Lukas didn't sprint wildly. He didn't tear off in hysteria.
He jogged — slowly, deliberately — toward the corner flag, a small, knowing smile on his lips , nodding to himself like a man confirming a prediction written long ago as he stared at the sea of red and white in front of him. Most with hands on their heads, some with mouth aghast. The boos had turned into stunned murmuring, then into something close to awe.
Skhiri reached him first, leaping onto his back, yelling in his ear:
"I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT WORKED! YOU'RE A GENIUS, MAN!"
Then the rest piled in — Ekitike, Götze, Larsson, Collins, all crashing into a heap of limbs and joy.
Behind them, the Bilbao players stood motionless, staring at the teenager who had just beaten them with a one-touch ambush routine, executed as coldly as a veteran No. 10 in a Champions League final.
Andrés Cordero delivered the finishing line, his voice thick with disbelief and admiration:
