Rachel smirked. "You mean they'd love it almost as much as he deserves it."

A small chuckle broke the tension in the room, but Nagelsmann's mind was already made up. He put the tablet down and looked at his staff.

"All right," he said firmly. "Brandt comes in for Wirtz."

Benjamin raised an eyebrow. "You're serious?"

Nagelsmann nodded. "Yes. He's earned it. And I want him training with the senior squad starting Wednesday. I'll call Frankfurt's staff myself."

Rachel smiled, sitting back in her chair, satisfied. "Took you long enough."

Völler grinned, shaking his head. "Let's hope he doesn't make us all look old out there."

Nagelsmann's expression softened as he looked once more at the frozen image on his tablet — Lukas, mid-dribble, eyes locked forward, the crowd behind him a blur of motion and light.

"He won't," Nagelsmann said quietly. "He'll make us look smart."

Right there, Lukas, who was overlooked about week ago, had just been added to the squad list for the upcoming international break for the UEFA Nations League quarterfinals against Italy.

* * *

The next afternoon was calm, the kind of stillness that follows emotional storms. Lukas had stayed late after class, his bag slung loosely over one shoulder as he walked out of the university courtyard. The faint hum of students drifted through the air, but his thoughts were elsewhere — still replaying that final moment against Union Berlin.

At the gate, he caught up with Eba Bekir, who had just finished his lecture. Eba was cheerful, more talkative than usual, carrying that quiet confidence that comes from progress. Over the past months, the young defender had grown sharper in training, and Lukas had noticed it — the extra hunger, the cleaner tackles, the new conviction to stop anything from coming through.

It wasn't just Lukas, the coaching staff were noticing it too as he was being included in the first team bench more often than not and had even made a cameo appearance off the bench in Istanbul.

"You've been training well lately," Lukas said with a small nod. "Feels like you're ready to start pushing for more first-team minutes."

Eba grinned. "Trying to follow your example, Captain Cool," he teased, giving Lukas a playful shove. "You make it look easy, you know. Even when things don't go your way."

Lukas chuckled softly, shaking his head. "It's never easy. You just learn to breathe through it."

They stood there for a moment — two young men on parallel paths, bound by the same dream. When Eba's bus rolled up, they exchanged a brief handshake, one of mutual respect.

"See you at training tomorrow," Eba said.

"Yeah. See you," Lukas replied, turning to head home.

His phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

He stopped walking. For a second, he thought it might be a journalist or a club staff member. He almost ignored it, but something told him to answer.

"Hallo, this is Lukas Brandt."

"Good afternoon, Lukas," came a calm, steady voice. "This is Julian Nagelsmann speaking."

Lukas froze mid-step, his mind blank for a heartbeat. "Oh… hello, Coach," he said, his voice quieter than he expected.

"I'll keep this short," Nagelsmann continued. "We've been following you closely — your composure, your awareness, the way you handled yourself under pressure. I'm calling to let you know that you've been selected for the senior national team. You'll report to the DFB Campus next week."

For a long moment, Lukas said nothing. The sounds of the street faded, replaced by the hollow thump of his heartbeat.

"I… I don't know what to say," he finally managed.

"Say nothing," Nagelsmann replied, a faint smile in his tone. "Just keep being who you are. See you soon, Lukas."

The line went silent.

Lukas stood still, staring at the sky turning amber in the distance. His chest rose and fell as the realization sank in — this wasn't just another match, another call. It was the call. The one every young player dreams about on sleepless nights.

He slipped the phone into his pocket, his eyes glimmering with quiet disbelief. A soft wind brushed his face as he whispered to himself, almost like a prayer,

"Nationalmannschaft…"

And for the first time that day, he smiled — not with pride, but with gratitude.

* * *

That evening, Lukas walked into the recovery room at the training center, still dressed in his tracksuit and carrying a towel over his shoulder. The room buzzed faintly with low chatter and the whir of massage guns. A few of the players were already there — Uzun lying on the mat with his eyes closed, Knauff scrolling through his phone by the ice bath, and Bahoya talking quietly with one of the physios.

Lukas, however, carried an energy that stood out instantly. His face lit up with a smile that hadn't left since the afternoon. Even his walk was different — lighter, almost effortless. A few glances were exchanged.

Uzun squinted at him from his mat. "What's with the grin? You look like you just won the lottery."

Lukas chuckled, trying to sound casual. "Something like that," he said, lowering himself onto the recovery bench. "Let's just say I got some good news today."

Uzun smirked. "Must be really good news to make you smile through recovery."

Lukas only laughed and leaned back as the physio began working on his calves. He didn't explain further, and no one pressed. There was something about the quiet confidence in his tone that told them it was serious — and good.

As he sat there, he glanced at his phone beside him. Messages from his the gang filled the screen. He had already told them everything. They were thrilled, promising to get tickets for the home leg against Italy.

A few minutes later, the door to the recovery room swung open, and in walked Toppmöller. The light chatter faded almost immediately as the players straightened up. He scanned the room with his usual calm but calculating expression — until his eyes landed on Lukas.

He was still smiling, gently whistling a tune as he stretched his hamstring against the resistance band. Toppmöller didn't need to ask why. He had already received the message from the DFB earlier that afternoon.

"He must have gotten the good news," he thought to himself, a small nod betraying the faintest flicker of pride beneath his usual stoicism.

He clapped his hands once to gather attention. "Alright, everyone," he began, stepping forward. "Yesterday's game is behind us. It wasn't what we wanted, but we move on. We've got a big one coming up against Fenerbahçe on Thursday — and we'll need full focus."

The players listened in silence as he continued. "They'll come hard, especially after we defeated them at their home grounf, and we'll have to be sharper in our transitions.

They will want revenge, but we will make them leave here empty handed.

Recovery tonight, light session tomorrow, then we build from there. Forget Union. That's done. What matters is Europe now."

He paused, letting his gaze sweep across the group again. "You've all done well to get us here. Let's make sure that loss doesn't define our week."

A few nods followed. Lukas sat up straighter, still feeling that quiet current of joy inside him — but now mixed with something else: resolve. Thursday couldn't come fast enough.

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