CHAPTER 162: SECOND HALF

The second half began with a different kind of roar. The Italian fans, waving tricolore flags across the yellow-black terraces of Dortmund, urged their side on with thunderous chants that seemed to shake the very steel of the Signal Iduna Park.

Dan O’Hagan:

"Italy have made two changes at the break. Matteo Politano and Davide Frattesi come on for Gatti and Maldini — and it looks like they’re going all out for damage control... or maybe damage creation."

Germany, unchanged, looked calm as Baumann gestured for the backline to stay compact. But calm can be dangerous when fire is coming your way.

It didn’t take long for the Italians to strike.

In the 48th minute, Tah received the ball from Baumann under pressure. Italy’s new shape was suffocating — a tight diamond pressing trap, forcing the Germans to play into narrow spaces. Tah looked right, intending to roll the ball toward Schlotterbeck on the far side, but his pass lacked power.

Kean read it in a flash. The forward darted in front of the pass, intercepted, and suddenly it was a footrace toward the penalty area.

"Kean! One-on-one with Baumann! He slots it in!"

The keeper rushed out to close the angle, but Kean kept his head, sliding the ball coolly into the bottom corner.

O’Hagan:

"And Italy have life! Moise Kean pounces on a mistake, and they’re back in it! 3-1 on the night, 6-2 on aggregate! Is there enough time for a comeback? I don’t think so, but anything could happen in football."

The Italian bench exploded with renewed energy. Spalletti clenched both fists, shouting at his players to keep pushing.

Up in the stands, Javi let out a quiet sigh. "That’s sloppy," he muttered, shaking his head. His father patted him on the arm. "They’ll fix it," he said. "They’ve been solid all game."

Down below, Nagelsmann’s face remained expressionless. But his voice wasn’t calm. "Settle down! No more gifts!" he barked, gesturing furiously toward Tah and Schlotterbeck.

The next few minutes were chaos. Italy, suddenly reborn, pressed like wolves on fresh scent. They hunted in packs, every German touch contested, every inch of grass fought over.

Lukas, drifting toward the center again to help relieve pressure, received a bouncing ball from Stiller. The crowd rose — everyone knew what usually happened next.

He took one touch, shifted his body, and began to glide forward. Barella came flying in from one side, Tonali from the other. Lukas twisted his hips and tried to pivot out of the double challenge, but the impact from both sides sent him spinning and crashing onto the turf.

The shrill whistle pierced the air before he even landed.

O’Hagan:

"That’s a late one! Brandt absolutely sandwiched there between Barella and Tonali!"

The stadium erupted in boos — German fans chanting "Schiri!" as Lukas winced, clutching his side. Musiala immediately rushed to him, helping him sit up while Kimmich protested to the referee.

Barella tried to plead his innocence, hands raised, but the referee was having none of it. Both midfielders were shown yellow cards in quick succession.

Kehl:

"That’s pure frustration. They’ve been chasing shadows since the first half, and Lukas has been untouchable. They had no choice but to stop him — legally or otherwise."

"Oh my goodness," Mrs. Brandt gasped as she covered her mouth with her left palm while her right clung tighter to her husband. "Why would they tackle him like that?!"

"He’s gonna be fine, dear," her husband said, comforting her while trying to hide any signs of fear he was also having. "I’m sure our grandson is strong enough to take that. They have decided that it’s the best way to stop him."

"That doesn’t mean he should be tackled this hardly. He’s only 16. He could get seriously injured," she protested while her husband patted her on her shoulder.

Javi just watched the pitch with undeterred attention as his jaws tightened. He was tapping his feet on the floor and the rhythm was starting to get faster when he felt a hand placed on his thigh.

"He’s gonna be fine," Anne said as Javi looked up at her. "Don’t be too worried. Look, he’s getting up," she added, pointing down to the pitch and Javi’s eyes followed her hands.

Lukas stood back up to thunderous applause. Even the home fans of Dortmund — club loyalties aside — were on their feet clapping the 16-year-old’s resilience.

From the technical area, Nagelsmann looked at Lukas and made a thumbs up as if asking "Are you okay?"

Lukas returned the gesture as he mouthed "I’m fine," while the coach nodded and smiled before clapping to make sure his team stays in the game.

The free kick, though, was too far out for a direct attempt. Kimmich chipped it into the box, where Kleindienst tried a flick header, but it went wide.

The pressure from Italy never faded. It was as though that goal had awakened every ounce of pride left in their blue shirts.

Tonali recovered the ball deep in midfield after a loose pass from Groß and immediately looked to release Kean. But this time, Germany’s shape was compact — they had learned their lesson.

Still, Italy kept probing. Politano on the right teased Mittelstädt with quick feints before cutting inside and curling a ball to the far post. Baumann stretched and punched it away, but only as far as Frattesi, who met it on the volley.

It ricocheted through a crowd of legs — deflected once, twice — before rolling perfectly into Kean’s path again.

O’Hagan:

"Kean again! Loose ball! Can he finish it?!"

He could.

Kean hammered it past Baumann, this time with venom, the net rippling violently as the ball thudded into the roof of the goal.

The Italian supporters roared to life. Flags waved, drums beat, and chants of "Italia! Italia!" filled the Dortmund air.

Kehl:

"It’s game on now! Two goals for Moise Kean, and Germany’s comfortable lead has started to look shaky."

Nagelsmann stood frozen for a moment, then clapped slowly, shouting to his bench. "Focus! Stay switched on!"

Kimmich gathered the players around, barking orders like a captain possessed. Lukas, still catching his breath after a sprint back to help defend, looked up at the scoreboard:

Germany 3 – 2 Italy (6–3 on aggregate).

The stadium was alive with tension. The Italians were back in the game, the Germans rattled but not broken — and somewhere in the middle of it all stood a 16-year-old, calm, determined, ready to answer again.

By the 70th minute, the Italian revival had begun to slow, the earlier urgency fading into desperation. Every misplaced pass drew groans from the Azzurri fans scattered among the crowd. Germany, though rattled earlier, had rediscovered their structure — Goretzka barking orders, Kimmich dictating from deep, and Lukas once again finding spaces no one else could see.

At the touchline, Nagelsmann stood with arms folded, his assistants murmuring behind him. He didn’t need to shout; the rhythm had returned to his players. They knew what to do now — control, stretch, suffocate.

It began with a patient buildup at the back. Schlotterbeck rolled it into Groß, who, with one sweep of his right foot, switched the play to the left. Raum controlled and nudged it forward to Lukas. Udogie, booked earlier, hesitated for half a heartbeat. That was all Lukas needed.

He nudged the ball past him with his first touch and glided down the flank, every step light but deliberate. Tonali came tracking back, wary of diving in again. Lukas slowed, shifted the ball under his studs, then burst forward again, the crowd rising with every touch. Bastoni moved to cover, but Lukas fainted left and darted to the right, sending the defender spinning in the opposite direction.

O’Hagan:

"Brandt again down that left side. He’s been unstoppable tonight! He’s got space — can he deliver?"

Near the byline, Lukas raised his head. Goretzka was charging into the box, timing his run perfectly between the two centre-backs. Lukas took one small step back, let the ball settle, and whipped in a cross with his weaker right foot. It wasn’t flashy — it was just perfect. The ball curled away from Donnarumma’s reach and dropped invitingly at the back post.

Goretzka rose, towering above Frattesi, and met it with the cleanest of headers.

THUD.

The sound echoed as the ball rocketed past Donnarumma into the top corner.

O’Hagan:

"GOAL! It’s 4 for Germany! And that’s the killer blow!"

Kehl:

"Lukas Brandt with another moment of class. That’s his second assist tonight — and what a delivery!"

Goretzka pointed straight at Lukas in celebration, running to embrace him as the rest of the team swarmed the corner. Behind them, the German fans erupted, flags waving, the air vibrating with chants of "Deutschland! Deutschland!"

In the executive box, Javi stood and clapped slowly, a proud smile on his face. "That’s it. That’s the match," he said quietly. His father nodded beside him, the grin of a man watching a legacy being built.

Anne couldn’t stop smiling, her phone already recording as the replay played on the big screen — Lukas beating his man, crossing with precision, Goretzka’s header flying in.

The game was well and truly over.

A/N: So Midnight, the GOAT, has gifted a Dragon. Thank you so much. I’ll release the Chapters this weekend.

Stay blessed y’all.

-Writ.