Wirtz looked at him for a brief moment, then nodded.

Lukas then turned to Woltemade and stepped closer. "When I get it, run," he said. "As long as you’re onside, just go. Stretch them."

Woltemade held his gaze for a second before nodding in understanding.

The players took their positions again. Spain were still buzzing with confidence, while Germany prepared to restart. Lukas stepped back into place, his focus sharpening now, his mind settling into the game.

The whistle went again, sharp and immediate, and Germany moved without hesitation.

Woltemade nudged the ball forward to restart, a simple touch that was followed by an immediate retreat. The ball was worked back through midfield, then into the defensive line as Germany looked to steady themselves after conceding. There was no panic in their movement, just a controlled urgency, as if they all understood that the worst thing they could do now was rush.

Tah received, shifted it across to Koch, and Koch took a touch before sliding it out toward Kimmich on the right. Spain stepped up again, their press still coordinated, still aggressive, but Germany kept the ball moving just fast enough to avoid being trapped.

Kimmich looked up once and didn’t hesitate. Spotting the space ahead, he clipped a looping ball down the right-hand side toward Adeyemi, who was already accelerating into a sprint.

"Good idea from Kimmich," Lothar Matthäus said, his tone sharpening. "Adeyemi can hurt you here."

The ball dropped toward the touchline, and Cucurella was quick to react, stepping across Adeyemi’s path to shield it out of play. He positioned his body well, leaning into the run, expecting the ball to roll over the line for a throw-in.

But Adeyemi didn’t slow down.

At full speed, he lunged forward and snapped his head toward the ball just before it crossed the line, making contact at the last possible moment. The touch wasn’t pretty, but it was enough to keep it alive. The ball popped forward, skipping along the grass as Adeyemi landed and immediately tried to regain control.

Cucurella adjusted quickly, attempting to re-engage, but by then Adeyemi had already slipped around him, using his momentum to get goal-side. Just as he reached the byline, though, the pressure doubled. Pedri had tracked back, arriving alongside Cucurella to close off any path inside.

Adeyemi paused for a split second, scanning for an opening. There was none. Two defenders, tight angles, no space to cross.

He didn’t force it.

Instead, he rolled the ball back into the path of Goretzka, who had advanced to support the play. Goretzka took it cleanly and, without dwelling on it, passed it inside to Groß.

Groß barely had time to breathe before Zubimendi was on him, stepping forward to press aggressively. But Groß remained composed. With a single touch, he lifted the ball and clipped it diagonally toward the left side of the pitch, switching play before Spain could fully collapse on that side.

Wirtz read it early.

He rose onto his toes and met the ball with his head, not bringing it down wide, but redirecting it inward toward the center. It was a subtle touch, but intentional—and it found its target.

Lukas.

Fabián Ruiz saw it too.

He accelerated immediately, trying to close Lukas down before he could turn, aiming to get goal-side and disrupt the control. But Lukas had already taken in the situation. He adjusted his body position even before the ball reached him.

The ball dropped.

He cushioned it with his chest, softened it with his thigh, and then brought it under control with his foot in one fluid sequence. Each touch absorbed the momentum until the ball settled perfectly in front of him.

Fabián was right there now, pressing hard into his back, trying to unbalance him, trying to force an error.

But Lukas held firm.

He leaned just enough to shield the ball, using his body intelligently without overcommitting. Around him, movement began to take shape. Wirtz had already started his run down the left, while Woltemade pushed forward through the center, stretching the defensive line exactly as Lukas had instructed moments earlier.

Lukas saw both options.

He opened his body, shaping as if to turn left and slip a pass into Wirtz’s path. His left foot moved into position, the angle convincing enough to draw a reaction.

Fabián bit.

He stretched his leg out, committing fully to block the passing lane.

That was all Lukas needed.

Instead of passing, he used the outside of his left foot to drag the ball sharply across his body in the opposite direction, spinning away from Fabián’s challenge in one smooth motion.

Suddenly, there was space.

A pocket opened just beyond the halfway line, and Lukas drove into it without hesitation.

"Beautiful turn," Matthäus said, his voice rising.

Fabián turned to chase, but he was already half a step behind. Ahead of Lukas, the Spanish midfield scrambled to recover. Pedri adjusted quickly, keeping an eye on Goretzka’s forward run while also positioning himself to intercept anything central.

Lukas kept advancing, scanning constantly. Woltemade was still central, but tightly marked by Huijsen. For a brief moment, Lukas considered the pass, but dismissed it just as quickly. The aerial duel wouldn’t favor them.

Pedri stepped in to close him down, anticipating a chipped ball. He extended his leg, ready to intercept.

Again, Lukas read it.

At the very last moment, just as he shaped to lift the pass, he changed his mind. Using the outside of his right foot, he cut the ball away from Pedri’s reach, slipping past the attempted interception and keeping the move alive.

Wirtz was still running.

The gap opened.

Lukas threaded it.

A perfectly weighted pass split the space between Mingueza and Le Normand, rolling into the left channel at the edge of the penalty area where Wirtz arrived in full stride.

"Great ball," Fàbregas said.

Wirtz took it cleanly, his movement uninterrupted, and immediately lifted his head. Woltemade was charging into the box, attacking the space with intent.

Wirtz delivered early, driving a low cross toward him.

For a split second, it looked perfect.

But Huijsen had tracked the run all the way. Just as Woltemade prepared to strike, Huijsen threw himself into the challenge, stretching across with a desperate sliding tackle. He made contact with the ball, deflecting it just before the shot could be taken.

The clearance wasn’t clean.

The ball spun upward, looping awkwardly into the air.

Both players fell.

The ball hung.

Then dropped.

Right at the edge of the box.

And Lukas was already there.

He had followed the play from the beginning, anticipating exactly this moment. As the ball descended toward him, Huijsen was still trying to get back to his feet, and Le Normand was out of position. Only Zubimendi reacted, sprinting forward to throw himself into the line of the shot.

But Lukas didn’t wait.

He struck it before it could bounce.

BOOM*

A clean, crisp volley, hit with perfect timing and balance.

The sound of the strike cut through the stadium, sharp and unmistakable. The ball rose quickly, heading toward the top left corner with pace and precision.

Unai Simón launched himself across goal, arms fully extended.

He had no chance.

The ball smashed off the underside of the crossbar and dropped into the net.

For a split second, the stadium seemed to pause.

Then it erupted.