Bayern restarted, Kimmich immediately getting on the ball and dictating the play from the center of the park. Luka was quick to press, trying to force Kimmich into a hurried pass. But Kimmich was too composed. He shielded the ball expertly, allowing it to roll under his foot before swiveling and finding Goretzka with a sharp pass.
Goretzka took the ball, pushing forward with his long strides. Dortmund's midfield scrambled to close the space, but Goretzka was strong, shrugging off the pressure. He saw an opening and unleashed a powerful shot from 25 yards out.
Luka held his breath as the ball rocketed towards the top corner. It had the power, the precision, and Bürki was beaten. But the ball swerved just wide, brushing the side netting.
Luka wiped a bead of sweat from his brow, feeling the heat from that close call. Goretzka's shot was a reminder of how quickly Bayern could turn the tide.
As Bürki prepared to take the goal kick, Luka walked back into position. Jude was nearby, his face flushed.
"That was close," Luka said, his voice low, trying to keep the tension at bay.
Jude nodded, glancing over at Goretzka. "Yeah, too close. Gotta stay tighter on him, he's lethal from distance."
Luka nodded in agreement. Goretzka's presence in midfield was becoming more of a problem as the game wore on. His physicality and ability to make deep runs from midfield made him a constant threat.
As the ball was played back into play, Luka felt a tug on his shirt. He glanced over his shoulder to see Kimmich, his hand gripping the fabric of his jersey as they jostled for position.
"Seriously?" Luka muttered, trying to shake free of the grip. Kimmich didn't let go, pulling at Luka's shoulder as they moved.
"You're not going anywhere," Kimmich said with a smirk, his grip firm. Luka could feel the frustration bubbling up, but he forced himself to stay calm.
Luka tried to twist away, but Kimmich was relentless, keeping him close. Finally, the referee noticed and blew the whistle, awarding a free kick to Dortmund.
Kimmich raised his hands in mock innocence, as if he couldn't believe the call. Luka shook his head, grateful for the brief respite.
"Man, that guy's like glue," Jude said as he jogged over to take the free kick.
"Yeah, no kidding," Luka replied, adjusting his shirt.
Jude stepped up and swung the ball into the box, but it was too high for Haaland to connect, and Bayern cleared it away easily. Luka watched as the ball soared back down the pitch, and the pattern of the game resumed—Bayern probing, Dortmund looking to counter.
A few minutes later, Bayern earned a free kick of their own. Müller sidled up to Luka as they walked toward the box to set up for the defensive wall.
"Hey, kid," Müller said, his grin mischievous. "Why did the scarecrow become a successful footballer?"
Luka glanced at him, raising an eyebrow, confused as to where this was going. "I don't know. Why?"
"Because he was outstanding in his field!" Müller laughed, clearly entertained by his own joke.
Luka couldn't help but chuckle, despite the tension of the game.
"Focus, Müller!" Kimmich barked from a few yards away, clearly less amused by the banter.
Müller just winked at Luka and jogged into the box, ready for the free kick.
The ball was whipped in by Kimmich, a perfect delivery. The ball bounced around dangerously in the penalty area, with defenders and attackers colliding as they fought for possession. Hummels and Lewandowski both went up for it, but the ball ricocheted off Hummels' knee, sending it awkwardly toward the Dortmund goal.
Bürki scrambled, diving to his right as the ball bounced toward the post. Time seemed to slow as the ball spun, but Bürki managed to get a fingertip to it, pushing it just wide. Another close call.
Luka exhaled, hands on his hips, his heart racing. Bayern was relentless, and it felt like they were inches away from scoring at every turn. Dortmund couldn't keep absorbing this pressure.
After the goal kick, Dortmund regained possession and pushed forward. Luka found himself in a more advanced position, drifting toward the wing where Alphonso Davies was patrolling. The ball came to him quickly, a sharp pass from Witsel. Luka controlled it well, but Davies was immediately on him, closing down the space with his incredible speed.
Luka knew he didn't have much time, but he also knew Davies was aggressive. He could use that against him. As Davies lunged in, Luka took a quick touch, pushing the ball through Davies' legs—a perfect nutmeg. The crowd roared in approval as Luka slipped past Davies, who spun around, trying to recover.
Luka kept his balance, accelerating down the wing, scanning the field as he went. Haaland was making a run between Bayern's center-backs, finding space in the box. Luka's heart raced as he saw the opportunity. He swung his foot through the ball, sending a curling cross toward Haaland's run. The ball bent beautifully, splitting the defenders, landing perfectly at Haaland's feet.
It was a chance Haaland would usually bury with ease. But this time, he mistimed his shot. The ball skidded off his boot and flew wide of the post.
Luka couldn't believe it. He put his hands on his head, staring at Haaland in disbelief. Haaland glanced back at him, grimacing. He knew he should have done better.
"Sorry," Haaland said, jogging back to his position. "That one's on me."
Luka nodded but didn't say anything. It wasn't about blame—Haaland had already scored so many goals this season that nobody could hold this against him. But the missed opportunity gnawed at Luka. They couldn't afford to waste chances like that against Bayern. The longer Bayern stayed level, the more dangerous they would become.
The whistle blew sharply, signaling the end of the first half. Luka trudged off the pitch, his legs heavy with the toll of relentless pressing and tracking back. He could feel the exhaustion creeping in. His lungs burned with each breath, and beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. As they walked toward the tunnel, he noticed how much more tired he felt compared to some of the other players. Kimmich, Goretzka seemed to be managing their energy better, pacing themselves, while he had spent the first half sprinting, chasing, and trying to press every time Bayern had the ball.
Luka sat down on the bench, his mind racing through what had gone wrong and what needed to change. He needed to do more—more than just link-up play, more than pressing. He needed to run at the Bayern defense, to drive at them with the ball and disrupt their rhythm. He hadn't done enough of that in the first half, spending too much time tracking back and not enough creating.
As Luka caught his breath, he saw Rose standing at the front of the room, a tactical board in hand.
"Alright, listen up," Rose started. "We're doing well, but we're letting them control the midfield too much. They're getting too much space between the lines. We need to start spreading them out, pulling their midfield out of position."
Rose tapped on the board, pointing to the positioning of Jude and Reus. "Jude, Reus—you two are going to play as mezzalas for the second half. I want you making underlapping runs, getting into the wide areas, and giving us width. We need to stretch them, create gaps in the center."
Luka glanced at the board, seeing how the change would work. With Jude and Reus pushing wider, it would leave more space for him in the center, a chance to operate in the pockets between Bayern's midfield and defense.
"We need to roll the ball out of defense," Rose continued, looking at Bürki. "No more long balls. I want the ball distributed to the center-backs and full-backs, then played up through the middle. We'll play through Bayern's press. Keep the ball on the ground and move it quickly."
Rose clapped his hands. "We're not done here, boys. Stay focused, stay disciplined, and we'll find the gaps. This game is still ours to win."
As the players began to gather their things and prepare for the second half, Luka felt Jude sit down next to him. "How're you feeling?" Jude asked, his voice low.
"Tired," Luka admitted, stretching his legs out in front of him. "More tired than I should be. Pressing's draining me."
Jude nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "Yeah, they're running us ragged. But we've got this."
"Just need to keep our heads," Jude said, slapping Luka on the back. "Second half's ours."
As they headed out back onto the field and the second half kicked off.
Just five minutes in, Bayern launched a devastating attack. Davies drove forward leaving Meunier struggling to keep up. Davies sent a sharp pass inside to Müller, who was lurking just outside the box. Müller flicked the ball deftly to Lewandowski, who had peeled off from Hummels.
Lewandowski controlled the ball with a silky touch, spun around Akanji with ease and slotted the ball coolly into the bottom corner.
2-1 Bayern.
The Arena erupted, the Bayern fans chanting Lewandowski's name as the striker celebrated with his teammates. Luka could only watch as Lewandowski basked in the glory.
Dortmund regrouped for the restart, but it was clear that the goal had rattled them. Bayern, sensing blood, pressed even harder, pinning Dortmund back into their own half. Luka found himself defending more than he wanted to, his body growing more tired with each passing minute.
In the 55th minute, Bayern struck again. This time, it was a scrappy goal. A corner swung in by Kimmich caused chaos in the Dortmund box. The ball bounced around, pinballing between legs and boots. Shulz tried to clear it, but his weak header fell to Goretzka, who lashed a shot toward goal. Bürki managed to get a hand to it, but the ball slipped through his fingers and trickled over the line.
3-1 Bayern.
Luka stood at the halfway line, hands on his knees as he tried to steady his breath.
He couldn't let it end like this. Not in front of the Dortmund fans, not after the fight they'd put up in the first half.
Bayern restarted play, and the ball was quickly moved into midfield, with Kimmich at the helm once again. Luka tracked back, knowing that Dortmund's pressing game had to be relentless if they wanted any chance of getting back into the match. But his legs were heavy, and the constant chasing was taking its toll.
Kimmich received the ball and, without missing a beat, sprayed a pass wide to Davies, who was already motoring down the left flank. Luka watched as Meunier tried, once again, to keep up with the speedster, but it was a losing battle. Davies danced past him with ease, cutting inside and drawing more Dortmund players toward him.
"Close him down!" Luka shouted, his voice hoarse. He sprinted toward the box, but Bayern's rhythm was smooth, almost mechanical. They had drilled these patterns of play to perfection.
Davies cut the ball back to Goretzka, who took a touch and, sensing the opportunity, unleashed a powerful strike from the edge of the box. It was traveling toward the top corner, the ball swerving with lethal intent. Bürki was rooted to the spot, but just as it seemed certain to go in, it clipped the outside of the post and sailed out for a goal kick. Luka breathed a sigh of relief.
As Bürki sent the ball long, Luka glanced at Jude, who had been working tirelessly beside him. They exchanged a quick nod. Jude knew it too—they needed something special to break through Bayern's defenses.
Luka shifted his focus back to the game, but just as the ball came to his feet, he felt a tug at his shirt again. Kimmich, as always, was right there, pulling him back and disrupting his movement.
"Again?" Luka muttered in frustration. He tried to twist away, but Kimmich held firm, his grip on Luka's jersey irritatingly persistent. The referee blew his whistle, awarding a free kick to Dortmund, but Kimmich's smirk showed he had already done enough to break up the play.
Luka jogged over to take the free kick, his eyes scanning the field. Haaland had made a run into the box, while Reus hovered on the edge, waiting for any loose balls. Luka curled the ball in, hoping to catch Bayern's defense off guard, but it was too close to Neuer, who plucked it from the air with ease.
Bayern were quick to counter, and once again, Davies found himself in acres of space down the left wing. Luka tracked back, his lungs burning as he sprinted to support Meunier. But Davies darted past both of them, sending a dangerous cross into the box. Müller flicked the ball on, and for a moment, it seemed like Lewandowski would pounce. But Akanji, with a last-ditch lunge, managed to get a toe to the ball, deflecting it just enough for Bürki to gather.
Luka bent over, hands on his thighs as he caught his breath.
The clock ticked on, the urgency in Dortmund's play growing with each passing second. They needed something, anything to shift the momentum. And then, in the 66th minute, a chance finally came.
Bayern won a corner, and as Kimmich sent the ball into the box, it was cleared away by Hummels, but not convincingly. The ball floated toward Luka, who was stationed just outside the box. He saw the ball coming, felt the thump of his heartbeat in his ears, and time seemed to slow down.
A Bayern player was charging toward him, trying to press him into a hurried clearance. But Luka had other ideas. As the ball neared, he flicked it up with his right foot, deftly lifting it over the oncoming defender's head.
The crowd gasped as Luka's touch left the Bayern player in his wake. The ball dropped perfectly at his feet, and he was off with few defenders ahead of him.
As he ran, nearing the box Luka looked up, Upamacano was ahead of him jockeying slowly.
Luka faked a shot, causing the last Upamecano to commit, before cutting inside and creating space for himself. He steadied his balance, pulled back his leg, aiming low toward the far corner. But just as he struck, Kimmich came flying in from behind, clipping Luka's ankle with a reckless challenge.
Luka crumpled to the ground, his shot skewing wide of the post. The crowd erupted, and the Dortmund players immediately surrounded the referee, arms raised in protest. Luka could hear their shouts as he lay on the grass, pain radiating from his ankle.
"That's a penalty!" Reus yelled, pointing at Kimmich.
Jude was beside the referee, pleading his case. "He took him out! How can you not give that?"
But the referee shook his head, waving play on. Luka rolled onto his back, grimacing as he clutched his ankle. He could feel the pain throbbing with each heartbeat, but he tried to get up.
The physios rushed onto the pitch, and Luka waved them off, trying to push through the pain. But as he stood up and put weight on his ankle, he winced. It wasn't good.
"Can you keep going?" one of the medics asked, his voice laced with concern.
Luka gritted his teeth, nodding. "Yeah, I'm fine. I can play."
But as the game resumed, it was clear that something was wrong. Luka's movements were labored, his usual sharpness dulled by the pain in his ankle. He tried to press, to get involved, but every step sent a jolt of agony up his leg.
In the 73rd minute, Dortmund launched another attack. Reus played a perfectly weighted through ball to Malen, who found himself one-on-one with Neuer. Luka, watching from midfield, could feel his heart in his throat. Malen had missed opportunities like this before, but this one felt different.
"Come on, Malen," Luka muttered under his breath, urging his teammate on.
Malen didn't disappoint. He kept his composure, slotting the ball past Neuer and into the back of the net. The Dortmund fans erupted in celebration, and Malen ran toward the corner flag, his arms outstretched in triumph.
Luka jogged over to join the celebration, but he didn't linger. Instead, he picked up the ball from the net and ran it back to the center circle, eager to get the game restarted.
There was still time.
In the 79th minute, Jude found Luka with a crisp pass. Luka took a quick touch, spinning away from Upamecano with a deft turn that left the defender flat-footed. Luka was through, sprinting toward the Bayern goal with Davies and Kimmich closing in on either side.
He pushed the ball forward, his feet moving faster than the defenders could react. But just as he reached the edge of the box, Davies clipped his heel, sending him stumbling forward. Luka fought to stay on his feet, but Kimmich was there, shoving him off balance with a body check.
The pain in Luka's ankle flared up, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching his leg. He could hear the crowd's shouts, feel the tension rising as the referee blew his whistle. The medics rushed back onto the field, and this time, Luka couldn't fight it.
The pain was too much.
As the medics helped him to his feet, Luka shook his head, frustration bubbling up inside him. He limped toward the sideline, covering his face with his hands to hide his anger. Once he reached the bench, he slumped into a seat, taking the towel given to him and throwing it onto the ground in frustration.
The coaches tried to calm him down, but Luka could barely hear them.
The pain was bad, but the frustration was worse. He could only watch as Bayern continued to dominate possession, knocking the ball around with ease, probing for another opening. The sight of Lewandowski and Müller constantly threatening the Dortmund defense made Luka's blood boil. He wanted to be out there but instead, he was stuck on the sidelines, powerless.
The ball zipped from Kimmich to Müller, then back to Goretzka. Bayern were keeping it simple, playing patient football, wearing down the clock with every pass. Luka's eyes were glued to the field, barely blinking as he watched the game unfold. His heart raced every time Dortmund pressed forward, hoping for some kind of mistake, some chance to pounce.
Then, out of nowhere, it happened. Upamecano tried to switch play across the backline, but his pass was too weak. The ball rolled lazily toward Süle, and before Bayern could recover, Malen was on it like a flash of lightning.
Luka shot up instinctively, but the sharp pain in his ankle forced him to sit back down, wincing. His eyes followed Malen as he sprinted toward the Bayern goal, the crowd roaring in anticipation. Luka's heart was pounding in his chest, the adrenaline mixing with the pain.
Malen drove forward, the Bayern defenders scrambling to close him down. Süle was barreling toward him from the side, desperate to make a tackle. The angle was tight—too tight, Luka thought. It looked impossible, but Malen didn't hesitate.
With a quick shift of his body, Malen struck the ball with the outside of his foot. Time seemed to slow as the ball curled toward the far post, squeezing between Neuer and the woodwork. The net rippled, and for a split second, there was silence.
Then the stadium erupted.
Luka's heart leaped, a massive grin spreading across his face. He tried to stand again, but his ankle gave way, and he collapsed back onto the bench, laughing despite the pain.
"Let's go, Malen!" Luka shouted, clapping and high-fiving the other players and coaches on the bench, the adrenaline masking the agony in his ankle for just a moment.
The scoreboard flashed 3-3, and Bayern looked rattled.
Luka leaned forward, still smiling, still riding the wave of excitement from Malen's brilliance. He could see the Bayern players trying to gather themselves, but the momentum was now with Dortmund. The minutes ticked by as Dortmund pressed higher, trying to catch Bayern again, but the final whistle blew before they could find another breakthrough.
The game ended 3-3.
Luka turned to the players on the bench, exchanging high-fives and smiles. "What a game," he muttered, shaking his head. "That was crazy."
As the final whistles faded, Luka felt a hand on his shoulder. It was one of the Dr. Braun, looking concerned. "We need to check that ankle, Luka. Can you walk?"
Luka nodded, but he could still feel the dull ache radiating up his leg. "Yeah, let's get it checked."