CHAPTER 171: STUTTGART

Toppmöller blinked, the memory dissolving.

He looked once more toward the building where Lukas had just entered.

A small, weary smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

"He said he isn’t leaving.

And I believe him."

But belief didn’t stop the hurricane that was about to hit.

Clubs were coming.

Agents were circling.

Journalists were sharpening their pens.

And the boardroom pressure was about to become suffocating.

The world wanted Lukas Brandt.

And Eintracht Frankfurt wasn’t built to keep diamonds forever.

But for now — for this moment — his wonderkid was still here.

* * *

Deutsche Bank Park – Sunday Afternoon

"Guten Tag, Fußballfans!"

The familiar voice of Dan O’Hagan rolled across the broadcast, warm and sharp with anticipation.

"Welcome to Deutsche Bank Park here in Frankfurt, where the atmosphere is lively, the flags are waving, and the home supporters are expecting a performance from their Eintracht side fresh off the international break. Alongside me today is former national team midfielder Marco Hagemann."

Hagemann chuckled quietly. "Well Dan, there’s certainly been no shortage of talk about one young man returning from that break."

"Oh, absolutely," O’Hagan continued. "After six goal contributions in two matches for Germany — including that curling finish to sink Italy — Lukas Brandt starts today in the league again, and really, there’s hardly a player in Germany right now under brighter lights."

The camera swayed across the sea of black, white, and red. The Nordwestkurve was at full voice, drums pounding as if to set the earth beneath the stadium vibrating.

"And here we have the lineups," O’Hagan said as the lineups appeared on the screen.

Eintracht Frankfurt (4-2-3-1)

GK: 40 Kaua

LB: 13 Kristensen

CB: 4 Koch (C)

CB: 3 Theate

RB: 21 Brown

DM: 35 Tuta

DM: 16 Larsson

LW: 36 Knauff

CAM: 49 Lukas Brandt

RW: 19 Bahoya

ST: 11 Ekitike

Stuttgart (4-2-3-1)

GK: 33 Nübel

LB: 7 Mittelstädt

CB: 24 Chabot

CB: 29 Jeltsch

RB: 2 Dakhil

DM: 16 Karazor (C)

DM: 6 Stiller

LW: 27 Führich

CAM: 8 Millot

RW: 18 Leweling

ST: 9 Demirović

Stuttgart got the match underway, kicking toward the roaring Nordwestkurve. And from the opening whistle, Eintracht pressed aggressively, Lukas drifting forward and back, sniffing spaces like a player who already knew how this match should flow.

In the 5th minute, Frankfurt sent the first warning.

Larsson spotted Lukas between the lines and zipped the ball into him.

One touch — body half-open — and Lukas slipped a disguised, feather-light pass between Chabot and Jeltsch.

Ekitike burst into the box, shaping his body early and snapping a low shot toward the near post.

"Saved by Nübel! Strong wrist from the Stuttgart keeper!"

The crowd groaned, but in that moment, Stuttgart felt something:

Eintracht were here to play.

They responded by tightening shape, settling deeper, forcing Frankfurt to work in narrower corridors.

As the match continued, goalless, Frankfurt circulated the ball.

Koch and Theate took turns stepping into midfield.

Tuta shadowed behind, letting Lukas roam.

Yet Stuttgart defended bravely — Stiller and Karazor in particular forming a stubborn two-man wall.

And they forced a change from Eintracht Frankfurt in the 25th minute.

The pressing from Stuttgart was very effective, causing Frankfurt to have to move the ball quicker if they wanted to catch the defense off guard. In the 25th minute, Lukas found an opportunity to do just that.

The moment looked promising: Lukas received deep, scanned the channel, then threaded a curling through ball down the right flank.

Knauff exploded after it — full sprint, pure acceleration — but midway through the chase...

He winced.

His stride faltered.

He grabbed the back of his leg.

"Ah... that’s not good."

Knauff collapsed to the turf clutching his hamstring.

The stadium quieted, anxious murmur spreading like static.

Medical staff rushed.

Knauff tried to stand — but couldn’t.

Collins was called in early.

Lukas jogged over and placed his hand on Knauff’s shoulder. "Go get some rest, brother, we’ll handle this" he whispered.

It seemed the international break and lack of games had gotten to Knauff.

In the 39th minute, Eintracht came so close to taking the lead once more.

It came from vintage Brandt play.

Brown fired a ball up the right. Lukas cushioned it mid-stride, curved away from Stiller, and slipped a clever reverse-pass into the box.

Ekitike, clear. One-on-one.

The Frenchman opened his hips, chose placement over power—

—and scuffed it.

Barely rolling.

Straight into Nübel’s grateful gloves.

Groans. Everywhere.

Ekitike slapped his hands over his face.

Lukas simply nodded encouragingly.

HALF-TIME – 0:0

The whistle went to bring the half to an end as the players walked into the dressing room.

Inside the dressing room, Toppmöller was calm but sharp as he gave out instructions.

"They’re trying to frustrate us. Good. That means they respect us.

Lukas, drop ten meters deeper when we build. Let Tuta and Larsson breathe.

Brown, overlapping runs, not underlaps.

Bahoya, stay high, don’t come looking. The space will come."

No yelling. No panic.

Just adjustment.

In the second half, per instructions, Lukas began appearing beside Larsson, receiving under pressure, gliding past challenges, turning Stuttgart’s compact block into a loose puzzle.

In the 58th minute, Koch played a pass into Lukas, back to goal.

One delicate touch.

A swivel.

A perfectly weighted, looping ball into the left channel.

Bahoya timed his run to perfection — behind the line, clean through.

Nübel rushed — but Dakhil panicked.

He lunged from behind at full speed.

Bahoya tumbled, skidding on the turf.

The stadium exploded in fury.

Referee didn’t hesitate.

"RED CARD! The referee has shown a red card! Dakhil was the last man! Stuttgart are down to 10 men. Frankfurt has to go on and win this game now," O’Hagan screamed. "And it’s a freekick perfectly located for a left-footed curler. There is no question about who would be taking this free kick."

The Deutsche Bank Park held still.

Lukas placed the ball.

Three slow breaths.

Head up.

Eyes scanning the far angle.

Run.

Plant.

Curl.

The ball bent, rising, spinning...

Top corner.

No chance for Nübel.

The ball hit the net and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to freeze — a stillness so sharp you could almost hear individual gasps — before the entire stadium erupted.

A wave of sound rose from the Südtribüne first, like a drum being struck hard, then the entire Deutsche Bank Park followed in a deafening roar. People were on their feet, scarves thrown into the air, some even hugging strangers beside them as if it were a late winner in a cup final rather than a league match in March.

"LUKAS BRANDT!" the commentator roared. "The boy wonder does it again! A free kick of the highest class — curled beyond Nübel and straight into the top corner! Frankfurt lead, and who else could it be?!"

His co-commentator couldn’t contain himself.

"Sixteen years old and he strikes like that? You cannot teach this. That is pure, pure instinct and mastery."

Down on the pitch, Lukas didn’t sprint wildly.

He didn’t yank at his shirt or scream into the camera.

He simply jogged toward the corner flag, light and composed, like a man who had done this a thousand times before, even if the stadium knew this was all still so new.

He stopped right at the flag, turned toward the wall of noise...

and bowed.

A small, elegant, almost playful bow — one hand tucked at his waist, the other behind him — the gesture of someone acknowledging a stage and owning it.

The crowd went insane.

They chanted his name in rhythm, stamping feet and banging drums:

"LU-KAS BRANDT!

LU-KAS BRANDT!"

Larsson sprinted to him first, arms wrapped around his shoulders. Bahoya soon crashed into them too, nearly knocking Lukas off his feet. Ekitike clapped him on the back repeatedly, laughing through disbelief. The bench emptied halfway to celebrate before Toppmöller motioned them back with a smile he couldn’t hide.

On the touchline, the coaching staff looked half in awe, half in resignation.

Toppmöller just shook his head and laughed under his breath.

"That kid... he keeps rewriting the script," he murmured to his assistants.

Koch, the captain, stood with hands on his hips and a huge grin pulling at his cheeks.

"That’s our boy," he said to no one in particular.

Kaua, all the way back in goal, raised both fists and shouted to the stands, riding the electricity of the moment.

Even Stuttgart’s defenders, regrouping at the kickoff circle, couldn’t hide it — a flicker of respect, even in defeat.

The cameras cut briefly to the stands: children losing their minds, teenagers filming everything, grown men screaming with joy, and one older fan wiping tears from his eyes.

Then to the commentary box again:

"Remember this moment," O’Hagan breathed. "Because these are the moments that mark the beginning of something. Sixteen years old. Controlling games. Scoring goals like that. This... is the birth of a star in front of our eyes."

And Lukas simply walked back into position, the faintest smile on his lips —

like someone who knew the noise would only grow louder from here.

A/N: This was a very very very very very very very rushed Chapter. like literally I am not even kidding. I will be editing this as much as possible during the weekend... Please don’t hate me, I had to do a lot of things today. Love y’all

-Writ.