CHAPTER 206: FIRST HALF (1)

The lights cut through the veil of smoke and red-white haze inside a completely sold-out Waldstadion. The ultras’ end was already bouncing, drums thundering, flags covering entire sections like moving waves.

"Welcome to Frankfurt, Germany... welcome to an electric, electric occasion," Derek Rae announced on CBS, microphone trembling slightly with the crowd roar bleeding through.

Beside him, Chris Wittyngham continued,

"And the stakes couldn’t be higher. Athletic Club hold a 3-2 advantage after that dramatic first leg in Bilbao—where 16-year-old Lukas Brandt scored two unbelievable free kicks... yet the Spanish side sealed it in stoppage-time through Nico Williams."

The stadium announcer’s voice boomed over the PA system, reading the team list as camera shots rolled:

Eintracht Frankfurt (4-2-3-1):

GK: Kaua

RB: Kristensen

RCB: Tuta

LCB: Koch (captain)

LB: Theate

DM: Skhiri

DM: Larsson

RW: Bahoya

CAM: Brandt

LW: Brown

ST: Ekitike

"And listen to this reaction..." Derek Rae said, pausing deliberately.

Because when Lukas Brandt’s face filled the giant jumbotron, the sound inside Waldstadion was nothing short of seismic.

A wall of noise — cheering, screaming, chanting his name.

"Sixteen years of age," Wittyngham added, "and yet this stadium feels like it belongs to him. And remember, he’s had quite a week — two free-kick masterclasses in Bilbao, intense speculation over Manchester City’s bid, reports of multiple clubs monitoring him, and... well... the personal matters surrounding him recently."

They didn’t need to mention the photo. Everyone inside the ground already knew.

"For Athletic Club tonight, it’s a very familiar setup from Ernesto Valverde — a 4-2-3-1 designed to spring forward in transition. Julen Agirrezabala remains in goal, he was brilliant in the first leg as it took two brilliant set-pieces for Brandt to breach his goal.

At the back, captain Óscar de Marcos starts at right-back, with Vivian and Aitor Paredes paired centrally, and Yuri Berchiche completing the defensive line on the left. Inside midfield, Iñigo Ruiz de Galarreta partners Mikel Vesga to form that disciplined double pivot.

Ahead of them, Oihan Sancet takes up the ten role, flanked by Williams brothers — Nico Williams operating from the left, Iñaki Williams on the right — and up top, they go again with Asier Villalibre spearheading the line."

"It is a lineup set up clearly to win this tie in transitions. Bilbao know they already have an advantage, they know they caused Frankfurt serious problems out wide, and they believe if the Williams brothers get space again, goals will come."

Inside the tunnel, Athletic Club’s players stood in silence while Frankfurt’s players bounced lightly on their feet, heads bowed in concentration. The Europa League anthem began—slow, ceremonial, reverberating off steel and concrete.

Lukas stood at the front of the Frankfurt line — chin slightly raised, gloves tugged tight around wristbands, boot laces pulled double knots.

The referee led them out.

At the Frankfurt end, a massive tifo unfolded:

"ALLE NACH BILBAO"

(ALL THE WAY TO BILBAO)

Another revealed:

"49 — THE FUTURE IS NOW"

It was Lukas’s number.

The anthem faded, Athletic players broke their line, Frankfurt formed a tight huddle just outside their box.

Koch stepped forward.

He looked every single player in the eye and spoke firmly — audible through stadium mics:

"Listen to the crowd. You give them something to believe in tonight. Nothing soft, nothing slow. If they run, run harder. If they press, press harder. Every duel, every second ball. We came back there. We finish it here."

He turned.

"Lukas... do what you need to do."

And Lukas nodded, not emotional, not overwhelmed — just steady.

They broke.

Referee blew.

Kickoff.

Athletic moved first, sending the ball backward into their defensive line, trying to silence the place early. But Frankfurt pressed with energy immediately — Brown stepping high, Bahoya wide, Larsson hunting in midfield.

Waldstadion shook.

55,000 throats roaring in synchronization.

Frankfurt had come to rewrite what happened in Bilbao.

And the boy at the center of everything — fresh spotlight on him, scrutiny on him, expectations nearly unfair — looked ready to carry it.

The European night began.

* * *

The roar inside the Waldstadion had not settled yet by the time the referee blew for kickoff. The red-and-black end was bouncing, drums rattling through the stands, flags whipping violently, and every touch from a Frankfurt shirt received a wave of encouragement. The match had barely found rhythm when Frankfurt struck first with real menace.

Larsson read the play like a thief in a jewelry store. He snapped into a loose touch from Schöppner in midfield and pinched the ball clean off him.

Andres Cordero:

"Turnover in midfield—Larsson wins it beautifully and Frankfurt might be away here!"

Larsson didn’t think twice — one stride forward then a sweeping release down the right side into space.

Bahoya sprinted onto it immediately, his first touch pushing it forward as de Marcos closed him down. Before being swallowed by pressure, Bahoya slipped the ball infield.

Lukas met it on the half-turn, just outside the penalty arc, a defender breathing down his neck.

Chris Wittyngham:

"And here he is! Brandt receives, half turn, still Brandt! He’s done Alvarez!"

It was silky — just a tilt of his hip and a flick of his boot sent the ball shifting away from Agirrezabala’s near post angle. Alvarez lunged, but missed completely.

Lukas didn’t hesitate. He angled his body, shoulders down, and curled the ball with his right foot, aiming for the far upper corner.

"BRANDTTTT!"

The keeper flew, his fingertips scraping air before finding leather, and tipped the ball over the bar.

Gasp. Hands-on-head reaction through three stands.

Andres Cordero:

"Oh that was destined! That was absolutely destined for the postage stamp! Agirrezabala denies him!"

Joanna, in the stands wearing her No.49 shirt, leaned forward with both palms pressed against her cheeks, eyes wide. "Imagine he scored that in the opening minutes?"

João, beside her, laughed under his breath. "She’s already picturing it," he teased.

She elbowed him without looking away from the pitch.

The corner came, the noise rose — but Bilbao escaped.

The near-miss only intensified Frankfurt’s desire. Bilbao regrouped, slowing the match, stretching possession wide to prevent Frankfurt from running at them centrally. Larsson and Tuta exchanged glances as if recalibrating their approach.

A few fouls fell into the game — little tactical tugs, late steps, harmless but deliberate, everything had become edgy. Frankfurt remained the aggressor, not recklessly, but with controlled ambition.

Lukas drifted right to overload Berchiche; then he dropped centrally; then he walked toward the left channel — always scanning, always rotating. Stadion-wide camera screens showed his face in slow motion, and the crowd responded with whistles and applause alike.

And as time went on, even when Bilbao was on the front foot and attacking, it seemed it was only a matter of time before the home team struck.

In the 25th minute, the time came.

Bilbao had just threatened from a corner of their own. Kaua collected the cross comfortably and already scanned the pitch.

He spotted Brown.

With a javelin-like whip of both arms, Kaua launched the ball in a long throw that cut through the distance.

Chris Wittyngham:

"Look at that release! Brown is gone, wide open lane!"

Brown took off, sprinting right into space. Nico Williams was already chasing him —long stride, full acceleration — but Brown was determined. He had that half a yard of space ahead of the Spaniard, and although it was being closed down gradually, he had time to pick out a pass.

As he neared the halfway line, Brown raised his head. Ahead of him was Lukas to his right lane, Ekitike to his left, both sprinting with full intent.

Brown waited just long enough for the pressure to arrive and squared to Lukas—the farther-running option.

Lukas exploded forward, accelerating right into the gap. de Marcos was the last man retreating, trying to angle his body to block a shot. Alvarez was sprinting back desperately.

Lukas shaped his body, his right foot opened up to curl one—

Ekitike yelled: "ON YOUR RIGHT!"

A/N: Took a couple day’s break to rest and recharge. Now I’m back to spoil you guys with 2 Chapters a day for the rest of the month. It’s Christmas season after all. Today’s second Chapter releasing in a few hours.

Love y’all

-Writ