Lukas picked the ball up just past the halfway line, the pitch stretching open before him. Every Leverkusen defender had been caught upfield, scrambling to recover, but none close enough to intervene. The roar inside the stadium swelled as he surged forward with long, powerful strides, the green grass unfolding like a runway beneath his boots.
Closer and closer he drove, each touch measured, carrying him past the last traces of resistance until the white lines of the penalty area rose to meet him.
Hradecky, realizing the danger, abandoned his line and came charging out, arms spread, body set to smother the ball before Lukas could finish.
But Lukas never hesitated. At full speed, with the keeper bearing down, he shaped to strike hard — then with a deft flick of his left foot, he disguised the effort.
