He adjusted without overthinking it.

Sometimes one touch.

Sometimes two.

Sometimes holding the ball just long enough to draw someone in before releasing it.

Nothing forced.

Nothing rushed.

The final phase of the session moved into a full-pitch tactical run. The team split into two sides, shape becoming the priority now. Positions were held more strictly, movements coordinated, transitions drilled with precision.

"Compact when we lose it!" Nagelsmann called. "Don’t wait—react!"

The ball circulated from the back again, moving through Tah into Kimmich, then forward into the attacking line. Lukas drifted slightly into the half-space, just enough to stay available without crowding the central channel. When the pass came, he didn’t hold it—one touch into Wirtz, who immediately switched play wide.

The move developed quickly from there, ending in a shot that forced the goalkeeper into a save.

"Again!" Nagelsmann shouted.

The repetition continued.

The session didn’t slow down.

And Lukas didn’t fade.

He stayed in the rhythm, matching the pace, adjusting to the pressure, finding his moments without forcing them. There was no need to stand out loudly. It showed in smaller details—the timing of his passes, the way he positioned himself, the calm in his decisions even when the tempo around him increased.

By the time the session began to wind down, the players were breathing heavier, the edge of fatigue starting to show. But the quality hadn’t dropped.

The session wound down without ceremony.

No whistle to mark the end, just a gradual easing of intensity as Nagelsmann clapped his hands once and signaled toward the touchline. "Recovery inside," he called. "Don’t switch off yet."

The players began walking off in small groups, some stretching as they moved, others already talking, replaying moments from the drills. Boots scraped lightly against the surface as they stepped onto the concrete path leading into the main building.

Lukas walked at a steady pace, towel draped loosely over his shoulder, still catching his breath but not looking particularly fatigued. He was about to step through the glass doors when someone came up alongside him.

"Good session," Wirtz said. "I see the hype is real."

Lukas glanced at him, a small chuckle escaping. "What hype?"

Wirtz gave him a look. "Seriously?" he said. "You’ve been the talk of the Bundesliga since January. And I haven’t forgotten that game against us."

Lukas already knew which one he meant.

Wirtz continued, shaking his head slightly as they walked inside. "First away loss in what—two years? And you just... handled it like it was nothing."

Lukas shrugged lightly, pushing the door open as they entered the corridor. "Did that really happen?" he said. "Feels like a long time ago."

It was an obvious deflection.

Wirtz noticed.

But he let it pass.

For now.

They slowed slightly as the group funneled toward the recovery area. The noise of the pitch faded behind them, replaced by the quieter hum of the facility—equipment, voices echoing faintly off clean walls, staff moving between rooms.

Wirtz looked at Lukas again, more thoughtful this time.

"How are you that calm?" he asked. "Even in there... Kimmich pressing, Andrich behind you, no space—and you’re just... relaxed."

Lukas tilted his head slightly, then smirked.

"I’m just that guy."

There was a beat.

Then a few laughs.

Adeyemi, walking just behind them, shook his head. "He’s not even lying," he said. "You haven’t seen anything yet."

Wirtz raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah?"

Adeyemi nodded. "You weren’t there first call-up. He’s been doing this. He’s just getting better."

Before Wirtz could respond, another voice cut in.

"Relax," Woltemade said, stepping in from the side. "You’re glazing too much."

Adeyemi turned immediately. "Glazing? I’m just—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

Actually looked at Woltemade properly.

There was a brief pause.

Then Adeyemi held up his hands slightly. "You know what... I’ll let you have that."

A few players around them laughed.

Woltemade just smirked, shaking his head as they kept walking.

They pushed through another set of doors and entered the gym area, where the tone shifted again—cooler air, rows of equipment, recovery stations already set up. Some players moved toward bikes, others toward stretching mats, a few heading straight for the ice baths.

Woltemade looked around as he stepped in, taking it all in without trying to hide it.

"Okay... this is different," he said. "From the pitches to this—this place is ridiculous."

Wirtz nodded slightly, grabbing a bottle of water from the side.

"Yeah," he said. "First time I came here, I thought the same thing. It’s just... another level compared to what you’re used to."

Lukas didn’t say anything.

He just walked in, scanning the room briefly before heading toward one of the open areas.

Then—

a voice came from behind them.

"That’s right!"

They turned.

"Lukas," the voice continued, light but unmistakable, "imagine training here every single day."

There was a small shift in the group as they looked back.

Jamal Musiala stood there in Bayern training gear, relaxed, a slight grin on his face.

Lukas let out a quiet chuckle. They had no way of knowing the kind of equipment he trains with every day.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"Have you forgotten? This is my club," Musiala shrugged as he stepped forward, dapping up a couple of players along the way—quick greetings, familiar faces, nothing out of the ordinary.

"Just finished physio," he said. "Came to check on you guys."

He moved through the group easily, exchanging a few words here and there, most of them players he already knew well. Then he got to Lukas.

A quick handshake.

A light dap.

Then Musiala tilted his head slightly.

"So," he said, "what do you think?"

Lukas frowned faintly. "About what?"

Musiala gave him a look. "I saw the news," he said. "Frankfurt agreed to let you leave."

There was a brief pause.

Lukas blinked. "From where?"

Musiala smirked slightly.

"Check X," he said. "Fabrizio already posted it."

Lukas frowned for a second after Musiala’s words, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

He hadn’t checked it since before training.

He had put it on Do Not Disturb.

Now the screen lit up—and it didn’t stop.

Notifications stacked over each other. Missed calls. Messages. Mentions. Tags. It kept loading, line after line, as if the phone was trying to catch up with everything he had missed in the last two hours.

"...what the—" he muttered under his breath.

The others leaned in slightly, curiosity pulling them closer without anyone saying it out loud.

Lukas unlocked it quickly and tapped into X.

The app loaded.

And right there, pinned at the top of his feed—

the post.

From Fabrizio Romano.

🚨 EXCL: Eintracht Frankfurt accept €85m bid for Lucas Brandt.

Both Atlético Madrid and Manchester City submitted matching €85m offers.

Club has now given green light for player to discuss personal terms.

Decision now up to Lucas.

Lukas stared at it for a second longer than necessary.

Then scrolled.

The engagement numbers were already absurd.

Hundreds of thousands of likes.

Tens of thousands of reposts.

And the comments—

They were everywhere.

Exploding.

"How is this guy worth €85M after 5 months 😭😭"

"No way this is real..."

"Frankfurt are crazy for selling him."

"€85M?? That’s LOW for what he’s shown."

"City vs Atleti for THIS kid... football is finished."

"He’s generational."

"5 months of pro football and already this???"

"Frankfurt fumbled this so badly."

"Whatever club gets him wins."