."
Not to compete. Not to keep it tight.
To win.
The room absorbed that.
Can nodded once, slowly, the nod of a man whose jaw was already set.
Guirassy looked at the floor with the focused calm of a striker who had heard what he needed to hear.
Lukas caught Richard's eye briefly.
Richard looked at the tactics board.
The Allianz Arena.
Away.
First leg.
He was already thinking about the spaces.
That evening Chidi drove him home through a Dortmund that had absorbed the draw and was carrying it the way it carried everything — quietly, certainly, the yellow and black in the windows a steady declaration rather than a shout.
"Bayern," Chidi said.
"Bayern," Richard agreed.
"At the Allianz first."
"Yes."
Chidi drove for a moment in silence. "You know what's funny," he said. "In January when the transfer happened Bayern fans were in the comments of every post saying you'd amount to nothing. That Dortmund had wasted their money." He glanced sideways. "Now you're going to their stadium in the Champions League quarterfinal."
Richard looked out the window.
"Football answers everything eventually," he said.
Chidi smiled. "Eventually."
They drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence.
At the door of the house Richard stopped.
Ella was coming back from a run, earphones in, spotting him at the gate and pulling them out.
"Bayern," she said immediately.
"You saw the draw."
"The whole street saw the draw. Mr. Krause has been in his garden for two hours." She grinned. "I think he's been out there just to think about it."
Richard laughed.
"How's the German coming?" he asked.
"Ich bin sehr aufgeregt," she said carefully. I am very excited.
"Good sentence for this week," Richard said.
She laughed and went inside.
Richard stood at the gate for a moment looking at the quiet street. Krause's garden was empty now, the old man gone inside, but the light in his kitchen window was on and warm against the evening.
Richard went inside.
Picked up his tactical notebook.
Opened it to a fresh page.
Wrote one word at the top.
Bayern.
Then he began.