João came last.

No handshake.

No words.

Just a grin—and then they bumped shoulders, laughing, the kind of silent exchange that said everything.

Ruben, of course, went straight for the trophies.

"Give me one!" he said immediately, eyes locked on the silverware in Lukas’ hands.

Lukas laughed. "Relax, you’ll drop it."

"I won’t!" Ruben insisted, already reaching.

Around them, the pitch had become something else entirely—players walking with family, photos being taken, children running across the grass, staff trying—and failing—to keep any kind of structure to the moment.

"Come," Joanna said, tugging lightly at Lukas’ arm. "Let’s take a picture."

They moved toward the side of the pitch, near the advertising boards, where there was just enough space to gather without being swallowed by the rest of the celebrations. Someone from the club staff stepped forward with a camera, already understanding what was about to happen.

"Everyone together," he said, gesturing.

They arranged themselves naturally.

Not perfectly.

But comfortably.

Carlos and Sofia stood just behind, João and Javi on either side, Anne close in the middle, Ruben bouncing slightly as he held onto one of the smaller trophies like it might disappear if he loosened his grip.

Lukas stood at the center.

The Europa League trophy in his hands.

Heavy.

Cold.

Real.

João had the Man of the Match award, holding it up with a grin that made it look like it was his. Javi held the MVP plaque, inspecting it like he was reading something important. Joanna stood beside Lukas, holding the top scorer award carefully, glancing at it once before looking back up with a smile. Ruben clutched another one—whatever he could get his hands on—while Anne and Carlos leaned in slightly to complete the frame.

"Ready?" the staff member called.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then—

they all looked up.

And smiled.

The flash went off.

Once.

Then again.

And again.

Different angles.

Different poses.

One where Ruben raised his trophy too high and nearly lost balance. One where João leaned too far into Lukas, laughing. One where Joanna turned her head slightly toward Lukas instead of the camera, her smile softer, quieter.

Eventually, the camera lowered.

"That’s perfect," the staff member said.

But none of them moved immediately.

They stayed there for a few seconds longer, the moment stretching naturally, no one in a hurry to leave.

Joanna leaned lightly into Lukas, her shoulder brushing his arm as she looked out at the stadium, now glowing under the night sky. The noise was still there, but softer now, less chaotic, more like a distant echo of what had just happened.

"You did it," she said quietly.

Lukas didn’t answer immediately.

He just nodded once, his eyes still scanning the pitch, the stands, the lights—everything.

João nudged him lightly from the other side. "Not bad," he said. "For someone I taught everything."

Lukas snorted. "Yeah? Keep dreaming."

Joanna laughed softly.

Around them, other players were having their own versions of the same moment—families, friends, laughter, photos, memories being made in real time.

For a brief stretch of time, the final wasn’t about tactics or pressure or stakes anymore.

It was just this.

A family.

A group.

Standing on a pitch that had just witnessed something unforgettable.

Eventually, a voice called out from a distance—someone from the staff, signaling that it was time to head back inside.

Lukas took one last look around, then shifted the trophy slightly in his hands.

"I’ll see you guys soon," he said.

"Don’t worry about us, go have fun. We’ll meet back in Frankfurt," Javi responded as he patted Lukas on the back.

Lukas gave Joanna a kiss on the cheek and bid the rest of them goodbye as he headed to the dressing room with the other players.

The celebrations weren’t over.

Not even close.

At one point, they were told to go back out toward the fans.

To celebrate properly.

To show the trophy.

Lukas carried it this time, walking toward the Frankfurt end as the rest of the team followed. He raised it high again, turning slowly, letting the moment stretch as long as possible, the fans responding with everything they had left.

Then—

beer.

Cold.

Sudden.

Larsson came from nowhere, pouring it straight over Lukas’ head.

"HEY!" Lukas shouted, flinching as the liquid soaked through his hair and shirt.

Larsson grinned. "Relax! Just don’t drink it—you’re not old enough!" 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

The group burst into laughter as Lukas wiped his face, shaking his head, already drenched as more joined in, bottles opening, sprays flying everywhere.

The celebration had no structure now.

Just joy.

* * *

The night didn’t end at the stadium.

It carried on.

From the pitch to the tunnel, from the tunnel to the buses, from the buses to the hotel, and from the hotel straight to the plane—there was no real break, no real pause. Music followed them everywhere, laughter spilling into every corridor, every aisle, every seat. Medals still hung around necks, trophies passed from hand to hand like they were weightless, like they didn’t belong to reality yet.

By the time they landed back in Frankfurt, it was already deep into the early hours of Thursday morning, the sky still dark, the city quiet in contrast to the noise they carried with them. But even then, even as fatigue began to creep in, the energy hadn’t fully left.

It lingered.

In the smiles.

In the voices.

In the way no one really wanted to be the first to stop.

But slowly, it faded.

Not all at once—but enough.

By the time they reached the club building, players were beginning to peel away, one by one, heading home to rest before the parade later that day. Some still laughed, still talked, but the movements were heavier now, the adrenaline finally starting to loosen its grip.

And that’s when Lukas felt it.

At first, it was just a discomfort.

A dull ache.

But as he walked, it sharpened.

His left leg.

The shin.

Each step carried a little more weight than the last, a little more resistance. The adrenaline that had carried him through the final moments of the game, through the celebrations, through the flight—it was wearing off now, and what it had masked was beginning to surface.

He slowed.

Just slightly.

Then again.

Until the limp became noticeable.

One of the staff caught it first.

"Hey—are you alright?"

Lukas nodded instinctively. "Yeah... just a bit of pain."

"Where?"

"My shin. Left leg."

The assistant coach stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly as he watched him take another step.

"When did it start?"

"After the last goal," Lukas said. "That tackle... I didn’t feel it then, but now..."

The assistant coach exchanged a quick look with another staff member before turning back to him.

"Can you walk?"

Lukas tested it.

Shifted his weight.

Took a few steps.

It hurt — but he could still move.

"Yeah," he said. "I can."

"Alright," the assistant coach nodded. "Go home. Get some rest. We’ll check it properly later today."

He paused, then added, more firmly, "If you wake up and you can’t walk, you call us immediately. We’ll send someone."

Lukas nodded. "Okay."

Most of the medical team had already left — it was too early, too chaotic a night for anything structured — but the message was clear.

Rest.

Then reassess.