Become A Football Legend-Chapter 218: MTC

Anne slipped her hand into Javi’s again as they walked toward the exit, their fingers locking together instinctively.

"It’s alright," she said softly, as if repeating it made it truer. "We caught it early. That’s what matters."

Javi nodded, blinking up at the high windows where pale daylight filtered in.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah... it is."

As they stepped outside, the cool spring air hit his face. Javi paused for a second, breathing deeply, then looked up at the sky. Quietly, so softly Anne almost missed it, he whispered a thank you. Not to anyone in particular. Just gratitude. That he had listened. That he had come. That his son had pushed him until he did.

They walked on together, hands clasped tightly, ready to face what came next.

* * *

The doorbell rang just as the evening light was starting to thin, the kind that softened everything at the edges. Lukas had been sitting on the couch with his laptop open, half-watching a muted recap of the Leipzig game while scrolling through notes for school. The sound cut cleanly through the quiet apartment.

He frowned, stood up, and walked to the door.

Out of habit, he tapped the small screen mounted beside it.

Javi’s face filled the display.

For a fraction of a second, Lukas didn’t move. His chest tightened before his mind could catch up. Then he unlocked the door and pulled it open.

Javi stepped inside immediately and wrapped his arms around him, firm and unrestrained, the kind of hug that wasn’t careful about appearances or posture. Lukas froze at first, surprised by the force of it, then his arms came up on instinct and locked around his father’s back.

Anne followed them in quietly and closed the door behind her, the soft click echoing through the apartment. She stayed a step back, giving them space, her hands folded together, eyes already glassy.

Javi leaned down just enough to speak into Lukas’s ear. His voice was low, rough around the edges, barely holding together.

"Thank you."

Lukas felt it more than he heard it. The weight behind the word. The things it carried that hadn’t been said yet. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, pressing his forehead briefly against his father’s shoulder.

They stayed like that for a few seconds longer than necessary, neither of them in a hurry to let go. Outside, the world kept moving. Inside the apartment, time seemed to pause, held in that quiet, unspoken understanding between them.

Javi pulled back from the hug only far enough to look at his son properly, both hands still gripping Lukas’s shoulders as if letting go too soon might make the moment unravel. Lukas could feel the faint tremor in his father’s fingers, the kind that came only after fear had finally found somewhere safe to rest.

They moved inside without much ceremony. Anne stayed close, her presence calm and steady, the way it had been all day. The apartment felt smaller with the weight of what had happened pressing in on the walls, but it was warm, familiar, safe.

Javi sat down slowly, exhaling through his nose, and only then did he begin to talk.

"Dr. Schneider said it plainly," he started, voice low, controlled, the way he spoke when he did not want emotion to overtake him. "Medullary thyroid carcinoma. Very early stage. So early that if I hadn’t done those tests now... it might not have shown up for years."

Lukas nodded, swallowing. He kept his face neutral, brows drawn together in concern, playing the role of a son hearing devastating news for the first time. Inside, relief spread through him like a slow, cautious warmth. The timeline had shifted. The danger that had taken his father in another life had been intercepted, cut short before it could grow teeth.

"They’ll remove the entire thyroid," Javi continued. "Surgery here in Frankfurt. Dr. Schneider already referred me to an endocrinologist at Universitätsklinikum Frankfurt. Dr. Weber. Apparently one of the best."

Anne reached for Javi’s hand again, squeezing gently. Lukas watched the motion, watched how his father leaned into it without thinking. That alone told him how close they had come to something worse.

"The prognosis is very good," Javi added, almost as if he needed to say it aloud again to believe it. "95 percent survival. Maybe more. He said catching it this early changes everything."

"That’s... that’s amazing," Lukas said quietly. He let the relief show just enough to seem natural. "I’m really glad you did the tests."

Javi looked at him then, really looked at him, and there was something unspoken sitting behind his eyes. Gratitude, yes. But also the dawning realization of how much his son had insisted, how relentless Lukas had been about it.

"So am I," Javi said. "More than you know."

There was a brief pause before Javi shifted, straightening slightly, his tone changing. "Dr. Schneider also said something else. He mentioned genetics. Said it’s often inherited."

Lukas felt it coming and stayed still.

"He wants you tested," Javi continued. "Properly. Not just routine sports medicals. Full endocrine screening. Blood markers. Everything."

Lukas exhaled slowly. "Dad, the club runs medicals on me every two weeks. Growth, hormones, blood panels. If there was anything off—"

"I don’t care," Javi cut in, not harshly, but firmly. "I’m not leaving this to chance. Not with this. Not with you."

Anne glanced between them but said nothing, trusting Javi to finish what he needed to say.

"We go together tomorrow," Javi went on. "To Frankfurt. You get tested. Specialized tests. Dr. Weber or whoever he recommends."

Lukas hesitated. He wanted to say no, wanted to reassure him, wanted to insist it was unnecessary. But he saw the fear still sitting behind Javi’s calm, saw how thin the line had been today between certainty and loss.

"...Okay," Lukas said finally. "We’ll do it. As long as the club is aware."

Javi nodded once, decisive, and immediately reached for his phone. His thumb hovered over the screen for half a second before pressing the contact.

"Marco," he said, as the call began to ring.

The line connected.

* * *

A couple days later.

Wednesday evening settled heavily over the ProfiCamp.

The tactical review room still smelled faintly of coffee and damp jackets, the air thick from an hour of concentration. The massive screen at the front, which had been alive with freeze-frames of Manchester United’s press triggers, Garnacho’s blind-side runs, and Bruno Fernandes hitting Hollywood passes, finally went black. The soft hum of the projector died, leaving behind an uneasy silence.

The players stayed seated.

No one rushed to stand. No one joked. This had been coming for days.

They had started preparing for United right after Augsburg. Leipzig had almost felt like an intermission. Bayern were champions already, Frankfurt had already locked up a Champions League place with that win at Augsburg, and everything else had been pushed aside. Thursday was the season now. Thursday was the measure.

Toppmöller stood at the front for a moment, hands on his hips, scanning the room. Lukas sat among the group, hoodie pulled over his head, arms folded loosely, listening. He would not be part of this one on the pitch, and that absence sat in the room like an unspoken name.

The coach finally spoke.

"They’ve already decided we’re done."

A few heads lifted.

"They’re saying it everywhere. England, Germany, Spain. Same line." He gestured vaguely, as if swiping headlines out of the air. "No Brandt, no Frankfurt. That’s the story."