Become A Football Legend-Chapter 278: One More

Freiburg pushed forward desperately, trying to claw their way back into the game.

That aggression left space.

And Frankfurt punished it.

In the 62nd minute, Freiburg won a corner. The cross flew into the box, but Ekitike rose highest, clearing it powerfully.

The ball looped high into the air and landed near the halfway line.

Lukas was already running.

By the time the Freiburg defenders turned, he was through.

One-on-one.

Half the field to himself.

He carried the ball calmly toward goal before sliding it past the keeper.

4–1.

Game over.

But Frankfurt weren’t finished.

Ten minutes later, a corner swung in by Chaïbi found Ekitike again.

This time his header powered straight into the net.

5–1.

Total domination.

Now, as the players applauded the fans, the commentators summed it up.

"What a statement performance."

"And what a season for that young man."

The camera found Lukas again.

"A player who only played half a season in the Bundesliga."

"Yet he finishes the league with 15 goals and 10 assists. In under 15 games."

His partner added with clear disbelief,

"And what’s remarkable is how close he is to the assist record, despite only playing half the campaign."

They paused as Lukas waved to the supporters one final time.

"A truly extraordinary breakout."

"Half a season... and already one of the most decisive players in the league."

The camera lingered on him for a moment longer before pulling back to show the full stadium.

Eintracht Frankfurt’s league campaign had ended.

But the biggest game of their season still waited.

Bilbao.

* * *

The away dressing room at the Europa-Park Stadion was louder than it had been all afternoon.

The door had barely closed behind the Frankfurt players when the noise exploded into the room like a release valve finally opening. Laughter bounced off the tiled walls, boots thudded against the floor, and someone had already connected a speaker to blast music that hummed through the benches and lockers. The atmosphere wasn’t wild chaos, but it carried the loose, satisfied energy of a team that knew it had just done something impressive — and done it in the most difficult place to do it.

Coming into the match, Freiburg had everything to play for. Champions League qualification hung in the balance, and the stadium had been packed with fans who believed their team only needed one last push to secure fourth place. Frankfurt, by contrast, had entered the game with nothing riding on the result. Their position in the table was already settled. But sometimes football had a strange sense of irony, and by the end of the ninety minutes it had been Frankfurt celebrating in the away dressing room while Freiburg’s hopes quietly collapsed outside.

Players moved around the room with wide smiles, replaying moments from the match and congratulating each other as if they had just won something bigger than three points. Knauff walked past Lukas first, grinning as he reached out and slapped the back of the teenager’s head lightly.

"Two goals, huh?" he said with a laugh.

Another teammate followed immediately after, running a hand roughly through Lukas’s hair before continuing toward his locker.

"Kid’s trying to steal the club top scorer in half a season," he joked, drawing a round of laughter from the players nearby.

"Well he is joint second top scorer with Omar, I think. Hugo is top, I think," Knauff said as he hooked his hands around Lukas.

Lukas and Marmoush had 15 games in the league with Ekitike scoring his 18th that evening. But Ekitike played twice as more league games as Lukas.

Lukas ducked his head with a smile, trying unsuccessfully to escape the repeated hair ruffles from Knauff.

Across the room Ekitike heard his name and approached with both hands raised, his expression proud and amused at the same time.

"Two and one," he said, lifting his eyebrows.

Lukas mirrored the gesture and met him halfway.

"Two and one."

Their palms clapped together in a quick dap before they leaned into a brief shoulder bump, the easy familiarity of teammates who had spent the afternoon dismantling Freiburg’s defense together.

"Good pass on the first one," Ekitike added, shaking his head slightly as if still replaying the goal in his mind.

"You finished it," Lukas replied, shrugging. "That’s the important part."

Around them the dressing room continued buzzing. Some players had already pulled out their phones and were scrolling through highlights and reactions online, while others replayed their favorite moments from the match out loud, arguing good-naturedly about who deserved credit for which build-up.

Lukas eventually made his way to his locker and sat down on the wooden bench, leaning forward to untie his boots. As he stretched his legs slightly to loosen up after the match, he felt something unusual—just a faint tightness running along the back of his left hamstring.

It wasn’t sharp pain. It wasn’t even particularly uncomfortable. But it was there.

He frowned slightly and extended his leg forward again, flexing the muscle carefully. Then he contracted it. Then stretched it again, testing the movement as he tried to figure out whether it was simply normal post-match fatigue or something else. The sensation lingered, a subtle stiffness that felt just a little different from the usual soreness he expected after ninety minutes.

Larsson noticed him almost immediately as he walked past the bench.

"What’s wrong?" he asked, slowing his steps.

Lukas shook his head casually, waving the concern away.

"Nothing," he said, stretching his leg again. "Just cramped a little."

Larsson stopped and crouched beside him anyway, grabbing Lukas’s heel and gently lifting the leg into a deeper stretch.

"Relax," he muttered, pushing the leg upward slightly to lengthen the muscle.

The stretch pulled along the hamstring, and Lukas leaned back against the bench, letting the tension release gradually.

"Too many sprints," Larsson added with a half-smile.

"Probably," Lukas admitted.

They held the stretch for a few seconds before Larsson released his leg and stood up again.

"Better?"

Lukas pushed himself to his feet and stamped lightly on the floor twice, testing the muscle again. The tightness eased almost immediately, loosening the moment he moved properly.

"Yeah," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Better."

He grabbed a towel from the locker and tossed it over his shoulder.

"See? Nothing."

Larsson gave him a skeptical look but shrugged and walked away toward the showers.

Lukas didn’t think much more about it.

At the far end of the dressing room, the door suddenly opened and Toppmöller stepped inside.

The noise dipped slightly—not completely silent, but quieter in the instinctive way players always reacted when the coach entered the room. He scanned the dressing room once, his eyes moving calmly over the players before settling on two figures.

"Ekitike."

Then his gaze shifted.

"Lukas."

Both of them looked up.

"Come with me."

A few teammates immediately whistled.

"Press conference!"

"Don’t say anything stupid," someone shouted across the room, drawing a round of laughter.

Lukas rolled his eyes as he stood up.

"Too late for that," he muttered.

Ekitike laughed as they followed the coach out of the dressing room and down the hallway toward the media area.

About fifteen minutes later, the two of them returned.

The atmosphere inside the dressing room had calmed slightly in their absence. The music still played softly in the background, but players had settled into the quieter rhythm of post-match routines—recovery drinks, boots coming off, towels draped over shoulders.

Toppmöller walked in behind them and clapped his hands once.