Lukas nodded slightly, his eyes following the direction of the sound for a moment before he turned back.

"Three, right?"

"Three," João confirmed. "And you’re the main attraction, by the way. Just in case you forgot."

Lukas smirked faintly. "I didn’t forget."

"Good," João said. "Because they definitely didn’t."

Joanna pointed toward the hallway. "Go shower before your food gets cold."

Lukas raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright."

He turned and headed toward the bathroom, the noise of the city still echoing faintly in the background, growing louder with every passing minute.

* * *

A few minutes later, Lukas stepped out of the shower, hair still slightly damp, a towel draped loosely around his neck as he walked back into the living room. The smell of the food had only gotten stronger, and now that he was properly awake, it hit him all at once.

Hunger.

Real hunger.

The table was already set. Joanna had laid everything out neatly—grilled chicken seasoned with herbs, a bowl of roasted potatoes with a light crisp on the edges, sautéed vegetables, and a simple pasta dish with a creamy sauce. There was also fresh bread on the side and a jug of juice already poured.

Lukas didn’t even wait. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

He sat down immediately and started eating.

Fast.

Fork moving quickly, barely pausing between bites as he worked through the plate like he hadn’t eaten in days.

Joanna blinked, watching him for a second before shaking her head. "Hey, slow down," she said, half laughing. "Is it that serious? There’s more, you know."

Lukas didn’t even look up. "Please bring more," he said between bites.

João leaned back in his chair, watching the whole thing with amusement. "Yeah, he must still be recovering from yesterday," he said. "That final probably took everything out of you."

"Yeah..." Lukas muttered, still eating. Then he paused briefly, just for a second. "I wish it was just that though."

That made both of them look at him.

"What do you mean?" João asked.

Joanna frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

Lukas shrugged lightly, brushing it off as quickly as it came. "Nothing. Just... feels like I’m extra hungry."

João raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further, while Joanna simply shook her head and stood up to bring him more food.

He kept eating.

And eating.

After a while, João reached for his phone, unlocking it with a grin already forming.

"Have you even checked anything yet?" he asked, turning the screen toward Lukas. "The internet is losing its mind."

Lukas didn’t answer immediately, still chewing, but João didn’t wait.

"Only the second time in history," João continued, scrolling. "A hat-trick in a Europa League final. Back-to-back too. Last year it was Ademola Lookman, now it’s you."

He shook his head, almost laughing. "This is crazy."

Joanna leaned in slightly to look at the screen as well.

"They’re saying everything," João went on. "Youngest MVP, youngest top scorer, youngest... everything. You basically broke every record they had."

Lukas finally slowed a little, wiping his hand on a napkin before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone.

He unlocked it.

And paused.

The numbers had jumped.

Notifications flooded the screen—mentions, messages, tags, highlights. He tapped into his profile and blinked slightly.

+3 million followers.

Overnight.

He now sat just under ten million.

For a moment, he just stared at it.

He didn’t even know a hundred people personally.

And yet—

millions.

Watching.

Following.

Reacting.

He scrolled through clips—edits of the free kick, the final goal, the celebration, the live stream Larsson had done in the dressing room. Everything was everywhere.

He let out a quiet breath, a small smile forming as he watched one of the clips loop again.

Then—

his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen.

Assistant coach.

He picked it up immediately.

"Coach."

"Lukas," the assistant coach’s voice came through. "How are you feeling?"

Lukas switched it to loudspeaker without thinking, placing the phone on the table.

"I’m good," he said. "Much better."

"Can you walk?"

Joanna’s eyes immediately shifted to his leg.

"Yeah," Lukas replied. "I’m fine. I can walk."

There was a brief pause on the other end.

"Alright," the coach said. "When are you coming in for the check?"

"In a few minutes," Lukas answered. "I’ll head there soon."

"Okay. Don’t delay it."

The call ended.

The room went quiet for a second.

Joanna looked at him immediately. "Your leg... you were feeling something yesterday."

"It’s nothing," Lukas said quickly.

"Lukas—"

"It’s fine," he repeated, softer this time. "I know my body."

She didn’t look convinced.

"You should still go," she said. "Just check it. Make sure."

He nodded once. "Yeah. I will."

A few minutes later, he stood up and headed back to his room to get ready for the parade.

He changed into something light—weather appropriate for the late May afternoon. A slightly oversized white short-sleeve t-shirt, loose and breathable, paired with black tapered trousers that sat comfortably above the ankle. On his feet, he slipped into a pair of clean white Puma RS-X sneakers, casual but sharp enough for the occasion.

He grabbed a black cap, pulling it down just enough to shade his eyes, though strands of his hair still fell slightly from the sides.

Simple.

Clean.

Effortless.

He stepped back out into the living room, grabbing his phone.

"I’ll see you at the parade," he said.

Joanna nodded, still watching him carefully. "Go check your leg first."

"I will."

João raised his hand lazily from the couch. "Don’t take too long. They’re already going crazy outside."

Lukas smirked faintly, then turned and headed for the door.

As he stepped outside, the noise hit him immediately.

The city was already alive.

And it was only getting louder.

* * *

The medical wing of Eintracht Frankfurt’s ProfiCamp felt like a different world.

Outside, the city was alive—fans already gathering, chants echoing through the streets, energy building toward the parade later in the day. Even other parts of the club building carried that same atmosphere, staff moving quickly, voices louder than usual, everything still riding the high of the night before.

But here—

it was quiet.

Controlled.

Clinical.

The kind of silence that forced you to notice every small sound—the hum of machines, the soft movement of equipment, the faint shuffle of footsteps against the floor.

Lukas lay on the examination table, his left leg exposed, several sensors and straps attached along his shin and calf. A monitor nearby displayed a stream of data—graphs, readings, measurements shifting in real time. One of the medical staff moved carefully around him, pressing along different points of his leg, checking reactions, observing closely.

"Tell me when you feel pain," the doctor said.

Dr. Fabian Plachel stood just a few steps away, arms folded, his attention split between Lukas and the screen in front of him. His expression was focused, analytical, the kind of look that came from years of seeing patterns, diagnosing problems, understanding the body at its limits.

The nurse pressed again, slightly deeper this time.

Lukas didn’t react.

"Anything?" Plachel asked.

"No," Lukas said calmly.

Another spot.

Another press.

Still nothing.

Plachel glanced at the screen again, then down at his notes, then back at Lukas. His brows drew together slightly — not concern, not exactly confusion, but something close to it.

They continued.

Different angles.

Different pressure points.

Movement tests.

Resistance checks.

Each one repeated with precision, methodical, thorough.

And each time—

the same result.

Nothing.