Become A Football Legend-Chapter 289: Final III

But Tottenham were there.

Already.

Richarlison closed in aggressively, sprinting toward Kristensen before the ball had even fully settled at his feet. The pressure was immediate, suffocating.

"High press from Tottenham—!" Fletcher called.

Kristensen didn’t have time.

No space.

No angle.

So he did the only thing he could do—

He went long.

A driven ball forward into the final third.

Ekitike against van de Ven.

They rose together.

But Ekitike won it.

A strong leap, timing it perfectly, guiding the header down into space instead of flicking it blindly on.

The ball dropped toward Knauff.

Bentancur was already there, shadowing him, tight and alert, ready to challenge the moment Knauff took a touch.

But Knauff didn’t hold it.

One touch.

Then he released it immediately.

A sharp pass forward.

Into Lukas.

Just past the halfway line.

Lukas received it facing forward.

Facing Tottenham’s goal.

And at that exact moment—

Bissouma lunged.

He had read the pass early, stepping in aggressively to intercept, stretching his leg out to cut it off before Lukas could even turn.

But he was late.

Just a fraction.

And that was enough.

With the outside of his boot, Lukas hooked the ball up and away from the challenge, lifting it just over Bissouma’s outstretched leg in one smooth motion. At the same time, he shifted his body past him, riding the momentum and bursting forward as the ball dropped perfectly back into his stride.

"Brilliant touch—!" Fletcher shouted.

Bissouma was beaten.

Completely.

And suddenly—

there was space.

Romero and van de Ven were high.

Too high.

They were already turning, already sprinting back toward their own goal as Lukas accelerated into open ground, driving straight at the heart of the defense.

Porro chased alongside him, shoulder to shoulder, trying to close him down.

"He’s got to deal with this—!" Bale said.

Lukas pushed the ball forward.

Porro lunged.

Missed everything.

Not the ball.

Not even Lukas.

And now—

it was just him and the back line.

Romero stepped up, planting himself just outside the box, trying to delay, trying to buy time for recovery runs.

But Lukas didn’t slow.

Not even slightly.

One quick feint.

A sharp drop of the shoulder.

Romero shifted—

and in that instant, Lukas nudged the ball past him into the space to his right, gliding beyond before the defender could fully adjust.

"Too easy—!" Fletcher burst out.

Into the box.

Van de Ven recovering.

Porro scrambling back.

The angle tightening.

Lukas set himself.

Shaped to shoot—

Porro threw himself in.

Full commitment.

Sliding to block.

But Lukas didn’t strike.

He touched it again.

A tiny adjustment.

Enough to send Porro past him and onto the ground.

Now—

the space opened.

Just for a moment.

And that was all he needed.

From just inside the box—

he struck.

Low.

Hard.

Driven across goal.

Van de Ven launched himself in desperation, stretching every inch to block it—

too late.

Vicario dived—

but he was never getting there.

The ball skidded across the turf and buried itself into the bottom corner.

GOAL.

For a split second—

silence.

Then—

explosion.

Half the stadium erupted.

Frankfurt fans detonated into noise, a wall of sound crashing down from the stands as Lukas sprinted toward the corner, arms spreading slightly as he ran.

"WHAT A GOAL!" Fletcher roared. "WHAT A MOMENT IN THE FINAL!"

"Unbelievable!" Bale shouted. "That is world-class—absolute world-class!"

Lukas slowed near the corner.

Turned.

Then, with one hand behind his back and the other across his chest—

he bowed.

To the Frankfurt fans.

To the noise.

To the moment.

And the final... had its opening goal.

* * *

The goal had shifted the scoreline—but not the control of the ball.

Tottenham responded exactly how you would expect a side coached by Postecoglou to respond. They didn’t retreat, didn’t lose structure—they doubled down. From the restart, they pushed higher, their defensive line almost daring Frankfurt to try it again, while Bentancur and Sarr kept the ball moving quickly in midfield, switching play from flank to flank to stretch the shape.

For a good stretch after the goal, it was almost entirely Spurs.

They circulated possession with purpose, probing for openings, trying to isolate Frankfurt’s fullbacks. Johnson began to see more of the ball on the right, repeatedly taking up positions wide and driving forward, while Udogie mirrored that intent on the left, stepping high and delivering early crosses whenever space opened.

"Tottenham have settled into a strong spell here," Fletcher said, his voice steady as the ball moved crisply across the pitch. "They’ve had the majority of possession since going behind, and they’re trying to pin Frankfurt back."

"And they’re committing numbers forward," Bale added. "Look at how high that line is—this is aggressive, but it leaves space if Frankfurt break it."

That was the balance.

Control... but risk.

Frankfurt, for their part, didn’t chase the ball recklessly. They dropped into shape, compact and disciplined, letting Tottenham have it in certain areas, closing central lanes and forcing play wide. Koch and Theate held firm, while Skhiri and Larsson screened in front of them, cutting off direct entries into the box.

Still, the pressure was there.

Constant.

Relentless.

And in the 40th minute, it looked like Tottenham might finally create something from it.

Johnson picked up the ball again on the right, this time just outside the box. He pushed it forward quickly, trying to burst around Kristensen toward the byline, using his pace to get half a yard and whip something dangerous into the area.

But Kristensen didn’t bite.

He stayed balanced, timed it perfectly, and just as Johnson tried to knock it past him, the Dane stretched his leg out and hooked the ball cleanly away.

"Excellent defending," Fletcher said immediately. "Johnson looked like he was getting past him there."

"Perfect timing," Bale added. "He doesn’t dive in, just waits for the moment."

The ball fell loose briefly before Kristensen gathered it again and played it inside to Koch, who moved it on quickly, not allowing Tottenham to reset their press.

Koch found Larsson just on the edge of Frankfurt’s penalty area.

But there was no time to settle.

Sarr was already charging toward him, closing the space aggressively, forcing an immediate decision.

Larsson didn’t hesitate.

One touch to control—

then a quick flick forward.

Into Lukas.

Lukas received it just ahead of the box, back to goal, and immediately the pressure arrived.

Bentancur tight behind him.

Bissouma stepping in.

"Careful here," Fletcher warned. "This is a dangerous area to lose it."

From behind, Koch’s voice rang out.

"Clear it!"

Lukas glanced once over his shoulder.

Felt the bodies around him.

Then stopped the ball dead under his studs.

Just for a heartbeat.

Long enough.

Bentancur stepped closer.

Bissouma closed the angle.

And then—

he moved.

A quick roll of the ball backward with the sole of his foot, followed instantly by a sharp turn, slipping between both of them in one fluid motion.

"They’ve both missed him!" Fletcher’s voice lifted.

"He’s out—how has he done that?" Bale added, almost laughing in disbelief.

Both midfielders were left behind, turning in confusion as Lukas emerged into space, suddenly facing forward with the pitch opening up ahead of him.

Now it was transition.

Now it was danger.

Lukas lifted his head immediately.

And he saw the run.