Become A Football Legend-Chapter 179: Bremen (2)

Chapter 179: Bremen (2)
The Weserstadion glimmered under the early evening lights, its emerald pitch framed by the soft ripple of flags and scarves in the stands. A crisp wind carried the unmistakable Saturday-match buzz through the stadium as the broadcast cut in.
"Good evening, everyone! Welcome to the Weserstadion!"
The commentator’s bright, seasoned voice rang out.
"I’m Markus Feldmann, alongside Thomas Albrecht, and today we bring you Werder Bremen vs. Eintracht Frankfurt — two sides with very different trajectories this season, but both desperate for points."
A drone camera swooped across the stadium bowl, capturing chanting Bremen fans bouncing in unison, then shifting to the black-and-red patch where the Frankfurt supporters roared back just as loudly.
"Let’s take you through the lineups," Thomas continued.
Werder Bremen (3-5-2)
GK: 1 Zetterer
CBs: 4 Stark, 32 Friedl (c), 5 Pieper
RM: 8 Weiser
CMs: 6 Stage, 14 Lynen, 20 Schmid
LM: 27 Agu
STs: 15 Burke, 7 Ducksch
"Bremen sticking with their familiar three-at-the-back," Thomas noted.
"Burke and Ducksch up front — physicality and movement combined."
Eintracht Frankfurt (4-2-3-1)
GK: 40 Kaua
RB: 34 Collins
CBs: 4 Koch (c), 3 Theate
LB: 21 Brown
DMs: 16 Larsson, 35 Tuta
RW: 27 Götze
AM: 49 Brandt
LW: 19 Bahoya
ST: 11 Ekitike
"And for Frankfurt," Markus added, "the 16-year-old sensation, Lukas Brandt, gets the nod at attacking midfield again — the number 10 today. Fresh off a man-of-the-match performance, he’ll operate centrally behind Ekitike."
The broadcast cut to the stands for a brief "colour shot."
There, high in the VIP family section, the cameras caught the family.
Javi, wrapped in a half-Bremen, half-Frankfurt scarf; Anne, in a Frankfurt jacket but a Bremen mini-flag in her lap; Mr. and Mrs. Brandt, the grandparents, layered awkwardly with two scarves each to support both teams.
They were smiling warmly, waving at the camera when they noticed themselves on the big screen.
Around them, a few Bremen fans chuckled.
One said to his friend:
"They’re cheering both sides? That’s new."
His friend shrugged.
"Probably neutral fans... or maybe they’re just here for the atmosphere."
The referee took a breath and blew sharply.
"And we are underway! Bremen from right to left in green, Frankfurt in black — let’s go!"
Ducksch tapped the ball back to Stage.
Immediately, Bremen began circulating possession with short passing, trying to drag Frankfurt’s midfield block out of shape.
Lukas jogged into his familiar attacking position behind Ekitike, scanning, pointing, adjusting the press — composed, alert, ready.
From the very first minute, it became apparent that Eintracht Frankfurt intended to control the rhythm of the game. Their shape, fluid and crisp, allowed them to recycle possession with relative ease, shifting the ball from Theate to captain Koch, then out to Collins or Brown with patient, deliberate intent. Bremen, compact in their mid-block, waited quietly, content to let Frankfurt knock the ball around without penetrating the lines.
Lukas positioned himself between Lynen and Schmid, drifting constantly to force the Bremen midfielders to keep guessing. Every time Frankfurt built from the back, he would check over both shoulders, calling for small adjustments—"Larsson, drop," or "Tuta, switch"—guiding the tempo with the subtle instinct of a true playmaker.
By the fifth minute, Frankfurt’s dominance was already reflected in the numbers:
70% possession, 92% pass accuracy, zero threat from Bremen.
But for all their control, Frankfurt had struggled to turn possession into meaningful danger.
That changed in the 15th minute.
The move began when Bahoya slipped inside from the left, dragging Weiser with him. Larsson saw the opening and zipped a pass into Lukas, who had dropped slightly deeper to receive. With one touch on the half-turn, Lukas glided away from Stage and carried the ball toward the penalty arc. The Bremen supporters let out a collective groan as they sensed the danger.
He took another step forward and opened his body, shaping for a left-footed strike. Friedl tried to close him down, but he was half a second late. Lukas whipped a clean shot toward the bottom right corner, forcing Zetterer into a low, sharply-timed save. The goalkeeper stretched fully and pushed the ball wide with his fingertips.
"Brandt again showing why he is one of the most exciting young talents in the league!" Markus Feldmann exclaimed.
The Frankfurt fans applauded loudly from the far corner, while Lukas simply nodded at Bahoya, acknowledging the earlier pass.
Still, it remained 0–0.
Despite the near miss, the game returned to its earlier pattern. Frankfurt held the ball, Bremen chased shadows, and every so often the home fans grew agitated at their team’s inability to string more than three passes together. Brown repeatedly advanced down the left, exchanging quick combinations with Bahoya, while Koch directed the defensive line higher and higher.
Lukas continued to dictate play in the pockets, drifting to either side to cause overloads. Yet for all his touches, Frankfurt lacked the killer final ball. Ekitike held good positions, but the Bremen back three—Stark, Friedl, and Pieper—crowded him out every time a cross came near.
The tension in the match felt like it was building toward something—a breakthrough for Frankfurt... or a sucker punch against the run of play.
The sucker punch arrived first.
It began innocently enough.
A slow recycled possession reached Tuta near the edge of Frankfurt’s defensive third. With no Bremen player immediately pressing, he relaxed, took a touch, and —feeling confident — attempted a cheeky step-over to throw off the oncoming Burke.
Kaua yelled from goal:
"Clear it! CLEAR IT!"
But Tuta didn’t hear or didn’t heed it.
He tried to roll the ball past Burke with the outside of his boot. The touch was too heavy.
Burke pounced.
In one swift motion, he muscled Tuta aside, took the ball cleanly, and exploded toward goal. Theate sprinted back to recover, but Burke was already in the box, already bracing himself to shoot. Kaua tried to narrow the angle, spreading his frame wide.
Burke struck low and hard.
The ball skidded past Kaua’s outstretched boot and nestled into the bottom corner.
WESERSTADION ERUPTED.
"GOOOOAL! Against the run of play, Werder Bremen lead! Oliver Burke capitalizes on a disastrous mistake from Tuta — and Bremen strike first!" Albrecht sounded almost stunned.
Down at the touchline, Toppmöller almost lost his mind, his hands flailing as he violently threw his bottle of water on the floor.
"You can understand the outburst," Feldmann said. "Almost half an hour of being in the front foot, and you concede a goal away from home because of such a rookie mistake."
On the pitch, Tuta froze, hands on his head, staring at the grass. Koch jogged toward him immediately, placing a hand on his back and urging him to regroup.
"Hey, we’ve got time. Kopf hoch."
But Bremen led 1–0, and the momentum of the game suddenly shifted.
After the goal, Frankfurt desperately needed a response, and Lukas took the initiative again.
In the 35th minute, he received a sharp pass from Götze between the lines and spun away from Lynen beautifully. With his second touch, he threaded a weighted through ball between Friedl and Pieper — a pass so precise it split the defense like a scalpel. Ekitike burst onto it, one-on-one with the goalkeeper.
The Frankfurt bench held their breath.
Bahoya spread his arms wide, ready to celebrate.
Even the Bremen fans went quiet in anticipation.
Ekitike struck with his right foot—