Become A Football Legend-Chapter 273: Debut II

Sunday, May 11, 2025.

The Betzenberg was alive long before kickoff.

It was 15:30 on a mild May afternoon in Kaiserslautern, and the weather was almost perfect for football. The sky was a soft, hazy blue with thin streaks of cloud drifting lazily overhead. The temperature hovered around 19°C, warm enough for short sleeves but cool enough that the breeze rolling down from the Palatinate Forest carried a crisp freshness with it. Flags fluttered along the stands, red and white waves rippling across the terraces as the home supporters filled the Fritz-Walter-Stadion with noise.

The pitch glowed under the sunlight — deep green, freshly cut, striped with precision. The smell of grass mixed with bratwurst smoke drifting up from the concession stands. Chants rolled from one end to the other, rhythmic and relentless, as the announcer read out the starting lineups over the stadium speakers.

On the field, SV Darmstadt 98’s players were going through their final warm-up routines.

Cones were set in tight grids. The assistant coach barked short, sharp instructions. Players jogged in formation, then broke into dynamic stretches. Some practiced short passing drills in triangles. Others worked on sprint bursts over 10 meters.

João stood near the halfway line, stretching his hamstrings with deliberate focus. His heart was pounding, though he tried not to show it. His first professional start. Not just in the squad. Not as an unused substitute. A starter.

He bent forward, hands on knees, inhaled deeply, then straightened up.

He glanced toward the main stand — toward the VIP section.

And he saw them.

Joanna was the first to catch his eye, already waving both hands enthusiastically. He grinned and waved back. Beside her sat Carlos Jimenez and his wife, dignified but clearly proud. And just slightly to the side, cap pulled low, was Lukas.

Even from the pitch, João could spot him instantly.

One of his teammates, Fabian Holland, followed his gaze.

"Is that your family?" Holland asked, shielding his eyes from the sun.

João smirked. "Yeah. Family... and my best friend."

Holland squinted again.

"Wait... that’s Lukas, isn’t it?"

Another teammate turned. "No way."

They all looked up at the VIP box just as the stadium cameras swung toward that very section.

On the giant screen, Lukas appeared.

He was dressed casually but sharply for the mild spring weather — a fitted beige overshirt layered over a white tee, slim dark trousers, and clean white sneakers. A navy face cap sat low on his head, the brim casting a slight shadow over his eyes. Strands of his hair slipped out from the sides, falling loosely across his temple. His posture was relaxed, shoulders slightly forward as he leaned back in his seat, phone in hand.

When he noticed himself on the jumbotron, he instinctively lowered his head, eyes dropping back to his screen.

The stadium reacted instantly.

A ripple of cheers spread through the stands. It wasn’t thunderous — this was Kaiserslautern, not Frankfurt — but the recognition was unmistakable. Whistles. Applause. Phones raised to capture him.

The hottest 16-year-old in German football, fresh off a Europa League semi-final hat-trick at Old Trafford, casually attending a 2. Bundesliga match.

Joanna leaned toward him, nudging his arm.

"Are you hiding from the camera or something?" she teased.

Lukas didn’t answer immediately.

Her eyes flicked to his phone screen.

He wasn’t scrolling social media.

He was checking live scores.

Eintracht Frankfurt vs St. Pauli.

1–0 to St. Pauli.

Joanna’s expression softened slightly.

"This team will really suffer if you leave," she murmured.

Carlos, seated on Lukas’ other side, turned his head.

"Have you made up your mind?" he asked, voice calm but direct. "Are you leaving this summer?"

Javi, seated one row behind, heard it too. He looked at his son quietly, not interrupting, simply waiting.

Lukas kept his gaze on the pitch for a moment before answering.

"I don’t know," he said honestly. "For now... I have no plans of leaving."

He paused.

"But I know I’ll have to leave at some point."

No one replied immediately.

Down below, the referee blew a short whistle to signal the players to finish their warm-up.

Darmstadt’s squad gathered briefly near the sideline. The final instructions were given. João exchanged one last look toward the VIP section.

Joanna waved again.

Lukas gave him a small nod.

The players turned and jogged toward the tunnel, disappearing beneath the stands as the noise inside the Betzenberg swelled in anticipation.

Kickoff was moments away.

* * *

The whistle blew at 15:30 sharp, and the Betzenberg erupted into its usual wall of noise.

From the very first minute, the match had the rhythm of a late-season 2. Bundesliga clash — not life-or-death in terms of the table, but played with pride, tempo, and enough edge to keep everyone honest. Kaiserslautern pressed early, feeding off the energy of the home crowd, while Darmstadt looked slightly more measured, trying to settle into their shape.

João’s first few touches betrayed the nerves he had tried so hard to suppress.

In the 6th minute, he overhit a simple sideways pass that rolled out for a throw-in. In the 11th, he misjudged the flight of a long ball and had to recover with a hurried clearance. From the VIP box, Lukas leaned forward, elbows on knees, studying every movement.

"Relax," he muttered under his breath.

The first real flashpoint came in the 22nd minute when Kaiserslautern broke quickly down the left. João tracked his runner well but hesitated for half a second, unsure whether to step or hold the line. The cross eventually came in, and Darmstadt’s goalkeeper parried it away. A warning.

By the 28th minute, Kaiserslautern capitalized. A clever cutback from the byline found their striker near the penalty spot, and he finished low into the corner. 1–0.

The stadium roared.

Joanna squeezed Lukas’ arm. He didn’t take his eyes off the pitch.

João responded the only way he knew how — by throwing himself into duels.

In the 35th minute, chasing a loose ball near midfield, he arrived a fraction late and clipped his opponent’s ankle. The referee wasted no time.

Yellow card.

From the VIP section, Lukas’ stomach tightened.

"He has to be careful now," Carlos murmured.

Lukas said nothing. He knew what managers often did with young defenders on a booking — especially in their first start.

But Darmstadt settled.

In the 41st minute, they found their equalizer. A sweeping move down the right, a low cross, and a composed finish at the near post. 1–1.

João pumped his fist, shouting instructions to teammates as if he had been doing this for years.

At halftime, Lukas exhaled for what felt like the first time in 45 minutes.

"Do you think they’ll take him off?" Joanna asked.

Lukas hesitated. "Maybe."

But when the teams emerged for the second half, João was still there.

The coach had trusted him.

And something shifted.

The nerves that had weighed him down early on seemed to evaporate. His positioning improved. He began stepping into tackles with conviction. In the 54th minute, he muscled a forward off the ball near the edge of the box, using his shoulder cleanly and confidently. In the 63rd, he won an aerial duel against a striker who had a clear height advantage.

His speed began to show too. Twice he recovered ground that looked lost, closing angles and forcing Kaiserslautern wide instead of through the center.

Lukas found himself nodding unconsciously.

"That’s more like it."

The match ticked toward its final stages at 1–1. The energy dipped slightly — the kind of lull that often creeps into games with no real table implications. Darmstadt weren’t fighting relegation. Kaiserslautern weren’t chasing promotion. It was competitive, but not desperate.

Then came the 84th minute.