Become A Football Legend-Chapter 284: Ready? (Quads1) 3/3

A reporter then turned toward Trapp.

"Kevin, this club has won this competition in the very recent past, obviously you were part of that team a couple years ago, does that experience help the team tomorrow?"

Trapp nodded slightly.

"Of course," he said. "We know what it takes to win a final. But every final is different. What matters most is that we believe in the quality we have in this team. If we play our football, we know we have the players capable of winning this competition."

The press conference continued for another fifteen minutes before UEFA officials brought it to an end.

A little later the squad walked onto the pitch of San Mamés for the official training session. The stadium seats were mostly empty, but the presence of cameras made it feel as though thousands of invisible eyes were watching every movement.

For the first fifteen minutes, media crews were allowed to film.

Players jogged lightly across the pitch while photographers crouched along the touchline snapping pictures. A few teammates began casually juggling balls, deliberately performing small tricks for the cameras.

Larsson jogged over to where Lukas stood near the halfway line.

"Lukas," he said with a grin, nodding toward the cameras. "You nervous? Do something for them."

Lukas laughed.

Larsson flicked the ball upward with his foot, sending it spinning high into the air.

"Go on."

The ball climbed above them before beginning its slow descent. Lukas tracked it calmly, adjusting his position by a step. When the ball dropped, he lifted his foot with a soft, perfectly timed touch.

The ball stopped dead.

It landed in front of his foot as if gravity had suddenly disappeared.

A few photographers immediately shifted their lenses toward him.

Lukas began juggling lightly, the ball dancing between his feet. Then he popped it upward and balanced it briefly on the center of his forehead, tilting his head slightly to keep it steady. After a moment he flicked it down again, spinning it around his legs with a quick around-the-world before striking it cleanly with his instep.

The ball rocketed toward goal.

It struck the crossbar with a loud metallic bang and bounced back out onto the pitch.

Larsson laughed loudly.

"Was that on purpose?"

Lukas shrugged, a faint smile forming as he turned toward him.

"What do you think?"

The cameras had captured everything.

A few minutes later UEFA officials signaled that the fifteen-minute media window had ended. Journalists and camera crews slowly filed out of the stadium while the real training session began.

The atmosphere immediately changed.

The laughter faded.

Toppmöller gathered the players together at the center circle and began directing the tactical drills they had prepared for the day. The next hour was focused, sharp, and intense—pressing patterns, positioning exercises, and quick attacking sequences designed specifically to break Tottenham’s high defensive line.

By the time the session ended, sweat covered most of the squad despite the mild Bilbao weather.

* * *

As the players walked down the tunnel toward the dressing rooms, a voice called out.

"Lukas!"

A woman holding a microphone stepped forward from the media corridor. Her badge read CBS Sports.

"Do you have a minute?"

Lukas slowed slightly and nodded.

"Sure."

The camera operator positioned himself while she held the microphone toward him.

"This is your debut season," she said. "Your first European final. How does it feel coming into a match like this?"

Lukas thought for a moment before answering.

"I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t affect me," he admitted with a small smile. "Of course it does. It’s a final."

He paused briefly.

"But I’m trying not to think about it that way. In my head I keep telling myself it’s just another match. 90 minutes... maybe 120. Go out there, play football, and do our job."

The reporter nodded.

"Good luck tomorrow."

"Thank you."

Lukas gave a small wave toward the camera before continuing down the tunnel with the rest of the squad, the echo of their footsteps fading into the quiet corridors of San Mamés as the final moved one day closer.

* * *

Night had settled over Bilbao.

From the upper floors of the Gran Hotel Domine, the city glowed softly beneath the quiet darkness. The lights of the Guggenheim reflected off the river, and somewhere in the distance, faint chants drifted through the streets where supporters were still gathered in bars and plazas. Even this late, the city did not feel like it was preparing to sleep. It felt like it was holding its breath.

Inside the hotel, however, the corridors reserved for Eintracht Frankfurt were mostly silent.

Players had already returned to their rooms after dinner and the final team meeting of the day. The schedule had been clear: rest, sleep, recover. The match would be tomorrow night, and every ounce of energy would matter.

Lukas lay in bed staring at the ceiling.

For nearly an hour he had tried to sleep. He had closed his eyes. Turned to one side. Then the other. Pulled the blanket higher. Then kicked it down again when the room suddenly felt too warm.

Nothing worked.

His mind refused to quiet down.

Images drifted through his thoughts in restless loops—the bright lights of San Mamés, the noise of the crowd, the moment the whistle would blow to start the final. Each time he felt himself drifting closer to sleep, another thought dragged him back awake.

Eventually he sat up.

"Yeah," he muttered quietly to himself.

Not happening.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and slipped on his hoodie before stepping out of the room into the hallway.

The corridor was dimly lit, long and quiet, the thick carpet muffling his footsteps as he walked slowly toward the far end where a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooked the river outside. From the inside the glass reflected the faint interior lighting, but beyond it Bilbao stretched into the night like a sea of scattered gold.

As he approached the window, he realized he wasn’t alone.

Three figures were already standing there.

Ekitike, leaning lightly against the glass.

Larsson, arms folded across his chest.

And Knauff, staring out at the city.

Knauff turned his head first when he heard Lukas approaching. A faint grin spread across his face.

"So," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Even you couldn’t sleep."

Lukas exhaled and stepped up beside them, resting his hands lightly on the window railing.

"Not yet."

Larsson chuckled quietly.

"Good," he said. "I thought I was the only one losing my mind."

Ekitike shrugged.

"Sleep will come," he said calmly. "Eventually."

They stood there for a moment, watching the lights of Bilbao flicker across the river.

From somewhere below, faint chants drifted upward through the night air.

Knauff tilted his head toward the window.

"You hear that?" he said.

"Tottenham fans," Larsson guessed.

"Probably," Lukas said.

Another minute passed before Knauff broke the silence again.

"So," he said casually, turning slightly toward Lukas, "what happens after tomorrow?"

Lukas raised an eyebrow.

"After tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Knauff said. "Summer."

The question lingered for a moment.

Larsson answered first.

"I’m going home," he said. "Sweden. Haven’t seen my grandparents in months."

He smiled faintly.

"My grandmother will pretend she doesn’t care about football... then ask me about every single match."

A/N: Quads1, you’re the best. I really appreciate the Magic Castle. Thank you so much.