CHAPTER 183: HISTORY LESSON

He didn’t say Lukas’s name.

He didn’t need to.

Everyone knew who he meant.

"That happens. It’s football. What matters is how we move forward."

He stepped further in, folding his arms.

"We cannot win every game. No club in the world does. What we can do is move on quickly, because in five days—"

He paused.

"—we have the most important match of our season waiting for us."

Heads lifted. Eyes sharpened.

"The Europa League quarterfinal. First leg. At home. Against Athletic Club."

A ripple of focus moved through the room.

Toppmöller looked directly at Lukas this time.

"We put today behind us. All of us. We regroup, we train, and we go again. We still have dreams in every competition. Don’t forget that."

Lukas breathed out slowly, the weight on his shoulders easing; not gone, but lighter.

The disappointment remained.

But the fire was still there too.

Guilded by expectation.

Fanned by ambition.

Fueled by the desire to prove that regret was temporary... but greatness could be permanent.

* * *

The inner corridors of the Weserstadion still buzzed with post-match chatter as players, staff, and fans filtered out, but a different kind of energy followed Lukas as he walked toward the meeting point where his family waited. Heads began to turn—some subtle, some not subtle at all—as whispers rippled through the passing crowd.

"That’s the boy who scored today."

"Brandt... the Frankfurt kid, right?"

"He’s even younger in person."

Lukas kept his head low, offering polite nods where he could, but his eyes were already fixed on a familiar cluster of figures gathered beside a concrete support pillar.

Javi stood with a slightly taller, broad-shouldered man—bald, a bit rugged, with the unmistakable posture of someone who had spent half a lifetime diving in six-yard boxes. Christian Vander. A Bremen man through and through.

"...and look at you," Vander was saying, laughing as he gestured to Javi’s right leg. "No limp, no stiffness, nothing! The doctors did a great job, huh?"

"Yeah," Javi chuckled. "I try not to push it too much, but it’s not as bad as it used to be."

"You used to hobble around like a pensioner," Vander teased, nudging his shoulder.

Javi rolled his eyes. "Thanks for that."

As Lukas approached, Javi turned and smiled, but it was Vander whose reaction was most immediate. His eyes widened first at the sight of Lukas, then even more when the boy leaned in slightly and said—

"Dad? I’m done. We can go whenever you want."

Vander blinked twice.

"That’s your son?" he asked, pointing at Lukas as though confirming a plot twist.

Javi rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. That’s him."

Vander threw his hands up in exaggerated despair. "Are you kidding me?! Javi, you absolute villain! You left Bremen, disappeared, and took the next European superstar with you?"

Javi laughed as Anne and Lukas’s grandparents chuckled behind him.

"If the academy had kept me around longer," Javi joked, "maybe you could’ve found him sooner."

Vander shook his head dramatically. "Unbelievable. I’m gonna tell everyone in the office tomorrow that I shook hands with the father of the Bundesliga’s next golden boy before the rest of Europe steals him away."

Then he turned directly to Lukas with a playful glare.

"You were a menace today. Thanks for snatching our points, by the way. I feel like we’d have gotten the 3 points today if not for you."

"We wanted the 3 points too," Lukas said boldly.

"Oh nicee, like father like son," Vander grinned. "Just keep making your old man proud."

He gave Javi a half hug, then nodded to Anne and the Brandts.

"Good seeing you again, Mickey. Don’t wait another decade before visiting."

"I won’t," Javi said warmly.

Vander waved and headed off down the hallway. When he disappeared around the corner, Lukas finally shifted his attention fully to the people who had been watching him with glowing pride.

Anne stood there with a smile brighter than stadium floodlights.

"You were unbelievable today," she said as she wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Really. That volley... oh my goodness. I could not believe my eyes."

[*Ten million fire flies...?*]

"Shut up, TT," Lukas thought.

Right beside Anne, Pa Brandt rose slowly from the bench with a stiffness that came from age, not emotion. He placed both hands on Lukas’s cheeks.

"Junge," he said, voice trembling with pride, "that was beautiful football. We shouted so loudly, the people around us stared."

"Oh they stared," Mrs. Brandt added proudly, adjusting her green-and-white scarf with Frankfurt stripes tied around it. "We didn’t care. You were marvelous."

Somewhere, a small knot in Lukas’s chest loosened.

The sting of the draw... the woodwork... the nearly-won match... all of it eased under the softness of their voices.

"Thanks," he murmured. "I’m glad you were here."

They gathered themselves, picking up coats and scarves. Mr. Brandt reached for a cane he didn’t really need but used anyway, while Mrs. Brandt made sure her handbag wasn’t left behind. Anne looped her arm through Javi’s, and together they began walking toward the exit tunnel.

As they made their way out toward the parking lot, Lukas caught sight of a few Bremen fans still lingering. Some recognized him and whispered, pointing politely but curiously. Others gave him nods, not hostile, just impressed, but it was clear most people didn’t know he had Bremen roots. To them, he was simply the rising wonderkid from Frankfurt.

Outside, the chilly northern evening air greeted them as they reached the small staff-parking section. Javi had borrowed his father’s old metallic-grey Audi for the trip, knowing they’d all be driving home together afterward. Normally, Ma and Pa Brandt used the train for match days, but today was different. Today was special.

As Lukas opened the back door and helped his grandmother inside, he heard her whisper softly:

"You played like you belonged here, Lukas. Not just in football... but in Bremen."

He smiled, closing the door gently.

For the first time all day, the disappointment fully evaporated.

Not because of the goal.

Not because of the applause.

But because of this—his family, together, proud of him in the only way that truly mattered.

* * *

The drive out of the stadium’s parking area was slow and clogged, the usual match-day traffic forming a glowing river of headlights weaving through the early evening. Inside the old metallic-grey Audi, however, the mood was warm — softer than the harsh fluorescent lights they had just left behind. Lukas sat in the backseat directly behind Javi, squeezed comfortably between his grandparents. His grandmother hadn’t stopped smiling since they left the stadium, and his grandfather kept patting Lukas’s knee with pride every few minutes.

Anne sat in the passenger seat, twisting slightly so she could talk to those in the back, while Javi kept his eyes on the road, occasionally glancing at them through the rearview mirror.

It was Lukas who broke the peaceful quiet.

"I had no idea you played in a Bundesliga academy," he said, leaning forward slightly so his voice would carry to the front seat. "Grandma said you even trained with the first team."

Immediately, Mrs. Brandt brightened with delight.

"Oh, he was good," she said, nodding firmly. "Better than good, actually. The coaches loved him. They said he had the discipline of a seasoned professional, even at nineteen."

"Mom..." Javi muttered, embarrassed, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.

"What?" she shot back. "You think we’re not allowed to brag?"

Lukas grinned. "So why didn’t you ever tell me? And why did you stop playing? What happened?"