CHAPTER 158: CHEMISTRY

The team touched down in Frankfurt early the next morning. The tiredness from the previous night’s game was visible: stiff walks, heavy eyes, muscles sore. But there was something else too: pride. A quiet satisfaction. They had done something big in Milan.

As they stepped through the arrivals door toward the airport’s public exit, they didn’t expect more than a few cameras and reporters. Instead, a warm round of applause greeted them. Airport staff, travellers, and a handful of fans who had clearly woken up early were waiting with scarves, flags, and Germany jerseys.

It wasn’t a chaotic crowd — just a heartfelt welcome.

Some clapped politely, some cheered, and a few held signs. One read: "DIE ZUKUNFT IST JETZT" with a drawn number 49 underneath.

Lukas walked near the middle of the group when a small voice pierced through all the noise.

"LUKAAASSS!!!"

He turned.

A boy no older than five or six sat on his father’s shoulders, waving both arms as if his life depended on being noticed. He wore a Germany #21 jersey with BRANDT on the back — clearly a custom print — and held in his hands a slightly oversized Eintracht Frankfurt home shirt with #49 on it.

The father mouthed a "please," and Lukas instantly changed direction.

The boy’s eyes widened as Lukas approached. His father lowered him to the ground, and the child clutched both jerseys to his chest, frozen with excitement.

"You want me to sign them?" Lukas asked gently.

The boy nodded so fast his hair shook.

Lukas signed the Frankfurt shirt first, then the Germany one. They took a picture — the little boy between Lukas and his parents, grinning so big his cheeks almost touched his eyelids.

"Thank you, Lukas!" the boy squeaked, hugging his leg before running back to his father.

Lukas smiled and jogged back to the group, slipping into the pack just as Musiala bumped his shoulder.

"Look at you, superstar," Musiala teased. "Signing autographs at the airport like a celeb."

Adeyemi chimed in, slinging an arm around Lukas. "I’m not even surprised. This is Frankfurt. His city. If they didn’t adore him after everything he’s doing for the biggest club here, then that would be strange."

Lukas just shook his head with an embarrassed grin, but he didn’t deny the warmth he felt from the moment.

* * *

Back at the DFB Campus

The team bus rolled into the DFB Campus shortly after, and the players unloaded their bags. Some still half-asleep, others already buzzing for coffee or a nap.

Nagelsmann gathered them briefly outside.

"You have time to rest, recover, or do whatever you need until 18:00," he said. "We train at six. Use the time well — together. Get to know each other off the pitch too. Chemistry matters."

A few players nodded. Some already planned naps, others a gym session.

Naturally, a group began to form.

Lukas, Adeyemi, and Bisseck all looked at each other with the same unspoken idea.

Game room.

The game room was comfortable — couches, big screen, two controllers per side, shelves full of games, snacks around. A perfect bonding spot.

They loaded up EA FC 25.

"Alright, who’s picking who?" Adeyemi asked, taking a controller.

"I’m taking Frankfurt," Lukas said without hesitation.

This earned immediate laughter.

Musiala, who had followed them in purely to spectate, at least at first, nearly fell off the back of the couch.

"You’re picking Frankfurt to use yourself?" he grinned. "You just want to score with you, don’t you?"

"Of course not," Lukas replied with a fake offended glare. "I just... trust the team."

He navigated to the squad screen.

Then he froze.

His avatar stared back at him — except, it wasn’t really him. The face scan was generic, default hair, default build, and the most unflattering expression imaginable. Next to it:

OVR: 78

POT: 90

Musiala burst out laughing. "Oh nah, they did you dirty. This guy looks nothing like you. And 78? Be honest, I’m what... 10 levels above you?"

He pointed at his own card:

OVR: 88

POT: 92

"That’s crazy," Bisseck added, shaking his head with a grin. "He just dropped into senior football four months ago and has a 90 potential already. EA know what’s coming."

"Next edition," Bisseck laughed, "you’ll probably be like 84 with 93 potential. Maybe even higher."

Lukas crossed his arms, playing along. "I disagree with the 10 difference between me and Jamal. Seven... maybe eight max."

"Ohhh okay," Musiala snorted. "I’ll call EA myself and have them fix that."

Adeyemi waved them to the couch. "Enough talking. 2v2. Me and Lukas versus Musiala and Bisseck. Let’s see who’s actually rated better."

They picked teams.

Team A: Lukas & Adeyemi — Eintracht Frankfurt

Team B: Musiala & Bisseck — Bayern Munich

"Unfair," Lukas muttered, seeing Bayern’s squad. "Why don’t we take a Bundesliga XI against you or something?"

"No no no," Musiala grinned. "You chose Frankfurt. Let’s enjoy it."

The match kicked off and quickly became clear:

Musiala and Bisseck were menaces on the controller.

Inside fifteen in-game minutes, Bayern were 2–0 up — Musiala, controlling himself in-game, scored one with a skill run and celebrated obnoxiously into Lukas’s camera.

"Oh this is shameless," Adeyemi groaned. "Never lose to a man controlling himself like that."

By halftime it was 4–1.

Final score? 7–2.

As the defeat screen flashed, Lukas leaned back on the couch, covering his face with a cushion.

"Never again," he mumbled. "I’m never pairing with Karim again."

"Wow so it’s my fault?" Adeyemi protested.

Musiala grabbed the trophy-shaped water bottle from the table, held it up dramatically, and announced:

"We would like to dedicate this win to EA FC for recognising greatness in ratings."

Lukas threw a little seat pillow at him and the group started laughing.

"Don’t worry, I’ve just been rusty. Let’s go one more time," he said as he sat upright from his relaxing position.

"Oh? What’s going on in here?" Tah asked as he peaked inside the game room. "Seems some people already came before us," he said as he opened the door and stepped in with a group of the older, more experienced players including Kimmich, Rudiger, Schlotterbeck, Raum, and Groß.

"Yes more people!" Musiala exclaimed. "Come watch me kick Lukas’s ass one more time."

"Yeah that was beginner’s luck, Jamal. And you’ve run out of it now," Lukas shot back as he cracked his fingers and picked up the controller.

"We’ll see about that."

Chatter filled the room as they kicked off the game.

* * *

Later that evening.

Lukas lay on his bed, still in a loose training top and shorts, while Musiala sat sideways on the second bed, scrolling through his own phone. The room was dim except for the soft glow of the screens. Outside, the campus was quiet — a stark contrast to the chaos of Milan just 24 hours earlier.

Lukas refreshed his Instagram again, though he didn’t need to. The numbers kept climbing regardless.

His post from that morning — a shot of him with arms spread wide at the corner flag, soaked under the San Siro lights after scoring that third goal — now sat at 358,000 likes. His followers had just supposed 1 million earlier that morning, but it was about to hit 2 million that night.

The caption was simple, almost childlike in its honesty:

"Dreams really do come true ⚽⚽🅰️"

The comments were overflowing. Players from Frankfurt, the national team, and even opponents had swarmed the post.

@jamalmusiala10: The truth 🔥

@leroysane: Ice cold. Proud of you lil bro 🧊🇩🇪

@kochy_4: My boy delivers on the biggest stage 💪🏽

@hugolarsson8: Not surprised at all. Seen this too many times already 😌

@hekitike: Save some magic for club football too please 😂

Even some international stars chimed in — emojis, short messages, subtle nods acknowledging that they had seen what he did.

But beneath the celebrations, debates were brewing.

A fan comment near the top caught Lukas’s eye:

@BundesScout99:

Best teenager in football right now. Clear of Yamal, clear of Doué, and it’s not close. Output alone puts him on a different shelf.

Within seconds, a reply chain formed:

@fcbMads: He hasn’t even played in the Champions League yet. Be serious. Yamal is doing it in UCL and LaLiga. Doué too. Chill.

@BundesScout99: You watched the game tonight or not? Against Italy. Away. At 16. He cooked.

@fcbMads: One game doesn’t make him better. CL is the real test.

@SGEfanMax: He has 30+ G/A this season already. In FOUR MONTHS. Name another kid doing that anywhere.

Musiala leaned over and glanced at the screen. "Don’t read that too much," he said calmly. "Comparisons are a trap. Enjoy your moment. You earned it."

Lukas nodded, though a small smile tugged at his lips.

It was surreal seeing people debate his name with players he had only ever watched on TV until recently.

A notification popped up — a DM from João.

He opened it.

It was a link. João had sent a post from Fabrizio Romano.

Lukas tapped it.

The headline punched him like a gust of cold wind:

"OFFICIAL: Lukas Brandt becomes the youngest goalscorer in German men’s national team history."

The post had gone viral — millions of views, endless retweets, dozens of languages quoting it.

Musiala saw the stunned look on Lukas’s face. "What now?"

Lukas handed him the phone without a word.

Musiala scanned the post, eyes widening slightly.

"Well..." he exhaled. "Welcome to the history books."