Lukas tumbled forward, landing hard on the slick grass. The whistle shrieked before the boos did.

"That's a poor challenge. You could see it coming; Fred just couldn't handle him anymore."

Fred immediately raised a hand, apologetic but unconvincing. The referee jogged over and showed him a yellow card to the roar of the Frankfurt supporters. Lukas sat up, rubbing his leg, testing the impact. After a brief moment, he stood, waved to the fans to show he was fine, and offered a faint grin.

On the sideline, Toppmöller gestured toward the bench. Knauff was already warming up. It wasn't worth the risk, not with the game settled and the young star's legs having done enough magic for one night.

"And that looks like it'll be the end of the evening for Lukas Brandt. What a performance he's given us again tonight — three assists, moments of pure brilliance, and the composure of a player twice his age."

As the fourth official raised the board, the entire stadium rose to its feet. Applause thundered around Deutsche Bank Park. Lukas jogged slowly toward the touchline, soaked, smiling faintly, acknowledging the ovation with a small wave. His eyes were glued to the top of the stadium, the location he knew his family and friends were watching from.

Toppmöller met Lukas with a quick hug. "You did well, kid," he said simply, patting him on the shoulder. Lukas just nodded, still catching his breath, eyes flicking toward the pitch where Knauff was already chasing down the next ball.

He sat on the bench, a staff member handing him a water bottle and a thick jacket. The cheers still rolled in waves behind him. Lukas took a long sip, leaned back, and exhaled deeply — the kind of quiet satisfaction that comes after a night where everything felt effortless.

"A standing ovation for Lukas Brandt — and well deserved. Frankfurt's wonderkid has done it again."

The rain kept falling lightly, but inside the stadium, it felt like a celebration.

Meanwhile up in the stands.

João was giggling as he scrolled through his phone. There had been some concern after Fred's foul, and he was one of the loudest booing after only the yellow card was shown, but after it was confirmed that Lukas was okay, his attention had gone back to the app on his phone.

"Hehehe, 95 euros from 2+ goal contributions," João said as he scrolled through his phone and licked his lips. "Lukas about to make us rich."

"That's a very stupid thing to do. You really should get your hands off of sports betting if you are serious about your football career. I'm really gonna tell Mom if you don't stop," Joanna said as she gave her brother a disgusted stare.

"It's not a big deal... Fine I'll stop. Don't tell anyone. You're gonna land me in trouble."

"Don't you know you're putting him in potential trouble by betting on games he plays when you guys are best friends?"

"He has no knowledge of it, though. I just did it cause I notice he was getting a lot of goal contributions. I only put 20 euros."

"Yeah, but what do you think will be reported in the media if this is ever found out? You think the public will believe he had no idea his best friend was betting on his matches?"

João couldn't reply to Joanna's questions, he knew something like this could stain both his and Lukas's career.

"You're right. That was very stupid of me," João responded as he uninstalled the app from his phone.

"Is everything alright?" Javi turnedd around and asked, he was sitting in front of the siblings.

"Yeah, its nothing serious, just asking him for some explanation on the match," Joanna responded. She had been communicating in Portugese with her brother so Javi couldn't understand what they were talking about.

Javi did not question any further as the match had resumed and he turned to focus on the pitch.

* * *

"And that's it! The referee blows for full-time, and Eintracht Frankfurt are through to the semifinals of the Europa League. A 3–2 win tonight, 6–3 on aggregate, and the Waldstadion rises to its feet in celebration," the commentator said as the referee blew his whistle to end the game.

A wave of noise swept through the stands, thousands of fans roaring in unison as the players hugged, clapped, and dropped to their knees on the slick, rain-polished pitch. The air was still heavy from the earlier drizzle, mist curling under the floodlights while chants of 'Eintracht! Eintracht!' echoed across the ground.

"What a performance. Fenerbahçe showed fight, no doubt about it, especially with that late goal from Szymański in the eightieth minute. But Frankfurt were simply too good, too composed. They controlled the tempo, they took their chances, and they never panicked."

"And look at that young man there — Lukas Brandt. The youngest player ever called up to the German national team, and tonight, he showed exactly why. Three assists, countless moments of brilliance, and another man-of-the-match award on a European night. He seems to get better with every game."

Lukas stood on the sideline, jacket zipped halfway, water bottle in hand, watching his teammates wave to the roaring fans. His hair was still damp from the rain and sweat, and a faint smile played on his face. Behind him, Toppmöller was all smiles too, exchanging a quick handshake with Mourinho before turning toward his players, proud of how they had handled the night.

"For Frankfurt, this is huge. They've booked their place in the semifinals where they'll face Athletic Bilbao. That's going to be a real battle — two sides that love intensity, that press hard and play with heart. But if Frankfurt perform like this again, they'll fancy their chances."

"Exactly. The rain fell, the pressure was high, and yet they found a way. Frankfurt 3, Fenerbahçe 2, 6–3 on aggregate. Another European night that will be remembered here in the Waldstadion."

As the fans continued to cheer, Lukas — with his man-of-the-match award in hand — walked slowly toward the tunnel, waving once before disappearing from view. The noise still followed him, echoing in the concrete hallways behind the pitch. For him, it wasn't just another win. It was a step closer to something bigger, both for Eintracht Frankfurt and for himself.

* * *

That night, the rain had turned to a soft drizzle, the kind that made the city lights shimmer against the wet streets. Lukas stepped out of the black SUV in front of the five-star Steigenberger Frankfurter Hof hotel, walking between his father Javi and his agent Marco. Joanna and Joao followed just behind, all of them still buzzing from the victory.

Lukas wore a black turtleneck tucked neatly into tailored grey trousers, topped with a long dark overcoat that brushed just above his boots. A baseball cap and a disposable face mask hid most of his face, but the way he carried himself — the calm confidence, the unmistakable stride — was enough to give him away to anyone paying attention.

As the group entered the hotel lobby, a few heads turned. Someone near the reception whispered, "That's him, isn't it? Lukas Brandt." Another pulled out a phone, and just as she was about to take the picture, Lukas turned towards her direction, and waved.

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