CHAPTER 156: BALANCE

Germany hadn’t taken their foot off the pedal since taking the lead. They moved with a confidence that bordered on swagger, circulating possession with purpose rather than caution. Italy, meanwhile, struggled to string together more than two passes whenever they regained possession. The atmosphere inside the San Siro grew restless — whistles, impatience, and a simmer of frustration rolled down from the stands.

Lukas received the ball on the edge of the Italian defensive third, looking to combine with Musiala in a tight space. He shaped to glide past Udogie with a shimmy, but this time the Italian full-back read it well and poked the ball cleanly off his foot.

"It’s a rare mistake from Brandt, and Italy could break here!"

Udogie wasted no time. He drove a first-time pass down the flank for Raspadori, who had peeled off into the right channel. Raspadori surged forward, the pitch ahead of him like a runway. Kean sprinted into the box, demanding the early cross.

For a moment, it looked dangerous — the kind of moment that could drag Italy back into the contest.

But Lukas reacted instantly.

He turned and sprinted, eating up the ground between them with frightening acceleration. In three strides, he was there. Just as Raspadori drew his foot back to deliver the cross, Lukas slid in from the side, timing it to perfection. He swept the ball cleanly from Raspadori’s feet and back into his own possession, never touching the Italian forward.

Raspadori tumbled into the turf, skidding on the wet grass as the San Siro erupted in furious boos, arms thrown up in protest.

"It’s a fantastic recovery challenge! Brandt gets all of the ball, and the referee agrees, no foul!"

The referee waved play on emphatically.

Lukas sprang back to his feet, not wasting a second. He scanned the pitch; Sané was already peeling wide on the opposite flank. Without hesitation, Lukas wrapped his left foot around the ball and pinged a long diagonal pass from deep inside his half, arrowing it across the field to the left wing.

"What a pass! That is inch-perfect, forty-five metres straight onto Sané!"

Sané cushioned the ball with a velvet touch, bringing it down as if it dropped from his hands. He drove into the penalty area with Udogie and Bastoni backing off, wary of committing. Kleindienst darted between the centre-backs and peeled into space at the penalty spot, arms out for the cut-back.

Sané saw him... but chose otherwise.

He chopped onto his left and unleashed a fierce strike at the near post. Donnarumma stood tall, barely flinching as he blocked it with his forearm and gathered the rebound.

"Oh, Sané will want that one back! Kleindienst was free in the middle for a tap-in!"

Kleindienst threw his head back in mild disbelief, but didn’t shout, just clapped and raised a thumb to show no hard feelings. Sané responded with a quick nod and a palm-up gesture of apology as he jogged back.

Germany had threatened again — and Italy knew the storm wasn’t over.

The match settled into a fierce, breathless rhythm. Every time Germany surged forward, Italy responded with a counter of its own. The midfield became a battlefield of quick feet and quicker decisions, with neither side willing to concede control. The San Siro crowd lived every moment — roaring, whistling, gasping, groaning — the emotion changing with each touch of the ball.

Germany could have killed the tie off more than once. Lukas twice carved through Italy’s midfield with that gliding stride of his, the second of those runs ending with a curling shot aimed for the top corner. It looked destined to nestle into the side netting, but Donnarumma stretched every inch of his frame to claw it away from danger.

"Donnarumma again! He is keeping Italy alive by himself tonight!"

Minutes later, Lukas found Musiala on the overlap down the left. They exchanged a sharp one-two that dismantled Calafiori, and Musiala clipped a delicate cross to the far post. Kleindienst rose unmarked — the entire German bench began leaning forward, half-ready to celebrate — but the header skimmed off his forehead and drifted wide.

"He has to score there! What a chance for 3–1! That could come back to haunt Germany..."

But Italy weren’t lying down either.

In the 74th minute, Barella struck a venomous effort from distance that rattled the crossbar, the entire stadium groaning as the ball spun back out instead of down over the line. Five minutes later, Tonali stepped up with a free-kick. He wrapped his foot around it beautifully, and Baumann was rooted — but once again the crossbar came to Germany’s rescue.

"How on earth is this still 2–1?! Italy inches from an equaliser... twice!"

The final minutes were played like a chess match at lightning speed — both sides calculating, lunging, and gambling. The ball travelled end-to-end, no one settling, no one accepting that the next goal could define the tie.

Five minutes of added time were shown. A wave of nervous tension swept through the stadium.

In the second minute of stoppage time, Germany regained possession after a loose Italian pass. Groß played a short ball into Lukas near the halfway line. He received it on the half-turn, space opening ahead of him.

The crowd rose.

Because as soon as Lukas looked up, something was on.

Udogie was the first to close him down, charging in with the urgency of a man who knew what one more German goal could mean for the tie. Lukas took a calm touch and tapped the ball into Groß before spinning to receive the return. Udogie clipped him late on the turn, and Lukas’s balance gave way for a moment. His body dipped toward the turf.

The referee’s whistle almost reached his lips.

But Lukas refused to go down.

He planted his left hand on the grass, pushed himself back up, and burst forward again.

"He’s stayed on his feet! That is unbelievable balance from Brandt!"

Groß returned the pass first-time, and Lukas collected it in stride, the ball glued to his foot. Tonali came crashing into him with a firm shoulder barge, sending him stumbling sideways toward the touchline. Lukas dragged the ball with him using his sole, once again bracing with his palm against the ground to keep himself upright. Tonali expected him to lose it — he didn’t.

"This is outrageous... Tonali has hammered into him, and Brandt keeps going!"

Lukas straightened and accelerated down the right flank. Italy were scrambling back, bodies retreating in panic. Bellanova — who had come on in the 80th minute for Politano — stepped across to confront him near the edge of the box.

A step-over.Then an elastico — right to left in one lightning movement.

Bellanova was gone.

"Brandt... oh, he’s left Bellanova for dead! That is filthy!"

Lukas cut inside, gliding toward the corner of the penalty area. Donnarumma adjusted his stance, trying to cover both the far and near posts at once. Lukas shaped his body for the curling left-foot strike to the far corner — the one he had teased all night — but he caught a glimpse of Calafiori already sliding across to smother it. And he knew Donnarumma’s reach would swallow it.

So he shifted.

A quick roll of the ball to the centre, past the D, and he shaped again. Bastoni lunged to block; too early. Lukas shifted once more, dragging the ball along the 18-yard line, now near the centre.

The Italian defence froze, expecting another feint, another dribble, another pass.

Instead, Lukas picked his spot.