A wall of sound crashing down, shaking the stadium to its core as Lukas turned and tore off his shirt, sprinting toward the stands, screaming, everything spilling out in that moment.
His teammates chased after him, arms raised, voices lost in the roar.
He leapt over the advertising boards.
Into the crowd.
Fans surged forward, grabbing him, pulling him in as stewards rushed to separate them, but for those few seconds it didn't matter—he was swallowed by red, black, and white.
Behind him, the German players celebrated wildly, piling together, shouting, jumping, unable to contain it.
Lukas climbed back up, standing on the advertising board, arms raised high, chest heaving, soaking it in as the stadium chanted his name.
The whistle blew.
Full time.
Germany had won.
On the other side, Spanish players stood frozen.
Hands on heads.
Staring.
Yamal dropped to the turf, sitting where he was, watching as the celebrations unfolded in front of him.
