Morning arrived quietly.
A thin blade of sunlight slipped through the small gap in the hotel curtains and landed directly across Lukas's face. He stirred, eyelids fluttering before finally opening halfway. For a few seconds, he just lay there, suspended between sleep and memory.
Then it all came back.
Old Trafford.
The roar.
The goals.
The silence.
He tried to sit up.
That was a mistake.
The moment his upper body lifted even slightly, his abdominal muscles seized in protest. A sharp, tight soreness wrapped around his core and ribs. His hip flexors burned. His quads felt like they had been poured full of concrete overnight. He froze halfway upright, face tightening, then slowly lowered himself back onto the mattress with a defeated exhale.
"Okay… that's new."
He lay flat again, staring at the ceiling.
