Become A Football Legend-Chapter 282: Bilbao Again (Quads1) 2/3

Krösche didn’t answer.

Hardung turned toward him, his expression tight.

"Not the decision itself," he clarified, "but the timing." He paused briefly before continuing. "I honestly don’t believe this is the best moment to sell him."

Preuß raised an eyebrow but said nothing yet.

Hardung leaned back in his chair.

"If we keep Lukas one more year," he continued thoughtfully, "a full season in the Bundesliga, Champions League exposure, another year of development... his value could go even higher. Much higher. What we’re seeing now might not even be his peak market value."

Krösche rubbed his forehead again but still stayed silent.

Preuß finally leaned forward slightly, his expression calm in contrast to Hardung’s concern.

"There’s a saying from my hometown," Prus said quietly.

Hardung glanced at him.

"My grandparents used to repeat it all the time when I was young."

Preuß shrugged lightly.

"A bird in the hand is worth more than ten thousand in the wild."

The room grew quiet again.

Preuß spread his hands slightly.

"We know what he’s worth today," he continued. "The offers are already on the table. No one can promise what happens next season. Injuries. Loss of form. Different circumstances. Football changes quickly."

Hardung shook his head faintly but didn’t interrupt.

Preuß finished his thought calmly.

"Right now, the bird is in our hand."

Another silence followed.

Hardung looked from Preuß to Krösche, studying their faces for a moment. The decision had already been made. That much was obvious.

Finally, he sighed.

"Fine," he said, his voice resigned. "If that’s the direction we’re going, then we plan accordingly."

He pushed his chair back slightly and straightened his posture.

"I’ll begin coordinating under the assumption that Lukas will be sold this summer."

Krösche slowly nodded.

The room fell quiet once again, each of them now fully aware that the decision they had just set in motion would shape the future of the club.

And perhaps the future of a 16-year-old boy who still had no idea that the ground beneath his career had already begun to shift.

* * *

The charter flight from Frankfurt touched down in Bilbao Airport just after 10:00 on Sunday morning. The descent itself had been quiet. Most of the squad had their headphones on, some staring out the windows at the green Basque hills rolling beneath the wings of the plane, others half-sleeping after the early departure from Germany. Lukas had barely said a word during the flight. Not because anything was wrong, but because the reality of where they were going had finally begun to settle in.

A European final.

Three days from now.

When the plane door opened, the warm Atlantic air rushed inside the cabin. It was noticeably milder than Frankfurt. Late May in Bilbao carried that coastal softness—around 20°C, with a faint salty breeze drifting in from the Bay of Biscay. Even before the players stepped onto the tarmac, they could hear it.

Noise.

Fans.

Lots of them.

Security escorted the squad through the private exit of the airport, but even there a crowd had already gathered behind barriers. Red and white scarves were everywhere—Athletic Bilbao supporters who had not forgotten what had happened a few weeks earlier in the quarter-finals.

When Lukas emerged from the airport doors with his backpack slung over one shoulder, the reaction was immediate.

Some cheers.

Some whistles.

And quite a few loud jeers.

A Bilbao fan shouted something in Spanish that made Larson burst out laughing beside him.

"Pretty sure he just said you ruined his life," Larson muttered under his breath.

Lukas smirked but kept walking toward the team bus, raising a hand briefly toward the Frankfurt supporters who had travelled early.

Mixed among the Bilbao fans were Eintracht scarves too. A small pocket of Germans had made the trip already, chanting loudly.

"Eintracht! Eintracht!"

Even though the final was still days away, the city had already begun transforming.

The team bus rolled slowly through the streets of Bilbao, escorted by police motorcycles weaving through traffic. Through the tinted windows the players could see the evidence everywhere.

German flags hanging from balconies.

Tottenham shirts walking down the sidewalks.

Pubs already filled at midday.

Tourists.

Supporters.

Neutral football fans who had travelled simply because a European final was happening here.

It felt different from when they had come here earlier in the season to face Athletic Bilbao.

That trip had been business.

This felt like an event.

Everywhere they looked there were banners announcing the final.

UEFA Europa League Final – San Mamés.

Larson leaned forward in his seat and looked out the window.

"City’s already gone mad," he murmured.

From the seat across the aisle, Ansgar Knauff exhaled slowly.

"Three days," he said quietly.

* * *

The team bus eventually turned onto the riverside avenue beside the Nervión River, stopping outside the sleek glass façade of the Gran Hotel Domine Bilbao. The building stood directly across from the famous Guggenheim Museum, its modern architecture reflecting the morning sun off polished stone and glass.

Security had already sealed off the entrance.

Metal barriers lined the street.

Fans pressed behind them waving scarves and phones.

As the players stepped off the bus one by one, the noise grew louder.

Some of the Frankfurt supporters began chanting again.

"SGE! SGE! SGE!"

Cameras flashed as media crews filmed the arrivals.

Lukas pulled his cap lower and followed the team inside the hotel lobby, where UEFA officials were already waiting.

The interior of the Gran Hotel Domine was elegant and quiet compared to the chaos outside. Marble floors. Soft lighting. A massive sculptural staircase rising through the middle of the lobby like a piece of modern art.

The Frankfurt delegation had been assigned three entire floors, sealed off from other guests. UEFA security controlled the elevators.

No one in the public could reach the team.

Inside the elevator, Larson finally let out a breath.

"Alright," he said. "Now it’s real."

Knauff nodded slowly.

"Too real."

After dropping their bags in the rooms, the players regrouped in one of the hotel conference halls that UEFA had converted into a tactical and briefing area.

The atmosphere was strange.

Excitement.

Nerves.

A bit of disbelief.

For some players, this was the biggest match of their lives.

Knauff sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

Larson leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands together restlessly.

"This is insane," Larson muttered.

Knauff nodded.

"My first European final," he said quietly.

Across the room a few others were just as tense.

Uzun was scrolling his phone without actually reading anything.

Another player bounced his leg nervously.

It was the kind of room where everyone was trying to act normal while their hearts were quietly racing.

Then a calm voice spoke from near the front.

"Relax."

Heads turned.

Kevin Trapp stood there with his arms folded.

The Frankfurt captain had been here before.

In 2022, when Eintracht Frankfurt shocked Europe and won the Europa League in Seville.

He looked around the room at the younger players.

"I know what you’re all thinking," Trapp said calmly. "You’re imagining the stadium. The noise. The pressure."

A few players chuckled nervously.

Trapp shrugged.

"It’s just another football match."

Nobody believed that.

He smiled slightly.

"But the trick," he continued, "is to treat it like one."

He walked slowly across the room.

"In 2022, half of us were terrified before the final," he admitted. "But when the whistle blew... it was just eleven against eleven."

He glanced at Lukas briefly, then back at the others. 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

"The game doesn’t change because the trophy is bigger."

The room relaxed a little.

Knauff leaned back in his chair.

Larson finally stopped bouncing his leg.

Trapp clapped his hands once.

"So enjoy this week," he said. "You don’t get many of these."