THE GREATEST OF ALL TIME-Chapter 733: Aspetar Awaits

The following morning, Dr. Andrew Massey, the club’s head of medical services since 2015, sat in his office at Melwood, Liverpool’s historic training ground, meticulously reviewing Zachary Bemba’s medical report. His fingers drummed lightly on the desk as he absorbed the details.​

A Grade 3 tear of the anterior talofibular ligament. A partial tear of the calcaneofibular ligament.​

While there were no fractures, the severity of the ligament damage was alarming. Such injuries, if not managed carefully, could significantly impair a footballer’s agility and explosiveness—qualities integral to Zachary’s playing style.​

Massey exhaled deeply, closing the folder. He had navigated complex injuries before, notably assisting Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain through his knee rehabilitation in 2018 and managing Adam Lallana’s recurring fitness challenges. However, this case presented unique challenges; the ankle’s intricacies required cautious handling to prevent chronic instability.​

Glancing at his watch—8:57 AM—he realized it was nearly time for the critical meeting. Gathering the reports, he left his office, his mind already strategizing potential treatment pathways as he walked toward the conference room.​

Traversing Melwood’s corridors, he passed the indoor training area where non-starters and recovering players engaged in light drills. The usual vibrancy was subdued; the shadow of Zachary’s injury loomed large.​

Upon reaching the conference room, Massey paused, inhaling deeply before entering.​

Around the table sat Jürgen Klopp, assistant managers Peter Krawietz and Pepijn Lijnders, sporting director Michael Edwards, and chairman Tom Werner. The air was thick with concern.​

Klopp looked up, his expression tense. "Morning, Andrew. What’s the situation?"​

Dr. Massey placed the medical file on the table, opening it deliberately.​

"Zachary has sustained significant ligament damage to his left ankle," he began. "Specifically, a Grade 3 tear of the anterior talofibular ligament and a partial tear of the calcaneofibular ligament. While there are no fractures, the ligament injuries are substantial."​

Klopp’s jaw tightened.​

Michael Edwards leaned in, concern etched on his face. "What are we looking at in terms of recovery?"​

Massey met his gaze. "If we opt for a non-surgical approach, rehabilitation could take approximately four to six months. However, this carries the risk of incomplete healing, potentially leading to long-term ankle instability."​

Krawietz interjected, brows furrowed. "And with surgery?"​ freēwēbnovel.com

Massey nodded. "Surgical intervention would also require a recovery period of around six months but offers a higher likelihood of restoring full stability and function."​

Klopp exhaled slowly. "Six months sidelines him for the rest of the season."​

Werner sighed, exchanging a glance with Edwards. "It’s a significant setback, but if surgery ensures his long-term health, we must support that decision."​

Edwards tapped his pen thoughtfully. "Andrew, where should we direct him for the best possible care? Do we handle this internally, or seek external expertise?"​

Massey had anticipated this query. Liverpool’s medical facilities were commendable, but this situation warranted specialized attention.​

"We have several top-tier options," he stated, referencing his notes. "Firstly, Professor James Calder in London is a leading ankle specialist. He’s treated high-profile athletes, including Neymar, and is renowned for his expertise."

"Secondly, there’s Dr. Ramon Cugat in Barcelona, a trusted figure in sports medicine who has managed injuries for elite players like Kevin De Bruyne and Ilkay Gündogan."​

Klopp raised an eyebrow. "And the third option?"​

"Aspetar in Qatar," Massey replied confidently. "They boast state-of-the-art rehabilitation facilities and have successfully treated numerous top athletes. Given the severity of Zachary’s injury, Aspetar could provide comprehensive care throughout his recovery."​

Edwards considered this. "Which would you recommend?"​

Massey didn’t hesitate. "Aspetar offers an all-encompassing approach that could be highly beneficial for Zachary’s rehabilitation."​

Klopp leaned back, a determined look in his eyes. "We’ll support Zachary through this and adapt accordingly. It’s a tough blow, but we’ll find a way forward."​

Werner nodded. "We should also evaluate our strategies to mitigate his absence. Potential transfers, tactical adjustments—everything should be on the table."​

Klopp’s expression hardened with resolve. "No one can replace Zachary, but we’ll rally and continue our pursuit."​

The room fell into a contemplative silence, each member grappling with the implications of the news.​

-----

Zachary Bemba reclined against the hospital bed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as he processed everything that had happened over the past 24 hours.

Just the night before, he had been on top of the world, scoring twice in Liverpool’s emphatic victory over Manchester City. Now, he was confined to a hospital room, his left ankle heavily bandaged, awaiting surgery that would sideline him for six months.

A soft knock interrupted his reverie. The door creaked open, revealing Dr. Andrew Massey, accompanied by Liverpool’s sporting director, Michael Edwards. Their expressions were a blend of professionalism and empathy.

"Good afternoon, Zachary," Dr. Massey greeted, stepping inside. "We’ve finalized everything regarding the plan for your treatment."

Zachary sat up slightly, careful not to put any strain on his injured ankle. "And?"

Edwards took over. "The club has decided to send you to Aspetar in Doha, Qatar. It’s one of the best orthopedic and sports medicine hospitals in the world, and they have an elite team specialized in treating injuries like yours."

Zachary nodded, taking in the information. He had heard of Aspetar before—it was where top athletes from across Europe went for rehabilitation.

"We’ve arranged for a private jet to take you there," Edwards continued. "Take off is at 4:00 PM, and you’ll be accompanied by a specialized medical team to ensure your safety and comfort throughout the journey."

Dr. Massey added, "Your ankle needs to be operated on as soon as possible to avoid complications. The sooner we get you there, the sooner we can start your recovery process."

Zachary let out a slow breath. He knew Liverpool were making every effort to preserve him as their asset. After all, he was valued at over €100 million, as a Ballon d’Or winner and a recent World Cup champion. But despite that, he couldn’t deny the gratitude he felt for the club’s swift action.

As they finished their discussion, Kristin Stein, his PA, entered the room just then, carrying a small black duffel bag over her shoulder.

"I have gotten everything you need for the journey," she said, placing the bag on the nearby chair. "Some comfortable tracksuits, travel essentials... and an extra hoodie since I know you get cold on flights."

Zachary smirked despite himself. "You know me too well."

Kristin rolled her eyes. "That’s literally my job."

Time passed, and by 2:00 PM, everything had been arranged. The medical team had secured his discharge papers, and outside, a sleek black Mercedes van awaited to transport him to Manchester Airport.

Since he couldn’t walk on his own, a nurse assisted him into a wheelchair. Kristin walked beside him as the hospital staff and security personnel guided them through the private exit, keeping media and onlookers at bay.

The drive that followed to Manchester Airport was smooth, the city passing by in a blur. Through the tinted windows, Zachary caught glimpses of familiar sights—the River Irwell, the towering Beetham Tower, the bustling streets of central Manchester. A part of him wanted to take it all in, but his mind was elsewhere.

Would he still be the same player when he returned?

And would he fit in the Liverpool team when he recovered?

Upon arriving at Manchester Airport’s VIP terminal, Zachary was immediately met by a concierge team, who ensured that his transition through security was seamless. While he was used to VIP treatment as a top footballer, he couldn’t help but feel a little strange receiving it in a wheelchair.

He was escorted through a private entrance, away from the usual chaos of the airport.

The VIP lounge was quiet and luxurious, with plush seating, ambient lighting, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the runway. A steward approached with a warm towel and a selection of refreshments, but Zachary barely touched them.

Kristin sat beside him, scrolling through her phone. "The club just put out a statement about your injury," she murmured. "Fans are already sending messages of support."

Zachary sighed. He had avoided checking his phone all morning, knowing that the flood of messages—from teammates, fans, journalists, and even rival players—would be overwhelming.

Everyone would want to know how he was holding up, whether he was okay, whether he would return soon.

But what could he even say? That he was frustrated? That the uncertainty gnawed at him? That, for the first time in years, he felt powerless?

He pushed the negative thoughts to the back of his mind and ran a hand down his face, willing himself to focus on the present.

It was then a knock at the lounge door drew his attention. A member of the airport concierge team stepped inside, offering a polite nod.

"Mr. Bemba, your aircraft is ready for boarding."

Kristin immediately stood and glanced at him. "Alright, let’s get you on that plane."

Zachary nodded, gripping the armrests of his wheelchair as an airport staff member positioned himself behind him. The quiet hum of the airport faded into the background as they began moving toward the exit.

Through the glass doors ahead, his private jet awaited him on the tarmac, its engines already humming softly. The sleek aircraft stood out against the dull Manchester sky, a reminder that his next stop wasn’t just another destination—it was the beginning of a grueling battle for recovery.

The moment they exited the VIP terminal, the cold wind hit him. Even wrapped in a thick Liverpool-branded tracksuit, he shivered slightly. Kristin walked beside him, arms crossed against the chill, as the staff carefully maneuvered him toward the aircraft.

As he approached the stairs leading into the jet, another airport official stepped forward, offering assistance. With his ankle still heavily immobilized, every small movement sent a dull ache up his leg, but he gritted his teeth and allowed them to help him inside.

The cabin was spacious, modern, and designed for comfort. Plush leather seats, ambient lighting, and a discreet medical setup reminded him that this was no ordinary flight. A team of Liverpool’s assigned medics had already taken their seats, ready to monitor him throughout the journey.

Kristin boarded behind him, placing his duffel bag in one of the storage compartments before settling into the seat across from him.

Zachary leaned his head back against the soft leather, closing his eyes briefly as he fastened his seatbelt. He could still hear the faint sounds of the airport outside, the distant whir of luggage carts, the final checks being done before takeoff.

Then, almost instinctively, he turned his head toward the window.

Beyond the tarmac, Manchester stretched out before him—its towering skyline, its familiar grey skies, the city where he had played one of his best games just the night before.

It felt surreal.

With a deep breath, he exhaled slowly, pushing aside the lingering doubts.

The jet’s engines roared to life, and as the aircraft began its taxi down the runway, Zachary closed his eyes.

This was it.

The long road to recovery was officially about to begin.

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