CHAPTER 174: GHOSTS OF THE PAST

"Good," Lexi interjected sharply. "Frankfurt are good. And he’s special. You saw—"

Roger raised a hand. "He’s talented," he agreed. "But talent isn’t enough in Europe."

He took another sip of coffee, completely confident in his assessment.

Jane, meanwhile, was clearing the plates — quiet and thoughtful as always. She hadn’t followed football closely, but even she recognised his name. Germany’s headlines had been difficult to avoid after the matches against Italy.

"Lukas Brandt..." she said softly, almost to herself.

Lexi shoved the phone toward her. "Look at him. He said they’ll be in Bilbao. He doesn’t even care that people are calling it arrogant. He knows."

Jane turned — and looked at the screen.

The photo was up close now. Lukas smiling, sweat-slick hair, face lit by stadium floodlights. Someone had screenshot it from television. His features were so vivid. So clear.

Jane froze.

For a moment, everything in the kitchen went still — the faint hum of the refrigerator becoming the loudest noise in the room.

Her breath caught — sharp enough that the porcelain plates slipped from her hands and shattered against the tile.

CRACK.

Both Roger and Lexi swung around.

"Mom?" Lexi gasped.

But Jane didn’t answer.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the picture.

Her face had gone pale.

Because she wasn’t just looking at Lukas Brandt.

She was recognising him.

Something in the jawline.

The eyes.

The posture.

Something painfully familiar.

A memory she thought she had buried.

Her voice, when it finally came out, wasn’t louder than a whisper —

"...no," she breathed, barely audible.

But the expression said everything.

Recognition.

Shock.

Fear.

And something else — something old, heavy, and personal.

The photo on the screen glowed silently.

Lukas Brandt.

And Jane Jackson was looking at him like she had seen a ghost.

"Jane? Are you okay?"

Jane blinked, snapping back into herself, and forced air into her lungs.

"I... I’m fine," she said quickly, her voice steadier than the look in her eyes. "It just slipped. I’m alright. Really."

Roger was already kneeling beside her, picking up the larger ceramic pieces. Lexi grabbed a towel from the counter and crouched too.

"It’s okay, Mum, don’t move. You’ll cut yourself," Lexi said, gently pushing Jane’s hands away when she reached in reflexively.

Jane stood still — hands hovering — as if she wasn’t entirely in the room.

Roger glanced up at her. Not confrontational. Just... watching.

"You sure you’re alright?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," she nodded too fast. "Just... just distracted. Long week. I’m fine. I promise."

Roger didn’t believe that. Not entirely. But he also knew when not to pry. Jane was private with her emotions — always had been — and pushing her when she was clearly rattled rarely brought answers, only walls.

So he simply gathered the last shard into his palm, rose, and disposed of it carefully.

When everything was cleaned and the floor was wiped, he slipped on his jacket.

"I should get going," he said. "I’ll text when I land."

He leaned in and kissed Jane on the cheek. She didn’t quite meet it, but she didn’t pull away.

Then he ruffled Lexi’s hair as she stepped back.

"Don’t stress too much about your revision," he said softly.

"She won’t," Jane murmured, even though Lexi was already halfway down the hall, phone in hand, clearly not headed for textbooks.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence filled the apartment; it was heavy and unnatural.

Jane remained standing for a few seconds.

Then her shoulders collapsed.

She walked — no, staggered — to the sofa, sat down, and immediately reached for her phone with shaking fingers.

She typed:

L u k a s B r a n d t

The search results filled instantly — match photos, interviews, clips of his goals in the Bundesliga, his debut for Germany, his corner-flag celebration last Thursday.

Her breath hitched.

She tapped the first image.

The same face.

The same expression.

The same eyes.

Her vision blurred.

A teardrop hit the phone screen and smudged the image.

Then another.

And another.

She dropped the phone on her lap, covered her mouth with both hands — as if the sound of her own breathing might give her away — and folded forward, shoulders trembling.

Whatever she had buried — whoever she had buried—had just walked back into her life.

Not in a memory.Not in a photograph from the past.

But alive.Real.Sixteen.And suddenly everywhere.

And Jane Jackson wept into her hands — silently, helplessly — knowing that her life had just changed again.

Forever.

* * *

The Brandt house felt warm again.

It smelled faintly of Anne’s lavender diffuser, the one she insisted made homes feel "lived in," and there were small family touches everywhere: framed photos, soft blankets on the couch, slippers arranged by the hallway. Lukas hadn’t stayed overnight in weeks, maybe months, and being here felt... grounding.

It was just past 11 p.m.

Javi and Lukas were on the living room floor, seated close to the coffee table, controllers in hand. Mortal Kombat 1 blared from the TV — Johnny Cage mirror-kicking across the screen as Lukas’ Kung Lao spun his razor hat with reckless intention.

"You always spam the hat spin," Javi complained.

"It works," Lukas replied without looking away.

"It is cheap," Javi emphasized.

"Winning is winning," Lukas shot back, tapping buttons with a lazy confidence.

From the hallway, Anne leaned against the door frame, arms crossed and smiling despite herself.

"You two are children," she said.

"We are athletes in training," Javi corrected, mid-combo, "this builds hand–eye coordination."

"I don’t think the DFB meant this kind of coordination," she sighed.

The match intensified — final round, low health, everything tense — when Javi’s phone began to vibrate from somewhere down the hall.

"It’s in the bedroom," Anne said, already turning to retrieve it.

"Don’t pause, don’t pause," Lukas warned, leaning forward.

"Oh, I’m definitely paus—" Javi began.

FATAL BLOW.

Kung Lao sliced across the screen.

"No mercy," Lukas whispered proudly.

Javi stared at him.

"You are grounded. At 16. I’m reinstating grounding."

Anne returned with the phone in hand, still smiling, but the smile softened when she saw the screen.

"Who’s calling so late?" Javi asked as he turned to face Anne who was walking towards them.

"It’s... an unsaved number. United Kingdom."

The room fell quiet in a way that didn’t match the cartoon gore on the TV.

Javi’s expression changed. Slightly. Barely. But Lukas caught it — a flicker, like a memory pressing against the present.

He took the phone, paused the game mid-death animation, and held the device for a moment before answering.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

A voice — female — came through the speaker, calm and unmistakably British.

"Hello, Mickey."

Javi closed his eyes for half a second, as if steadying himself. Then he stood — slow, deliberate — and walked down the hallway.

"Dad?" Lukas called quietly.

No response.

Javi stepped into his bedroom and shut the door behind him.

The soft click of the latch sounded far too loud.

Anne and Lukas exchanged a look — confusion, worry, curiosity — each searching the other for an explanation neither of them had.

On the paused TV screen, Kung Lao and Johnny Cage stared back frozen mid-battle, as if even they understood something real had just been set in motion.

"Well... That was weird..." Lukas said, trying to break the thick tension in the living room. "What do you think that was about?" he asked Anne.

Anne was staring in the direction Javi had just wandered in. "...beats me..." she responded, absent-mindedly. "I guess I’ll have to ask him when he’s done," she added, her gaze sharp enough to slice through the door to the room Javi was in.

"Well..." Lukas said as he stood up gently from the floor and wiped his behind before tiptoeing to the television and turning off the gaming setup.

"I guess it’s time for me to head to bed. Goodnight, Anne," he said hurriedly as he rushed to his room and closed the door without waiting for a response.

"Well I’m sure it’s nothing serious. But whatever it is, I’m sure they will deal with it civilly and responsibly," he said to himself as he slipped into his bed.

[*You can never be too sure about this kind of things, you know. What if it’s a side-piece calling and Anne finds out and burns the house down while you’re asleep?*] TT’s oh so familiar voice sounded in the back of Lukas’s head.

"Really? C’mon! My dad would never do something like that. By the way, TT, can’t you find out what’s going on? Aren’t you like a super computer or something?"

[*Nah I can’t. I don’t know what kind of system you’ve been thinking of, but I can’t read people’s minds. Except yours, of course.*]

"What was I expecting...."

[*But I can help analyze his—*]

"...Useless. Oh wait, really? You can help analyze his what? Facial expressions? Do the analysis then, what does it tell you?"

[*I thought I was useless. I am not doing any analyzing today.*]

"Oh c’mon.... I was joking!!!!"

[*I never knew I was bounded to The Joker. Heath Ledger? Joaquin Phoenix?*]

"Don’t do that. What were you saying."

[*Ahem... His facial expressions... For a brief moment, he was shocked, and he glanced at you before leaving. It’s propable it has something to do with you.*]

"With me? A call from an unknown number in England that has something to do with me... Don’t tell me—"