Become A Football Legend-Chapter 234: Enough For Tonight

Trapp stood over a goal kick and chose control over distance. He rolled it short to Tuta, who opened his body and fed Kristensen on the right. Kristensen took a touch, lifted his head, and spotted it instantly.

"Switch is on... all the way across..."

The ball climbed into the night sky, arcing diagonally across the pitch toward the far touchline. Lukas tracked it calmly, adjusting his steps, eyes flicking once toward the onrushing danger.

Caci was already charging. Not at the ball. At him.

"Caci’s flying in here—reckless speed!"

Lukas waited. Just long enough.

He turned his body away from the collision and cushioned the ball with his first touch, guiding it back into the very space Caci had just vacated. Momentum did the rest. Caci tried to twist, boots scrabbling for balance, and went down hard, face-first into the turf.

"OHHH—HE’S SENT HIM THE WRONG WAY!"

"Caci’s down, and Brandt is gone!"

The away end exploded.

Lukas accelerated instantly, chewing up grass down the flank. Costa sprinted across in desperation, throwing himself into a sliding tackle without hesitation.

"Costa has to make this—"

He didn’t.

With the outside of his left foot, Lukas nicked the ball cleanly through Costa’s legs and skipped over the challenge as the defender slid helplessly toward the touchline.

"THAT IS FILTHY!"

"HE’S DANCING THROUGH THEM!"

Now inside the box, Lukas lifted his head. He didn’t rush. He didn’t force it. Ekitiké was already peeling away at the back post, timing his run perfectly, free for half a second.

One touch. Calm. Flat.

The ball flashed across the six-yard box like it was guided by a string.

"Square it—YES—"

Ekitiké arrived and tapped it in from close range, barely breaking stride.

"GOAL! FRANKFURT AGAIN!"

"THEY ARE RIPPING MAINZ APART ON THE BREAK!"

3–0.

The away end erupted into bedlam. Players piled toward the corner, arms raised, voices lost in the noise. Ekitiké pointed straight back at Lukas, clapping, shouting something inaudible over the roar.

On the touchline, Toppmöller punched the air hard, jaw clenched, turning to his bench with a shout of triumph. Across the way, Henriksen stood frozen, hands on hips, staring out at the pitch in disbelief.

"That is devastating."

"One moment of quality, one moment of composure, and Mainz are punished."

Lukas slowed his run, chest rising and falling, a small smile breaking across his face as teammates swarmed him. Hair was ruffled, shoulders grabbed, a quick slap to the back of the head from Koch.

And as the celebrations died down and Frankfurt reset, it was clear. Mainz had thrown everything at him. He had waited. And when the opening came, he ended the contest in a single burst of brilliance.

Toppmöller allowed himself exactly one second of celebration.

He punched the air once, turned toward the bench with a sharp shout of relief and triumph, and then his eyes snapped immediately back to the pitch. Straight to Lukas. The smile vanished from his face.

He walked briskly to his assistant.

A few rapid words with Buck. Short. Urgent. Decisive.

Buck nodded, turned, and raised his arm toward the touchline where Uzun had been jogging back and forth, loosening his legs. Uzun looked up, blinked in surprise, then quickened his steps as Buck beckoned him over.

On the pitch, the game restarted.

Mainz tried to respond immediately, pushing numbers forward, urgency creeping into every pass. A vertical ball toward the edge of Frankfurt’s box was cut out sharply by Chaïbi, who stepped in front of his man and took it cleanly.

"Good interception from Chaïbi—Frankfurt can break here."

Without hesitation, Chaïbi sent a whipped ground pass up the line, skidding fast across the grass toward Lukas near the halfway line, tight to the touchline.

The ball came hot.

Lukas checked his shoulder.

Costa was already there. Full sprint. Eyes locked on the man, not the ball.

"He’s charging again—Costa right on him."

One touch. Simple. Lukas laid it inside to Ekitiké and tried to spin away, turning his body to roll past the defender and move into space. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

He didn’t get there.

Costa came through him from behind, all momentum and no restraint, clattering straight into his lower back and sending both of them sliding violently toward the advertising boards. Lukas hit first. Hard. The boards rattled.

The stadium erupted.

"That’s reckless!"

"He’s gone straight through him!"

Ekitiké reacted instantly, spinning around and shoving Costa to the ground in a flash of fury. Koch sprinted toward the referee, arms flailing, shouting. On the touchline, Toppmöller was already storming toward the fourth official, face flushed, veins standing out on his neck.

"HOW IS THAT ONLY—"

Knauff and Larsson reached Lukas first. They dropped to their knees beside him, voices urgent.

"You good? Lukas, talk to us."

Lukas didn’t answer.

He lay face down on the turf, unmoving for a split second that felt far too long. The noise inside the stadium dipped into a tense, uneasy murmur.

On the bench, Toppmöller’s stomach sank.

"Medical team—now!"

The medics were already moving as the referee finally regained control, pulling Ekitiké away and flashing yellow cards. One for Costa. One for Ekitiké.

The crowd booed furiously.

And then, suddenly, Lukas lifted his left hand.

Thumb up.

The away end roared in relief.

The camera caught it too. As he raised his head, there was a flash of a grin on his face. A quick, cheeky smile. Gone almost immediately as he wiped it away with his sleeve.

"Oh, he’s fine—he’s letting everyone know."

Knauff and Larsson hauled him up carefully. Lukas stomped his right foot. Then his left. Once. Twice. Solid. No hesitation. He looked straight at the bench and raised his thumb again.

Toppmöller exhaled sharply without realizing he’d been holding his breath.

Then his expression hardened.

He turned to the fourth official and raised his fingers.

Substitution.

"No more risks."

"Not tonight."

Uzun was already waiting at the sideline as Lukas jogged toward him. The substitution board went up. Lukas off. Uzun on.

As Lukas walked the long way around the pitch toward the bench, the home fans let him have it. A wall of boos followed his every step, whistles cutting through the air.

He didn’t look at them.

When he reached the side where the away supporters were packed in, the sound flipped instantly. Applause. Cheers. Songs rising. Hands clapping in unison.

He acknowledged them with a small nod and a raised hand before taking his seat.

On the bench, Toppmöller clapped him firmly on the shoulder.

"Enough for today," he said quietly.

With Lukas off the pitch, the rhythm of the game shifted almost immediately. Frankfurt became more conservative, less daring in possession, more focused on managing space and time rather than stretching the field.

Uzun tucked in responsibly, Chaïbi dropped a little deeper to help circulate the ball, and the back line began clearing their lines earlier instead of trying to build through pressure. Mainz sensed it too. The crowd, which had been simmering in frustration, found its voice again, urging their side forward with renewed belief that there was still something to take from the night.

Wave after wave came toward Trapp’s goal. Crosses from wide areas, quick combinations at the edge of the box, second balls recycled again and again. Frankfurt defended with numbers, bodies thrown in the way, headers attacked with conviction. Koch and Tuta were vocal, constantly gesturing, pulling the line up, demanding concentration. Trapp made himself big when needed, barking instructions, slapping the turf after every clearance to keep his defenders switched on.

In the 78th minute, the pressure finally told.