A future that felt bigger than just surviving.

The chant changed again.

Simpler now.

"Lukas bleiben! Lukas bleiben!" 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦

(Lukas stay! Lukas stay!)

Over and over.

And as the afternoon sun climbed higher, the crowd didn’t leave.

If anything—

it grew.

More scarves.

More banners.

More voices joining.

Because in Germany, this wasn’t unusual.

This was what happened when fans felt like something was being taken from them.

Not just a player.

But a possibility.

And somewhere inside the building, behind glass and concrete and closed doors—

decisions had already been made.

But outside—

they were still fighting them.

* * *

Koch didn’t even try to keep his voice down.

He came in fast, phone still in his hand, eyes wide in a way that didn’t match the relaxed atmosphere from just moments ago.

"Lukas."

Lukas turned slightly, still half-focused on the screen where Spain’s highlights were looping.

"What?"

Koch stopped right in front of him, almost out of breath. "There’s a protest."

Lukas blinked.

"A what?"

"A protest," Koch repeated, holding up his phone as if that alone explained everything. "In Frankfurt. Right now."

For a second, Lukas didn’t react.

Then his brows pulled together. "There is a protest?"

"Yeah," Koch said, nodding quickly. "The ultras. They’ve gathered at the ProfiCamp. Banners, chants... everything. They’re saying they don’t want you to go."

That landed.

Properly this time.

Lukas straightened slightly, the relaxed posture gone. "I didn’t hear anything about this."

"It just blew up," Koch said. "It’s everywhere now."

Lukas let out a quiet breath, already reaching into his pocket. "Okay... let me call Marco. I need to know what’s going on."

He didn’t wait for anything else.

He just turned and started walking out.

Behind him, Musiala leaned back slightly, watching him go with a faint smile.

"Not surprised," he said casually.

Adeyemi glanced at him. "About what?"

Musiala shrugged. "That they’re going crazy over him. That’s just how good he is."

Wirtz nodded once, eyes still following Lukas as he left. "Yeah... makes sense."

* * *

Lukas didn’t stop walking until he got to his room. This camp each player had their own single room.

He stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and immediately pulled out his phone. The call connected almost instantly.

Marco picked up before it even rang twice.

"I was just about to call you," Marco said.

Lukas didn’t waste time. "What’s going on in Frankfurt?"

There was a brief pause on the other end.

"You’ve seen it?"

"I just heard," Lukas replied. "Koch told me. There’s a protest?"

Marco exhaled lightly. "Yeah. The fans are out at the ProfiCamp. Ultras mostly. They’re not happy."

Lukas shook his head slightly, pacing slowly across the room. "I didn’t expect that."

"Neither did the club," Marco said. "But honestly... I’m not surprised."

Lukas ran a hand through his hair, then shifted. "What about everything else? You said you had meetings today."

Marco’s tone changed slightly, becoming more businesslike.

"Yeah," he said. "I just came out of a meeting with Carlos Bucero—Atlético’s director of football."

"And?" Lukas asked.

"They really want you," Marco said plainly. "They showed me their plan, their vision. How they see you fitting into the team. They’re serious about building around you."

Lukas leaned against the wall, listening.

"They’re even setting up a call with Simeone," Marco continued. "He wants to speak to you directly. Explain how you’d fit into his system, what he expects from you."

Lukas nodded slowly. "Okay..."

Then he asked, "What about City?"

Marco gave a small huff. "I met with them earlier today. Hugo Viana and Txiki Begiristain."

"And?"

"Their offer hasn’t changed," Marco said. "And it still dwarfs Atlético’s. By a lot. Salary, bonuses... everything. And the level of players you’d be playing with—it’s a different scale."

Lukas stayed quiet.

"It’s really up to you," Marco added. "Whether you’re ready for the Premier League, that environment."

Lukas shifted slightly, then asked the question that had been sitting in his mind.

"What about the 115 charges?"

Marco didn’t hesitate. "I asked them."

"And?"

"They said they’re in the final stages with the Premier League," Marco replied. "From what they’re saying, it’s going to be a financial penalty. A fine. Nothing more."

"No points deduction?" Lukas asked.

"No relegation. No sporting sanctions," Marco said. "Just a fine for accounting issues from over a decade ago. Before Pep was even there."

Lukas processed that.

"And they’re confident?" he asked.

"Very," Marco replied. "They were clear about it."

Then he added, "And even if something unexpected happens, they’re willing to include a clause. A relegation clause. Around seventy million pounds. So you’d have an exit if anything crazy happens."

Lukas let out a quiet breath.

"Okay..."

There was a brief pause.

Then Lukas asked again, "And Frankfurt?"

Marco’s tone softened slightly.

"The fans don’t want you to go," he said. "That part is obvious now. But the hierarchy... they’ve made their decision."

Lukas didn’t respond immediately.

"It’s crazy, honestly," Marco continued. "You’ve been there less than a year and you’ve already won them over completely."

Lukas gave a faint, almost tired smile. "Yeah..."

"But the club has decided," Marco said. "They’re cashing in."

Another pause.

Then Marco asked, more directly this time, "And you? Have you made up your mind?"

Lukas pushed himself off the wall and walked toward the window, looking out without really seeing anything.

"Since they’ve decided to let me go..." he said slowly, "I don’t have a reason to beg them to keep me."

Marco stayed silent, letting him speak.

"We won a trophy together," Lukas continued. "That’s... that’s something. More than most players get."

He exhaled lightly.

"So yeah," he finished. "I’ll move forward."

Marco nodded on the other end. "Alright. We’ll keep both doors open for now."

"Yeah."

"I’ll update you once the Simeone call is set."

"Okay."

"Get some rest," Marco added. "You’ve got a final to play."

Lukas gave a small nod, even though Marco couldn’t see it. "Yeah. Talk later."

They ended the call.

Lukas lowered the phone just as he sat down on the bed in the room.

He had just started taking off his shirt when—

ding dong.

He stopped.

Brows furrowing.

They had just arrived minutes ago.

Who—

He turned, walked back, and opened the door.

And froze.

Javi stood there.

Right in front of him.

Behind him—Joanna. Anne.

All of them.

For a second, Lukas just stared.

Then Javi broke into a wide smile. "There he is."

Lukas exhaled, a small laugh escaping him as he stepped forward.

"You guys—"

Joanna didn’t let him finish.

She wrapped her arms around him immediately. "That game yesterday..."

Anne followed, pulling him into another hug. "We saw everything."

Javi stepped forward last, gripping his shoulder firmly before pulling him into a brief embrace. "Proud of you."

Lukas smiled properly now.

"Thanks."

Joanna pulled back slightly, looking at him. "That goal... what was that?"

Lukas shook his head, laughing lightly. "I don’t know."

"Yes, you do," she said, smiling.

Anne added, "The whole world is talking about it."

Javi nodded toward him. "And now—final."

Lukas looked between them, the weight of everything settling again, but lighter this time.

"Yeah," he said.

"Final."

They stepped inside together, the room filling with voices again, with warmth, with energy.

For a moment—

just a moment—

everything else could wait.