Become A Football Legend-Chapter 220: Off We Go

Before Mount could reply, Bruno Fernandes jogged over, clapping his hands once, sharply, to draw their attention.

"Forget the noise," Bruno said firmly, lowering his voice but not his intensity. "Forget the crowd. Forget him."

He jerked his chin vaguely toward the stands.

"It doesn’t matter if Lukas Brandt is on the pitch or sitting up there eating popcorn," Bruno continued. "If we do our job, we’re the ones going to the final. But only if we stay calm."

Mount nodded immediately. "Yeah."

Garnacho straightened, rolling his shoulders. "They’re trying to get into our heads."

"And they will," Bruno replied, eyes scanning the stadium one last time. "That’s what this place does. But pressure only works if you accept it. We don’t."

He clapped again, louder this time. "Sharp touches. Quick passes. Trust each other. We’ve been here before."

A whistle sounded from the coaching staff, calling the players back toward the tunnel.

"Come on," Bruno said, already turning away. "Time to get ready."

Mount exhaled slowly as he followed, the roar of the crowd still echoing in his ears. Garnacho took one last glance up at the stands, at the sea of Frankfurt supporters and the unmistakable figure of Lukas watching from above, then jogged after his captain.

Warm-up was over.

Now it was real.

Back up on the stands, Lukas leaned back slightly in his seat, elbows resting on his thighs, eyes following the movement on the pitch as the players continued their warm-ups below.

Joanna sat close enough that their shoulders touched, her knee angled toward his, her hands folded loosely in her lap. For a moment, neither of them spoke. It was one of those silences that did not need filling.

"You’ll be fine," Joanna said, unprompted. "You’re always fine."

She knew Lukas had gone for the test for MTC a couple days ago and was now waiting for the results, he had kept her updated as things developed on Javi’s end.

Lukas let out a small breath, the corner of his mouth lifting. He nodded, not because he needed convincing, but because he appreciated the way she said it, like it was already settled. He told her he wasn’t worried.

* * *

The living room in the Jacksons’ house glowed blue and white under the flood of the television lights, TNT Sports filling the space with crowd noise from Frankfurt long before a ball had been kicked. Roger sat forward on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, remote forgotten in his hand. Lexi was curled up at the other end, wrapped in a United scarf despite the late hour, one leg tucked under her, eyes fixed on the screen. Jane sat between them, phone resting face-down on her thigh, her attention split in a way only she seemed to notice.

On the television, the camera swept across the Waldstadion, flares burning red and white, flags rippling like waves. The commentators’ voices rose over the noise.

"Good evening from Frankfurt," one of them began, measured and confident. "A Europa League semi-final first leg, and what an atmosphere we have here tonight."

The graphic settled and the commentator’s tone sharpened as he moved into the teams.

"Manchester United first," he began. "It’s André Onana in goal. A back three of Lindelöf, Maguire, and Yoro. Out wide, Mazraoui on the right, Dorgu on the left. In midfield, Casemiro sits alongside Ugarte. Ahead of them, Bruno Fernandes captains the side, with Garnacho just off him, and Rasmus Højlund leading the line."

There was a brief pause as the graphic slid away, then the red eagle filled the screen.

"Eintracht Frankfurt line up in a back three," he said, voice steady.

"Trapp in goal. Koch at the heart of the defence, flanked by Tuta and Theate. Brown and Skhiri providing the width and balance, Larsson in midfield. Knauff and Bahoya supporting Ekitike up front..."

He paused for half a beat, then added, deliberately:

"And no Lukas Brandt, who’s serving a suspension after that scintillating performance here in the second leg of the quarter-finals against Athletic Bilbao."

The camera cut immediately to the stands.

Lukas appeared on screen, standing in the hospitality area, arms folded, eyes locked on the pitch. The stadium reacted as one. A surge of sound poured through the speakers.

Jane’s fingers twitched. She leaned forward without realizing it, her gaze narrowing, lips parting slightly. She did not hear Roger exhale through his nose.

"Big miss for them," Roger said. "Huge."

Lexi nodded without looking away from the screen. "Yeah. But this is where United have to be smart."

The camera stayed on Lukas a second longer before cutting back to the pitch. Jane shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs, her attention lingering where his image had been. Her phone buzzed softly against her thigh. She flipped it over, glanced at the screen, then turned it face-down again, unread.

"Lexi," Roger said, eyes still on the TV, "don’t you have an exam tomorrow?"

Lexi finally looked away, rolling her eyes slightly. "I’ll be fine. I’m prepared. I’m not missing this."

She then let out a long, exaggerated sigh and leaned back into the couch, folding her arms across her chest. "It’s actually unfair," she said, eyes still glued to the screen. "A European semi-final at the Waldstadion, that atmosphere, and I’m stuck here watching it on TNT Sports. I should be there. In the stands. This is exactly the kind of night you remember forever."

Roger didn’t even look away from the television. "You also have an exam tomorrow," he said calmly, as if reciting a fact carved into stone. "A pretty important one at that."

Lexi groaned. "I know, I know. You’ve said it like ten times. Doesn’t mean it hurts any less."

Roger smiled slightly, then turned toward her. "Tell you what," he said. "I’ve already sorted tickets for the return leg. Old Trafford. All three of us. Semi-final night, at home."

Jane’s heart skipped so hard it almost hurt. She turned toward him instantly. "Really?"

Roger blinked, surprised more by her tone than the question itself. Jane almost never reacted like that. Over fifteen years of marriage, she had sat through countless United matches, cup nights, derbies, even European finals, always supportive but never truly invested. She was a Celtic fan first and foremost, and that loyalty had never really faded. United had always been Roger’s club, Lexi’s club. Not hers.

"That sounded very enthusiastic," Roger said, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You sure you’re okay?"

Jane straightened immediately, smoothing the fabric of her sleeve as if she’d been caught doing something wrong. "What? No. I just meant... I’m surprised, that’s all. Tickets are hard to get, especially for a semi-final." She paused, then added quickly, "I did have plans that day, but they’re not important. I can reschedule."

Roger nodded slowly, still a little puzzled, but let it go. Lexi, on the other hand, beamed, already picturing the noise, the lights, the tension of Old Trafford under the floodlights. Jane leaned back into the couch, eyes drifting once more to the screen, her excitement carefully masked, her thoughts very much elsewhere.

Jane smiled faintly at that, though her eyes were already back on the screen as the players lined up in the tunnel. The roar from Frankfurt was constant now, almost physical, pressing through the speakers and into the room.

The camera followed the teams onto the pitch. Red shirts. White shirts. The Europa League anthem faded. The referee glanced at his watch.

Jane clasped her hands together in her lap.

The whistle blew.

And the semi-final was underway.