Become A Football Legend-Chapter 211: Post-Match

Toppmöller leaned toward the microphone before Lukas could even inhale to speak.

"It doesn’t matter," he said firmly, scanning the room with calm conviction. "Manchester United, Lyon — whoever comes. We respect both teams, but we believe completely in our ability to win over two legs."

A reporter quickly followed up, "But you’ll be without Lukas in the first leg. How does that change things?"

Toppmöller exhaled through his nose, the hint of a wry smile tugging at him.

"Yes," he said, "we’ll miss him. Obviously."

The cameras instinctively shifted toward Lukas.

Lukas gave a small, sheepish grin — that classic "sorry, coach" look — and lowered his head slightly.

Everyone in the room chuckled softly, sensing the warmth between them.

Toppmöller continued, making sure the message was clear:

"But he’s already apologized for the celebration, for the shirt coming off in the heat of the moment. And honestly, I can’t blame him. In a moment like that? Anyone might lose control for a second."

He tapped the table lightly.

"We have enough quality to get a result at home in the first leg. And when Lukas returns for the second leg..."

He glanced sideways at the teenager with unmistakable pride.

"...we will be very, very difficult to stop."

The room buzzed in agreement as Lukas kept that modest, apologetic smile, the kind that somehow made him look both like a superstar and a kid who’d been caught doing something impulsive.

The moderator checked his sheet, then spoke into the mic:

"Thank you, everyone. That concludes tonight’s press conference."

Flashes exploded again. Lukas took his trophy, exchanged a quick handshake with the moderator and left the room — just as the entire football world replayed that final goal on every screen inside the building.

The locker room was still shaking with the echoes of celebration when Lukas finally stepped inside, hair damp, shirt replaced, cheeks still flushed with the aftershock of adrenaline. The moment the squad noticed him, a new wave of noise rose — cheers, claps, someone banging a boot against a locker in rhythm.

Several players pulled him into embraces; others held up their phones for photos, laughing as they forced the exhausted teenager to pose with the match ball and his player-of-the-match plaque. Even the staff hovered near him with proud smiles. It wasn’t every day a sixteen-year-old dragged a club into the Europa League semifinals with a moment that would be replayed for decades.

Eventually the rush eased. As Lukas exhaled and scanned the room, he noticed Mario Götze sitting on the bench near the far corner, phone rotated horizontally, eyes narrowed in concentration. A small cluster of players — Larsson, Knauff, Tuta, Ekitike — hovered around him like curious children around a campfire. Lukas walked over, his boots half-unlaced, and leaned in.

On the screen, Old Trafford glowed under floodlights. The scoreline in the top-left corner read: Manchester United 3 – 4 Lyon.

Lukas blinked. "Wow... two goals since the reporters talked about the score."

Larsson wandered over beside him with a grin. "Oh! Is this United vs Lyon? Damn, that’s wild."

"Semifinal opponent," Knauff murmured, folding his arms. "So... who do you lot want? Lyon or United?"

Knauff answered his own question first. "I want Lyon. United haven’t been great in the Premier League, sure, but in the Europa League? They look like a different team. Won all their group matches, strong in the knockouts... this is the only path they have back to Champions League football. They’re hungry."

The group nodded. It made sense.

Then they all turned to Lukas — because, of course, they did.

He shrugged lightly, resting a hand on the back of the bench. "I hope United win," he said simply.

Larsson raised a brow. "Why United?"

"I want to play at Old Trafford," Lukas answered, not boastful, just honest, and everyone felt the electricity of the sentence. He said it like it was inevitable rather than hopeful.

Before anyone could reply, a movement on Götze’s screen stole their attention.

Kobbie Mainoo picked up the ball on the edge of the Lyon box, dropped his shoulder, slithered past a defender, and curled a low shot around both centre-back and keeper. The ball kissed the far corner and rippled the side-netting.

The locker room reacted instantly.

"Ohhh that’s filthy!"

"Great goal!"

"Mainoo, man... what a player."

Larsson nudged Lukas with an elbow and smirked. "Not as talented as our talisman, though."

Lukas rolled his eyes, though the compliment warmed him. He looked at the screen again as play resumed. Five minutes of added time were announced, and he said softly, with a faint smile, "It seems I’ll be playing at Old Trafford this season."

Uzun snorted. "It’s still a draw — they might go to penalties. Don’t be too sure."

"They won’t," Lukas replied calmly, already turning away to start changing out of his kit. "United will score again before the game ends."

He had barely taken two steps when a roar erupted from the phone.

Everyone whipped back around.

A whipped Casemiro cross.

A late run.

A towering leap.

Harry Maguire thumped a header into the back of the net.

Old Trafford exploded on-screen.

And from across the locker room, Lukas called without turning his head—

"I told you so."

The squad erupted in laughter, shaking their heads, half-amazed and half-convinced he truly willed it into existence. 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

The Europa League semifinal was set.

Eintracht Frankfurt vs Manchester United.

And Lukas, still only sixteen, walked away smiling, as if the moment of his exploits at one of the most remarkable stadia in football had been written even before the tie was confirmed.

* * *

The next morning.

Lukas blinked himself awake, the faint morning brightness leaking through the hotel curtains drawing him back into reality after a night that already felt surreal. His body ached pleasantly, the kind of exhaustion that only comes after pouring out every ounce of energy in front of fifty thousand people. He swung his legs off the bed and pushed himself up, moving toward the bathroom to freshen up.

He flicked on the light and glanced at his reflection.

There it was.

A dark, unmistakable hickey on the side of his neck.

He closed his eyes for a second, sighing with a helpless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Joanna... In the frenzy of their celebration after the match — the joy, the adrenaline, the sheer emotion — she had gotten carried away. Honestly, both of them had. It was getting harder and harder to hold the line they had drawn for themselves: no sex until his birthday in December.

They had agreed on it together, half out of caution, half out of wanting to savour something meaningful rather than rushing it. But everything else? Fair game. And last night, if he hadn’t been so exhausted — from the match, from the dinner with both families, from the emotions of the whole evening — things might’ve gone differently.

Still, she had let him sleep and slipped out early with João and Javi so the three of them could get back to Darmstadt in time for classes. The quiet generosity of that gesture made his chest feel warm.

He brushed his teeth, splashed water on his face, and went back to the bed to grab his phone from the nightstand.

He unlocked it.

Immediately, it was chaos.

A/N: I asked, and DanielPolo, THE GOAT, answered. Thanks so much for the Luxury car. And just for the gift, I will release another Chapter before I sleep tonight. So expect another Chapter in the next 6-7 hours.

Thank you!

I’m still running my gift begathon.

I’m not ashamed to call a spade, a spade.

I love y’all. Gifters and non-gifters... But gifters a bit more.

-Writ.