Become A Football Legend

Chapter 348: First Looking (ko-fi Coolvamp) 3/4

Properly.

Not introductions.

Not greetings.

Football.

Kolo Touré stood near the center circle already blowing his whistle lightly as players spread out across the pitch.

"Alright, let’s wake up," the assistant coach called. "Movement first."

The squad naturally broke into warm-up groups.

Lukas found himself jogging beside Gündoğan and Phil Foden while they moved through the opening stretches and mobility drills.

The conversations were casual.

Loose.

Some players complained about the heat.

Others commented on the pitch.

"It’s softer than I expected," Foden said while testing the grass under his boots.

"Still better than some preseason pitches," Gündoğan replied calmly.

Nearby, Doku laughed loudly after nearly slipping during one of the turns.

Nico O’Reilly immediately pointed at him. freewēbnoveℓ.com

"Brother, the game hasn’t even started yet."

Doku shook his head while laughing. "This American heat is trying to kill me."

Lukas smiled faintly as they continued through the drills.

Pep Guardiola stood farther away near the sideline with his arms folded, watching everything silently.

He barely spoke.

He didn’t need to.

Every player still remained aware of him.

After nearly twenty minutes of warm-ups, passing drills, and short movement exercises, Pepijn Lijnders blew his whistle sharply.

"Alright," he called out. "Short game. Thirty minutes. Six-a-side."

The players quickly started separating into teams.

Lukas ended up alongside Gvardiol, Aït-Nouri, Marmoush, Nico O’Reilly, Tijjani Reijnders, and Nathan Aké.

Opposite them stood Haaland, Khusanov, Matheus Nunes, Doku, Bernardo Silva, and Rayan Cherki.

The intensity immediately rose slightly once the game started.

Not fully competitive.

But not relaxed either.

Nobody wanted to look bad.

Especially in front of Guardiola.

At first, Lukas could feel some hesitation.

Not hostility.

Just uncertainty.

A few times he drifted into pockets of space near Bernardo Silva, asking quietly for the ball with small gestures, but Gvardiol hesitated to play the pass.

Too risky.

Too tight.

Bernardo was lurking too close.

Lukas noticed it immediately and adjusted, moving constantly between spaces, sometimes almost deliberately standing near pressure instead of away from it.

Testing.

Learning.

Seeing how they reacted.

Then eventually the moment came.

Gvardiol received the ball near the halfway line under light pressure from Doku. He glanced up quickly and saw Lukas again positioned almost too close to Bernardo Silva.

For half a second he hesitated.

Then decided to trust it.

The pass zipped in.

Bernardo reacted instantly, lunging forward to intercept.

But Lukas moved first.

His first touch killed the ball completely.

Second touch—

a sharp turn with the outside of his boot.

Bernardo’s momentum carried past him as Lukas spun cleanly away into open space.

One movement.

Simple.

Effortless.

And before anyone else could close him down, Lukas slid a perfectly weighted pass between Khusanov and Nunes into Marmoush’s run.

Marmoush had already anticipated it.

Of course he had.

He latched onto the pass in stride and buried the finish low into the corner.

"YEAH!" Marmoush shouted immediately while pointing toward Lukas.

"Ay!"

"Okay!"

Nico O’Reilly laughed loudly while jogging back toward midfield.

"Yeah nah, I see it now."

Bernardo looked back toward Lukas with narrowed eyes before smiling slightly himself.

The kind of smile footballers gave when they recognized quality immediately.

And near the sideline, Guardiola remained standing silently with his arms folded.

Watching.

The small-sided game quickly became sharper after the opening goal.

The opposition team equalized almost immediately when Cherki drifted deep into midfield, received the ball with his back turned, then somehow flicked a blind pass through two defenders without even looking.

Haaland had already started moving.

The Norwegian burst into the space behind Aké, took one touch, and smashed the finish past the small training goal.

Even in a light session, his finishing sounded violent.

A few minutes later, Cherki did it again.

This time he received near the touchline with O’Reilly pressing him aggressively, but instead of turning away from pressure, Cherki dragged the ball backward with the sole of his foot before threading an absurd outside-of-the-boot pass between Reijnders and Aït-Nouri.

Doku exploded onto it instantly.

One touch.

Acceleration.

Finish.

2–1.

"Ay nah," O’Reilly muttered while jogging back. "That’s nonsense."

Cherki only shrugged casually.

Near the sideline, Guardiola still hadn’t spoken much.

Just watching.

Always watching.

The game continued at a high rhythm as the final few minutes approached.

Then Aït-Nouri received possession near the halfway line and played a quick pass into Reijnders before immediately continuing his run forward.

Reijnders returned it first time.

Aït-Nouri barely took a touch before lifting his head and switching play diagonally toward the opposite side of the pitch.

The ball traveled high through the warm Philadelphia air toward Lukas.

Khusanov moved with him immediately.

The moment Lukas brought the ball down with his chest, Khusanov slammed into him shoulder first.

Not dirty.

Just physical.

Very physical.

And Lukas felt it instantly.

The difference in raw strength was obvious.

The contact nearly sent him crashing to the ground.

His body stumbled sideways violently as the ball threatened to escape underneath him, but Lukas reacted quickly, planting one hand briefly toward the turf to stabilize himself while dragging the ball forward with his foot at the same time.

For half a second it looked messy.

Unbalanced.

Improvised.

But somehow he stayed upright.

Khusanov tried stepping in again immediately.

Too late.

Lukas regained his footing fully, stopped the ball dead, then sharply cut inward just as Matheus Nunes rushed toward him to close the angle.

The touch slipped directly through Nunes’ legs.

Nutmeg.

Nunes instantly closed his legs afterward and grabbed his own head while players nearby burst out laughing.

But Lukas was already moving again.

Near the edge of the small-sided area, slightly left of the post, he opened his body and hit the finish with the outside of his boot.

The shot bent low and viciously into the bottom corner.

2–2.

The whistle blew almost immediately afterward.

"Ayyyy!"

Marmoush shouted while laughing loudly and jogging toward Lukas.

Gvardiol walked over shaking his head before wrapping an arm around Lukas’ shoulders and rubbing the top of his hair aggressively.

"What is that finish?" he laughed.

Nearby, even Doku was grinning while Nunes still looked offended about the nutmeg.

And a few steps away, Phil Foden stood watching quietly with his hands resting on his hips.

Smiling.

But thinking.

Last season had not been his best.

He knew that himself.

And now, even with De Bruyne gone, the club had responded by bringing in more elite technical players.

First Cherki.

Now Lukas.

Two players capable of operating in the same dangerous spaces he liked to occupy.

Foden watched Lukas laughing with Marmoush and Gvardiol while Guardiola observed from the sideline in silence.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, the realization settled in fully.

If he wanted to remain one of the central figures in this team— freewebnøvel.com

he was going to have to raise his level again.