Chapter 361: Two Minute Man
The players began emerging from the tunnel as the crowd gradually filtered back into their seats. The electronic substitution board was already waiting near the halfway line.
17 IN.
26 OUT.
Savinho was standing near the touchline when Lukas approached. The Brazilian tapped him lightly on the back as they crossed paths.
"Go do your thing."
Lukas nodded.
A few moments later, the referee signaled for the substitution and Lukas jogged onto the pitch. A noticeable wave of noise rolled around the Manchester City end of MetLife Stadium. Ever since his debut against Al Hilal, supporters had been calling for more minutes, and now they were finally getting them. Thousands of phones rose into the air as cameras tracked him moving toward his position on the right flank.
This would be Lukas first time playing against a Premier League opposition since joining his new club, and a smile flashed across his face as he jogged to the right flank.
Across the field, Marc Cucurella watched him approaching.
The Chelsea fullback instinctively remembered the Nations League final from a few weeks earlier. Lukas had spent much of that evening attacking his side of the pitch, forcing him into one difficult duel after another. It had been one of those matches defenders preferred not to revisit. Cucurella shook the thought away almost immediately. This was a different game, a different competition, and he was wearing a different shirt now. Dwelling on old memories would not help him survive the next 45 minutes.
He adjusted the black headband holding his hair in place, tucked a loose strand behind his ear, and took up his defensive position. When he glanced back toward Lukas, the German looked completely at ease, casually bouncing on the balls of his feet while waiting for the restart. There was no sign of the occasion affecting him despite the scoreline, the crowd, or the magnitude of the match.
On the touchline, Enzo Maresca remained seated with his arms folded, carefully watching the positional setup for City’s front line. He had spent part of halftime discussing possible adjustments should Guardiola introduce Lukas, and now he was already tracking where the teenager was drifting before the ball had even been kicked.
The referee checked both assistants, glanced at his watch, and...
FWEEEEE*
....blew the whistle for the start of the 2nd half.
Manchester City restarted the match immediately.
Bernardo Silva rolled the ball backward to John Stones, who calmly recycled possession through Trafford before the goalkeeper clipped a pass out toward Aït-Nouri on the left flank.
Chelsea pressed selectively rather than aggressively. Nkunku accelerated toward Aït-Nouri, forcing the Algerian to move the ball quickly into Nico González in midfield. Aït-Nouri immediately continued his run forward expecting the return pass, but Nico instead found Bernardo Silva.
Bernardo to Reijnders.
Reijnders back to Bernardo.
The ball moved sharply through the center of the pitch.
Enzo Fernández stepped out to press, sensing an opportunity to force a mistake, but Bernardo wriggled away from the challenge with typical elegance before lifting a perfectly weighted pass over Chelsea’s midfield line.
Toward Lukas.
The ball dropped from the sky near the touchline just inside Chelsea’s half.
Immediately, Lukas felt Cucurella tight against his back.
Pedro Neto was closing from the front.
There was nowhere obvious to turn — left and he runs out of play, right and he runs into Cucurella.
The usual thing to do under Guardiola was to give the ball to either Nunes or Gonzalez as both had taken positions Lukas could easily find.
But he had other ideas.
Lukas killed the ball with his chest and let it drop. Then, with one arm keeping Cucurella at bay, he flicked the ball upward off his left boot.
For a split second, nobody understood what he was doing.
Then he hooked the ball over his own head.
And over Cucurella’s.
The Spaniard instinctively looked upward while trying to hold onto his marker, but Lukas was already spinning away. By the time Cucurella located the ball again, Lukas had burst past him.
The crowd erupted.
"Oh, that’s outrageous!" the commentator shouted. "What a piece of skill from Lukas Brandt!"
"He has absolutely done Cucurella there. Completely done him."
On the touchline, Enzo Maresca immediately brought his hand to scratch his bald head.
Even Pep Guardiola, who had been sitting moments earlier, suddenly leaned forward in his seat.
Lukas surged down the wing with Cucurella and Pedro Neto scrambling after him. He reached the edge of the box and glanced toward the penalty area.
Haaland was arriving.
At the same time, Matheus Nunes was making an underlapping run through the inside channel, dragging Pedro Neto with him.
Lukas saw everything.
He shaped his body as if he was about to whip an early cross toward Haaland.
Cucurella reacted instantly, throwing his leg forward to block it.
That was exactly what Lukas wanted.
He pulled the ball back inside.
Cucurella’s momentum carried him completely the wrong way.
The City supporters behind the goal rose to their feet.
Now Lukas was driving directly toward the edge of the box.
Enzo Fernández sprinted across to close him down and launched himself into the shooting lane.
Again, Lukas sold the shot.
The midfielder committed.
At the last possible moment, Lukas executed a perfect La Croqueta, sliding the ball from left to right and back to left, gliding past the Argentine.
The stadium roared louder.
Now he was inside the area.
Tosin stepped across.
Sánchez set himself.
Haaland was waiting centrally.
Lukas looked at the goalkeeper once.
Then his left boot, he struck the ball, ever so gently.
The outside of his boot wrapped around the ball, sending a low skidding effort curling toward the far corner. Tosin tried to adjust and block it, but misjudged the line completely as the shot slipped through his legs.
Sánchez dived.
Too late.
The ball kissed the inside of the post and rolled into the net.
GOAL.
MetLife Stadium exploded.
The Manchester City section erupted into noise as Lukas wheeled away in celebration.
"WHAT A GOAL!" the commentator shouted. "LUKAS BRANDT HAS CHANGED THIS GAME IN LESS THAN 2 MINUTES!"
"That is world-class. Absolutely world-class. The skill to beat Cucurella, the composure inside the box, the finish. That’s why everybody has been talking about this kid."
Haaland reached him first, grabbing the back of his head before several teammates piled in around them.
As the celebrations died down, Lukas pointed toward Matheus Nunes.
"Thanks for the run," he told him with a grin. "Made it easier."
Nunes laughed and pointed back at him.
"You still had to do all that."
Meanwhile, Haaland had already sprinted into the goal, picked the ball out of the net, and tossed it toward Lukas.
"No celebrating," the Norwegian said. "We need another."
The two of them jogged back toward the center circle together.
47th minute.
2-1.
And as Chelsea prepared to restart, Enzo Maresca sat back down on the bench, staring at the pitch in disbelief.
Across the field, Cucurella slowly walked back into position, shaking his head.
A few weeks earlier, Lukas had tormented him in the Nations League final.
Now it was happening again.
And there were still more than 40 minutes left to play.
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