Become A Football Legend

Lukas exchanged a puzzled look with Joanna before stepping inside.

The living room came into view.

There, sprawled sideways across the largest sofa as though he owned the place, was João. One leg rested on the armrest, the other dangled toward the floor, a strip of crispy bacon hanging lazily from the corner of his mouth while one hand held the television remote, turning the volume up another notch.

João looked over.

"Oh. You guys are back. Welcome."

Lukas blinked.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

João shrugged as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"I came back from training and didn’t feel like going home, so I came here instead."

Lukas frowned in exaggerated confusion.

"...How did you even get the key?"

"Your dad gave it to me before you all left for England. Told me to check on the place every now and then."

Lukas stared at him for another second before nodding.

"...Fair enough."

He dropped his trolley beside the hallway wall while Joanna laughed quietly, already accustomed to João somehow appearing wherever he pleased.

The three of them settled into the living room.

João muted the television for a moment.

"So... where’s he?"

"Still in Frankfurt," Lukas replied. "He’s spending a couple more days with Anne before heading back to Manchester. Joanna and I leave tomorrow. We only came back to grab a few things and check on the apartment."

João smirked.

"Sure."

"What?"

"You came back to see me because you missed me."

Lukas looked at him for a long moment.

"...You know what? Believe whatever helps you sleep at night."

João grinned triumphantly.

"I knew it."

Lukas didn’t even bother arguing.

Instead, he nodded toward the television.

"What are you watching?"

João unmuted it.

The screen showed highlights from Germany’s emphatic 5–0 victory over Northern Ireland. Lukas appeared again, slipping another perfectly weighted pass through the defence before Pavlović finished into the bottom corner.

A graphic appeared underneath.

Lukas Brandt: 3 Assists

One of the pundits continued speaking.

"It’s becoming an interesting trend. Whether it’s for Germany or previously in the Bundesliga, Lukas Brandt seems to find goals and assists almost effortlessly. England, however, has been a different story so far."

Another nodded.

"The performances have been excellent, but the numbers haven’t arrived yet in the Premier League."

Joanna frowned.

"It has literally been only three games."

Nobody answered.

She looked between the two boys before turning back toward the television.

"Seriously... how are people already talking like this? Even the German media is doing it. They’re not attacking you, but... it’s a bit much."

João nodded.

"It is crazy."

Then his serious expression disappeared.

"But..."

He turned toward Lukas with a grin.

"...to be fair, you should score soon. Don’t embarrass yourself. I’m a centre-back, and I’ve scored more league goals than you this season."

Before he could finish laughing—

Thump!

A sofa cushion flew across the room and smacked him squarely in the chest.

Lukas lowered his arm.

"The Premier League... compared to the 2. Bundesliga?"

João picked the cushion up without losing his smile.

"A goal is a goal."

The teasing wasn’t entirely baseless.

João’s start to life with Darmstadt’s first team had been outstanding. He had started all three of the club’s opening league matches, helping them to two wins and one draw, conceding just one goal while keeping two clean sheets. In Darmstadt’s first home match of the season against Eintracht Braunschweig, he had powered home the only goal of the afternoon with a towering header from a corner, earning both a 1–0 victory and the Player of the Match award.

For a twenty-year-old defender playing his first full professional season, it couldn’t have gone much better.

João leaned back again, clearly enjoying himself.

"See? Defender. One goal."

He pointed dramatically toward Lukas.

"Attacking midfielder."

"No goals."

Joanna couldn’t hold back her laughter anymore.

Lukas simply shook his head.

"I’ve created enough chances to have about ten assists already."

"I know," João admitted, finally sitting upright. The smile was still there, but his tone became more genuine. "I’m just messing with you. Don’t worry about it. Your goal will come."

Lukas nodded once.

"I’m not worried."

"I know you’re not," João replied. "That’s why I’m not worried either. Besides..." A grin slowly spread across his face again. "The next game is the Manchester derby."

He pointed a finger toward his best friend.

"You always show up when the stage gets bigger."

The room fell quiet for a moment.

Lukas couldn’t help smiling.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t need to.

* * *

10 September 2025City Football Academy, Manchester

The closer the Manchester derby came, the more the atmosphere around Manchester City’s training sessions changed.

There was no laughter between drills anymore.

Every pass was played a little harder. Every tackle carried a little more bite. Every sprint finished a fraction faster.

The derby had a way of doing that.

Pep Guardiola barely needed to remind anyone what was coming.

The players already knew.

An eleven-versus-eleven match was underway on the main training pitch, the coaching staff standing along the touchline while the club media crew filmed selected moments from a respectful distance.

Lukas occupied the right wing for Team A.

Rodri, finally back to full fitness, stepped in front of Omar Marmoush near the halfway line, won the ball cleanly and immediately clipped a diagonal pass toward the touchline.

"Lukas!"

The ball dropped perfectly.

Lukas cushioned it with the inside of his left foot, keeping it glued to the white line as Nico O’Reilly closed him down from the front while Bernardo Silva shuffled across to double up, cutting off the route inside.

The two City players slowed their feet.

They knew exactly what Lukas was capable of.

Lukas began with a single stepover.

Nothing.

Then he did it again, still nothing.

Neither defender committed.

As Lukas placed the sole of his left boot on the ball, O’Reilly finally stretched an arm toward him, trying to Lukas wherever he intended to go.

That was the moment.

Lukas raised his own hand instinctively to keep Nico at arm’s length, then, in the same movement, knocked the ball sharply from his left to his right, and from his right pushed it through O’Reilly’s reaching leg.

Bernardo had already anticipated it.

He stretched his leg towards the ball trying to push it away from Lukas.

But without breaking stride, Lukas planted his left foot, dragged the ball back with the sole of his right and spun through the narrow gap between them with a flawless roulette, leaving both midfielders turning in opposite directions before accelerating into the open channel.

Several players stopped moving for a split second.

Across the pitch, Cherki — playing for Team B — threw both hands onto his head.

"No way..."

Lukas surged toward the edge of the penalty area before lifting his head.

Haaland was arriving at the far post, already peeling away from Rúben Dias.

Lukas didn’t hesitate.

With the outside of his left boot, he whipped a perfectly weighted trivela across the face of goal.

The ball bent beautifully away from the recovering defenders.

Haaland attacked it.

He climbed above Dias and powered his header beyond Donnarumma before the Italian goalkeeper could even react.

Goal.

The Norwegian wheeled away laughing.

Behind the play, Bernardo jogged after Lukas before smacking him lightly on the back of the head.

"You’ve decided to use me for your highlight reel now, yeah?"

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