Become A Football Legend

"Well, this is turning into quite the subplot. Lukas, the hero of Istanbul midweek, still waiting for his chance. The decision to hold him back is certainly curious."

"It is, but Knauff's pace does change the dynamic immediately. You can see what Toppmöller is thinking. The question is whether it pays off."

It looked like Toppmöller was determined to solve the problem called Union Berlin without his best player on the team. Sure, he wanted to keep Lukas fresh for the second leg against Fenerbahçe in a few days, but subconsciously he also wanted to prove his team could beat anyone even without the help of a 16-year-old kid.

There were no hard feelings towards Lukas, of course. Toppmöller knew he was undoubtedly the best player on the squad, but the discourse about his team online was starting to make it look like they were only in their current position because of Lukas's personal exploits.

Toppmöller felt he could change that.

And for a while, it looked like he was going to be proven right.

The introductions of Ekitike, Götze, and Knauff tilted the pitch in Frankfurt's favour. The home side began to camp around the Union box, probing with passes, darting runs, and high pressing that forced Union deeper and deeper. Wave after wave of pressure came, the fans rising with every touch, every near miss, every deflection wide of the post. Union looked rattled, hanging on.

But then disaster struck.

In the 76th minute, Frankfurt pressed high again, with Götze and Knauff combining near the edge of the box. Götze slid a ball inside to Ekitike, who tried to flick it around Leite — but the defender read it perfectly, stabbing the ball away.

Union broke instantly. The clearance fell to Hollerbech and he quickly sprayed it out wide to Schäfer. Schäfer looked up once and clipped a perfect through ball into space.

And racing onto it was Woo-Yeong Jeong — who had come on for Haberer in the 71st minute —. With frightening pace, Jeong burst into the open field, leaving Ndicka scrambling to catch him. One touch to steady, another to push it inside the box, and then a calm, low strike across Trapp.

"Jeong! JEONG! Goal for Union Berlin! They've turned it around in Frankfurt! Two–one to the visitors, and what a counterattack that was!"

"Classic smash-and-grab football, Weber. Frankfurt had them pinned, but when you overcommit against Union, you're always one loose touch away from punishment. And look at Jeong — cool as you like in front of goal."

Deutsche Bank Park erupted, half in disbelief, half in despair. Union's travelling supporters were bouncing, flares going off in the away end. Jeong slid on his knees in front of them, arms spread wide.

On the touchline, Toppmöller slapped his hands against his thighs in frustration, pacing back toward the dugout. He turned and barked instructions furiously at his staff, his plan unraveling before his eyes.

"And suddenly the script has flipped on Toppmöller. He wanted to show his team could conquer Union without calling on Lukas… but now, he might have no choice at all."

The stadium was still buzzing from Jeong's goal when the camera cut to the Frankfurt bench. Toppmöller stood frozen for a moment, arms crossed, jaw tight. Then, with a sharp nod, he turned and pointed straight at Lukas.

The fourth official raised the board. Number 18 off, number 49 on. Uzun jogged off, frustrated but respectful, and slapped Lukas's hand. The roar that greeted the teenager's entrance was deafening.

"Here he comes. The boy wonder. Sixteen years old, and once again, it's Lukas who carries the hopes of Frankfurt on his shoulders!"

"And this is exactly why the fans wanted him earlier. He changes games in an instant. Let's see what he can do now with Union in the lead."

Barely a couple minutes into his shift, Lukas already demanded the ball. He drifted into the pocket between midfield and defense, raised his arm, and Götze found him with a clean pass.

One touch. Head up. He immediately played a sharp give-and-go with Knauff, a neat one-two that carved through Schäfer and Khedira in midfield. The crowd gasped as Lukas surged forward into space, his stride effortless, his vision already scanning.

"Look at that! Straight away, Lukas slicing through Union's midfield!"

Just as Leite stepped forward to close him, Lukas, with the outside of his right foot, slipped a perfectly weighted through pass right between Leite and Querfield. It was inch-perfect, threading the needle with surgical precision.

Ekitike burst onto it, clean through on goal, the crowd rising to their feet. One-on-one with Rønnow. The Frenchman struck low to the near post—

"SAVED!"

Rønnow dropped like a stone and palmed it wide and Querfield rushed and thumped it out of the danger zone and out for a cornerkick.

The fans behind the goal put their hands on their head in disbelief. They were already ready to celebrate the equalizer. Ekitike raised his hands in apology but Lukas just tapped him at the back before walking to the corner flag to take the cornerkick.

"OH! What a chance! Ekitike denied by Rønnow, but what about that ball from Brandt! Absolutely sensational vision!"

"That's the quality he brings. He hadn't been on the pitch two minutes, Weber, and already he's dismantled Union's defensive shape with a single pass. Ekitike will be furious not to have scored, but Frankfurt now have a real weapon on the pitch."

The fans erupted in applause, chanting Lukas's name in waves, their belief surging once more. On the sidelines, Toppmöller exhaled, half relieved, half regretful. He knew — he had waited too long.

Lukas was relentless. Every time the ball touched his feet, the tempo shifted, the stadium came alive. He demanded possession, drifting wide, cutting inside, creating angles where none existed. The clock kept ticking — 86 minutes, 87, 88 — but Lukas refused to slow down.

When Knauff slipped a pass to him near the right corner of the penalty area, Lukas turned sharply, driving at Juranovic. A quick feint to the left, then a dart to the right left the midfielder off balance. Khedira stepped up to cover, but Lukas dropped his shoulder and glided past him as well. Then, with impossible quickness, he nutmegged Trimmel, the ball sliding cleanly between the veteran's legs as the crowd erupted in disbelief.

He was now near the byline, the ball under perfect control. Without looking, he whipped a low pass across the face of goal — fast, flat, deadly. It fizzed through the six-yard box, begging for a touch. Ekitike lunged, Knauff stretched a leg, Götze arrived a fraction too late. Somehow, it missed them all, the ball escaping untouched to the far post before rolling harmlessly out for a goal kick.

"It's a dangerous ball across! Someone just needs to finish—oh, it's missed everyone! How has that stayed out?!"

Gasps echoed around the stadium. Thousands of hands were on heads. You could feel the tension bleeding through the stands.

"You can sense it from the crowd, they believe something can still happen, but the clock is cruel now."

Lukas stood there for a brief moment, breathing hard, staring at the empty space where the ball should have met a finishing boot. Then, jaw set, he turned and jogged back into midfield, ready to go again.

"He's still fighting, still creating. Brandt looks like the only one who can change this for Frankfurt."

The crowd applauded him loudly, not just for the play, but for the fire. There were only a few minutes left, but hope still flickered every time Lukas got near the ball.

Union Berlin had turned the match into a fortress of bodies. Their legendary 6-4-0 formation, as the commentator joked, looked like a wall of red steel defending the one-goal lead they clung to. Every man behind the ball. Every inch contested.

Lukas drifted into the half-space, the ball glued to his left boot, but the moment he touched it, Khedira, Hollerbach, and Ljubicic — who was introduced by the Union coach as a time-wasting tactic — closed in like hunters.

"Brandt again… he's surrounded! Three men around him, nowhere to go!"

But there was always gonna be somewhere to go.