Become A Football Legend-Chapter 255: Nerves

He laughed, quick and boyish, waving a hand.

"I’m fine," he said. "They’re not going to kill me. Just cramps and tired legs. I’ll feel it tomorrow, but it’s worth it."

The interviewer smiled warmly. "Final question, then. Eintracht Frankfurt are heading to Bilbao at the end of May. A European final. What does that mean to you?"

Lukas looked back toward the away end one more time, eyes lingering on the sea of white and black.

"It means everything," he said simply. "For the club, for the fans, for us as players. We’ve come a long way together. Now we have one more game."

She extended a hand. "Congratulations, Lukas. Enjoy the moment."

"Thank you," he replied, gripping the trophy a little tighter as he turned away, swallowed once more by the noise, the lights, and a night that would be talked about for a very long time.

* * *

The night air outside Old Trafford carried a strange mix of bitterness and disbelief. United supporters drifted past in stunned silence or muttered frustration, while pockets of Frankfurt fans still sang in scattered bursts of joy. The gang moved together down the pavement toward the rideshare pickup area, laughter breaking out every few seconds as the adrenaline of the night refused to fade.

Anne was animated, replaying the goals with Joanna as if they had just witnessed something mythical.

"The second one," Anne said, shaking her head in wonder, "the way he struck it... I thought the net would rip."

Joanna grinned, hugging her scarf tighter around her neck. "The corner routine was my favorite. They’ve been practicing that all week, he told me. I knew it when he stepped up—I just knew."

Behind them, João had one AirPod in and his phone held low near his chest, watching Mark Goldbridge’s postmatch reaction. He bit down hard on his lip to stop himself from bursting out laughing as Goldbridge ranted at full volume.

"This club is finished! FINISHED! Get them all out! Owners out, players out, rebuild the lot of them! Don’t talk to me about progress!"

The live chat was flying so fast it looked like a waterfall of anger.

"Sell everyone."

"Season’s over."

"Pep’s laughing right now."

"Get this kid out of my club!"

João wheezed quietly, shoulders shaking. Joanna elbowed him lightly. "If you start laughing out loud in the middle of this crowd, I’m not saving you."

"I’m not," he whispered, barely containing himself. "I’m suffering internally."

Javi walked a few steps ahead, one arm wrapped around Anne’s shoulders, a wide, proud smile stretching across his face. Strangers nearby were still talking animatedly about the game.

"Sixteen years old," someone muttered in disbelief.

"He ended their season, man."

"That kid just killed their Champions League hopes."

Javi heard it all. Every word felt surreal. His son had walked into Old Trafford and rewritten the night.

They continued down the gently crowded path, the stadium lights glowing behind them like a fading storm.

Then—

"Michael."

The voice cut clean through the noise.

Javi slowed instinctively.

Anne nearly bumped into him. "What is it?"

He turned his head slightly, scanning the moving faces behind them. "Nothing," he said after a second, though his brow furrowed. "I thought I heard someone call me."

Anne glanced around. "There are thousands of people here. It’s probably nothing."

He nodded, dismissing it. "Yeah. Must’ve been."

They resumed walking.

Then—

"Michael."

This time it came with a gentle tap to his shoulder.

Javi stopped completely.

Slowly, he turned around.

And froze.

* * *

A few minutes earlier.

Jane had been walking toward the exit with Roger and Lexi, the stadium still rumbling behind them with boos and scattered arguments. She kept glancing over her shoulder, subtle at first, then less so. The bright lights of Old Trafford cast long shadows across the concrete steps as they descended toward the outer concourse.

Lexi noticed first. "Mom, are you okay?"

Jane forced a small smile. "Yeah. I’m fine."

But she wasn’t.

Her mind wasn’t on the game anymore. Not on the boos. Not on the season being over. It was on the boy who had just torn the stadium apart. On the way he ran. On the way he smiled. On the way he had turned to the crowd with that hand to his ear.

On her son.

She had called Javi a month ago.

The memory surfaced as vividly as the floodlights behind her. She had stared at his number for nearly ten minutes before pressing call. When he answered, there had been a silence—heavy, guarded.

"I think we need to talk," she had said.

"No," Javi had replied. Not angrily. Not loudly. Just firmly. "We don’t."

The line had gone dead shortly after.

She had opened Instagram more times than she could count since then. Typed out messages to Lukas she never sent.

Hi.

I’m your father’s friend.

Delete.

I’m sorry.

Delete.

Can I talk to you for a minute?

Delete.

Her thumb had hovered over the send button so many times that it almost felt burned into her skin.

They reached the parking lot. The cool Manchester air hit her face, grounding her for a second. Cars were already filing out, headlights slicing through the dim evening. A small crowd had formed around a fan-cam YouTuber near the curb.

"...so what are your thoughts on Amorim?" the YouTuber asked, microphone extended toward a frustrated United fan.

Jane slowed unconsciously as she listened.

"It was a mistake," the fan said bluntly. "He wanted to come in the summer. The board forced it in November. Now look at us. Abysmal season."

The YouTuber nodded. "So you’d sack him?"

"End of the season, yeah. Pull the plug. Get someone new. Start fresh."

"But is it fair? He plays a specific style. You switch to a 3-4-3 and don’t even back him properly with the players needed for it?"

The fan shook his head. "United trying to switch to a 3-4-3 was never going to fly. I don’t even know why they did it. But listen—when you realize you’ve made a mistake, you fix it as soon as possible. You don’t double down and dig deeper. Otherwise you end up covering one mistake with a bigger one."

Jane stopped walking.

The words echoed.

When you realize you’ve made a mistake, you fix it as soon as possible.

She stared ahead, but she wasn’t seeing the parking lot anymore.

She was seeing a hospital room. A signature. A suitcase. A crying baby she convinced herself would be better off without her instability. Without the chaos she was running from. She had told herself it was the right thing.

Twenty years later, she was standing outside Old Trafford watching her son dismantle one of the biggest clubs in the world.

Roger was already unlocking the car. "Jane?" he called out, irritation creeping into his voice. "Are you coming or what?"

Lexi turned around. "Mom?"

Jane blinked, snapped back to the present.

"I..." She swallowed. "There’s something I have to take care of."

Roger frowned. "Now?"

"I’ll meet you at home."

Lexi stepped closer. "What’s wrong?"

"I’ll explain when I get back," Jane said quickly. Too quickly.

Before either of them could press further, she turned and started walking.

At first it was brisk.

Then faster.

Then almost a jog.

She moved against the current of the leaving crowd, weaving between irritated fans in red shirts. The stadium loomed ahead again, its lights still blazing against the night sky. She scanned the entrance, hoping—irrationally—that the Frankfurt supporters might still be there.

Her heart pounded in her ears.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him.

Tall.

Dark-haired.

Laughing.

Walking with a group of people in white and black scarves.

She slowed instinctively as he passed her.

For a split second, she just watched his profile.

16 years had changed him—but not enough.

She turned.

And started walking with the flow of the crowd behind him.

Her voice caught in her throat once.

Then, before she could lose her nerve—

"Michael."

A/N: Guys, I know the update speed has been horrid recently and I apologize. I have been studying for the entrance exam for admission for my master’s at TU Darmstadt (yes the same place Javi is) I wrote the exam yesterday, fingers crossed I pass.

Thank you all for the love.

Update will become more regular

Love y’all.

-Writ