Lukas drove forward at full speed, carrying the ball into the final third with every touch perfectly measured. Wirtz and Gnabry sprinted either side of him, dragging the recovering defenders away, but Lukas never even looked up at them.
He already knew what he wanted.
Ahead of him, Martin Dúbravka edged nervously off his line.
One step.
Then another.
The goalkeeper kept delaying his commitment, trying to stay big for as long as possible while narrowing the angle.
Lukas kept running.
Thirty yards from goal.
Twenty-five.
Twenty.
Still he refused to shoot.
Dúbravka finally made his move, exploding forward in an attempt to smother the chance.
That was the moment Lukas had been waiting for.
With the lightest touch of his right boot, he lifted the ball delicately over the advancing goalkeeper.
Time seemed to stop.
The chip floated gracefully through the evening air.
Dúbravka could only turn and watch helplessly as it dropped beyond him...
...kissed the turf once...
