Become A Football Legend-Chapter 240: Courtesy (by Malo71)

Knauff was near the touchline, already mid-motion, his right foot swinging through the ball. The pass came hard and fast along the ground, skimming the grass with pace, angling toward Lukas from his left.

Lukas didn’t break conversation. He didn’t even look surprised.

He took one short step back, opened his body, and met the ball cleanly with his right foot.

The strike was pure. Low. Violent.

The ball fizzed across the grass and buried itself inside the bottom corner of the empty net, snapping the side netting so sharply that even Trapp, standing well off to the side, shook his head instinctively. If he’d been in goal, he wouldn’t have gotten close.

Lukas turned, pointing immediately.

"You owe me fifty euros."

Larsson burst out laughing. "When are you going to learn?" he asked Knauff, shaking his head. "Every time."

Knauff spread his hands in mock disbelief, already grinning. "That wasn’t fair. That doesn’t count."

Nearby, the set-piece coach had stopped walking.

He’d been watching the exchange out of the corner of his eye, and now he turned toward Buck, leaning in and speaking quickly. Buck’s eyebrows rose. He glanced toward Toppmöller, who shifted his stance and listened in.

"I have an idea for a routine we could use for this game," the set-piece coach said, voice low but animated, gesturing subtly toward the penalty area.

Toppmöller followed his gestures, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

After a moment, he nodded once and turned back toward the pitch.

"Lukas," he called. "Larsson. Chaïbi."

The three jogged over, still smiling from the exchange.

The set-piece coach explained briefly, hands moving as he outlined angles and timing. No one interrupted. When he finished, Toppmöller looked at the players.

"Well?"

Larsson nodded immediately. "I like it."

Chaïbi grinned. "Yeah. That could work."

Lukas considered it for a second, then shrugged lightly. "We can give it a shot."

That was enough.

Cones were moved. Balls were placed. Positions were taken.

Training shifted seamlessly into rehearsing the routine, repetition after repetition, the rhythm of preparation settling in as the clock ticked steadily toward a flight to Manchester.

* * *

The session wound down without ceremony. Cones were collected, bibs tossed into a mesh bag, boots scraped clean against the edge of the pitch. The mood was light but charged, the kind of energy that lingered when players knew something big was coming. The most important game of the season so far was in 2 days. Everyone felt it.

Inside the changing room, steam already hung in the air. Showers hissed in the background, lockers banged open and shut, music played softly from someone’s speaker. Lukas was unlacing his boots when a sudden shout cut through the noise.

"Oi—have you seen this?"

Knauff was standing by his locker, phone held up, eyes wide with exaggerated disbelief.

"City again?" Larsson asked, already reaching for his own phone.

Knauff grinned. "Not just again. Bigger."

He read it out loud, dragging the words just enough to milk the reaction. "80 million plus 10 in add-ons. Frankfurt reviewing."

A chorus of whistles followed.

"Well then," Uzun said, leaning back against the bench. "Guess you’d better audition properly against their rivals, yeah?"

A towel flew across the room and smacked Uzun lightly in the chest.

"Shut up," Lukas said, though he was smiling despite himself.

Larsson was scrolling now, thumb moving fast. "Oh, this is gold," he said. "Listen to this one."

He cleared his throat theatrically. " ’City panicking again. Every time they’re in trouble they open the chequebook. Hope the 115 charges catch up with them.’ "

A few players laughed.

Larsson kept going. "Here’s another. ’Who even is this kid? Bundesliga tax. We’ll see him disappear like the rest.’ "

Lukas finally looked up from his locker. "These fans really like to run their mouth."

Uzun smirked. "They won’t be running it for much longer."

Lukas shook his head and picked up his phone, unlocking it and opening X himself. The post was already everywhere, timelines filled with the same headline recycled a dozen different ways. City fans arguing. United fans mocking. Bayern fans lurking. Neutral accounts farming engagement with clipped highlights and exaggerated captions.

He scrolled slowly, eyes scanning replies without really reading them all. Somewhere between the jokes, the accusations, and the recycled talking points, there were a few familiar patterns. Doubt. Fear. Provocation.

What stuck with him wasn’t the noise. It was the persistence.

He frowned slightly.

City again. Still.

He thought of the dinner his father had mentioned. Txiki. The careful phrasing Javi had used. The way he’d said, very clearly, that Lukas wasn’t interested in the Premier League right now. Nothing had changed since then.

And yet here they were. Unwilling to take no for an answer.

It didn’t make sense to him.

He closed X, opened his messaging app, and typed away

"What’s going on?"

Marco’s phone vibrated in Markus Krösche’s office, the screen lighting up against the dark wood of the table. Lukas’s name sat at the top of the notification. Marco glanced at it, thumb already moving as he typed a quick response, measured and calm, even if his jaw tightened slightly as he sent it.

"I’m trying to find out."

He had barely locked the phone when the door behind him opened.

Krösche came in at pace, jacket still half on, his assistant close behind with a tablet tucked under her arm. Marco stood immediately and they shook hands, firm and professional, the kind of greeting that skipped pleasantries because both men knew why they were here.

"Drink?" Krösche asked as he shrugged out of his jacket.

"Coffee," Marco replied without hesitation.

The assistant nodded and slipped back out, the door closing softly behind her.

Marco didn’t wait.

"What’s going on, Markus?" he asked, voice even but direct. "Why haven’t these bids been shut down properly? City don’t increase to eighty plus ten unless they think they still have a chance. Same with Atlético hovering around. From our side, it looks like the stance hasn’t been clear enough."

Krösche leaned back slightly, hands coming together in front of him. "We want Lukas to stay. The coach wants him to stay. That hasn’t changed."

But Marco heard it immediately. The sentence was right. The tone wasn’t.

He tilted his head. "You don’t sound as convinced as you usually do."

Krösche exhaled through his nose. "The increased offer surprised us. I won’t pretend otherwise. We’re still reviewing our options. There will be a board meeting. Before this new bid, the plan was not to sell."

Marco nodded slowly. "If the club is even considering cashing in, I need to know. And Lukas needs clarity. If it comes to that, he deserves a say in where he ends up. He doesn’t like finding out about developments from the internet."

Krösche held up a hand. "That’s fair. I’m sorry you heard about the increase that way. We were going to speak after the board meeting on Friday, after the semifinal. Going forward, you’ll be kept in the loop. Lukas shouldn’t worry about anything right now."

The door opened again as the assistant returned, placing two cups of coffee on the table before quietly stepping out.

Krösche wrapped his hands around his cup.

"We’ll talk again after Friday," he said.

A/N: Malo71 with a Dragon! Thank you so so much. I really appreciate the gift. It really helps keep one motivated.

Thank you all for reading. I’m trying to go on a regular schedule, but it’s not been easy.

It will be well.

Love you all.

-Writ.