Sporting

The Stuttgart match ended in a 3-1 victory for Dortmund taking them back up to second in the league. Luka did start the game, which he was thankful for, but unfortunatetly he wasn't able to get his name on the goal sheet, though he did play a crucial role in the team's success. In the end it was Haaland and Reyna who secured the win and Reus becoming the main supplier with a hatrick of assist.

What came next was unarguably the most important game of the season so far, and would define whether or not they enjoyed champions league success. They were facing Sporting CP in a must-win Champions League group stage match. 

The lights of the Estádio José Alvalade blazed down onto the pitch, casting long shadows on the freshly cut grass. The stadium was a sea of green and white, the colors of Sporting CP, with fans waving scarves and singing, their voices creating a wall of sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the stadium. Luka stood in the tunnel, his heart pounding in his chest, this was it, the most important game of the season so far. Everything hinged on this one night. A win would keep Dortmund's Champions League hopes alive, but anything less…

Luka glanced around at his teammates, they were all focused, their expressions serious, knowing what was at stake.

"Alright, Luka?" Jude's voice broke through his thoughts. Bellingham was beside him, his hand resting on Luka's shoulder, a reassuring smile on his face.

"Yeah," Luka replied, forcing a smile. "Just...ready to get out there."

Jude nodded, his eyes full of understanding. "We've got this, mate. Just play your game."

Play your game. The words echoed in Luka's mind as they began their walk out onto the pitch. The roar of the crowd hit them like a wave, the noise almost deafening. Luka's heart raced, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He was- is one of the best in the world, he knew that, but tonight, that knowledge did little to calm the storm inside him.

They lined up on the pitch, the Sporting players facing them, their expressions hard, he could see the flame dwelling in their eyes. His gazed stayed on them, noting the presence of players like Sebastián Coates, the Uruguayan center-back who towered over everyone else, and Pedro Gonçalves, who could have been his teamate had he chosen to represent Portugal.

The UEFA Champions League anthem began to play. Luka closed his eyes for a moment, letting the music wash over him, trying to steady his nerves. He felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the expectations, the pressure. They had to win.

As the anthem ended, Luka opened his eyes and took a deep breath. The referee signaled for the teams to shake hands, and Luka found himself face to face with Coates. The big defender gave him a hard look, his eyes narrowing.

"Good luck, kid," Coates said in accented English. "You'll need it."

Luka didn't respond, just nodded and moved on. But the words lingered, planting a seed of doubt in his mind. Was he really ready for this?

The teams took their positions, Dortmund in their familiar black and yellow, Sporting in green and white. Luka found himself in position, the grass beneath his new boots soft and springy. He glanced around, taking in the layout of the pitch, the positioning of the Sporting players. He could practicaly feel the weight of the ball in his hands as he waited for the whistle.

The referee blew his whistle, and the game was on.

Dortmund started strong, controlling possession as they worked the ball around the pitch. Luka moved into space, trying to find his rhythm, but every time the ball came his way, something went wrong. A bad touch here, a misplaced pass there. He never made mistakes like this.

In the 10th minute, the ball came to him on the left wing, a simple pass from Jude. Luka took a heavy touch, the ball bouncing awkwardly off his foot and rolling out of play. He cursed under his breath, shaking his head as he jogged back into position. The Sporting fans jeered, their voices full of mockery.

"Focus," Luka muttered to himself, trying to push the doubts away. But it was easier said than done. His mind was chaotic, the noise of the crowd, the pressure of the moment, all swirling together in a twisted mess.

Sporting began to find their footing, their counterattacks sharp and dangerous. In the 17th minute, they broke forward with speed, the ball moving from Pedro Gonçalves to Pablo Sarabia in the blink of an eye. Sarabia drove forward, cutting inside past Akanji and slotting the ball into the bottom corner. 1-0 to Sporting.

Luka watched in disbelief as the Sporting players celebrated, the roar of the crowd filling his ears. Dortmund had been in control, but just like that, they were behind.

He tried to shake it off, to focus on the next play, but the doubt lingered, a shadow in the back of his mind. The ball came to him again, this time from Witsel, but his touch was off once more. He tried to dribble past his marker, but the ball got caught under his feet, and he lost possession.

"Damn it," Luka hissed, frustration boiling over. He could feel the eyes of his teammates on him, could sense their growing concern. He wasn't playing like himself, wasn't living up to the expectations.

In the 20th minute, after a freekick, the ball was cleared once more into Sporting's possession. Matheus Nunes who found space on the right, whipped in a cross, the ball dipping and swerving through the air. Coates, of all people, rose highest in the box, his header thundering past Kobel and into the net. 2-0 to Sporting.

Luka's heart sank. Two goals down, and they were barely halfway through the first half.

But then, something shifted. As the Sporting players celebrated, Luka took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He closed his eyes for a moment, blocking out the noise, the pressure, the doubts. He reminded himself why he was here, why he loved this game.

Play your game.

Play your game.

Play your game.

He opened his eyes, his vision clear, his mind focused. The doubts were still there but he wasn't going to let them control him

The next time the ball came to him, Luka took a moment, letting it settle at his feet. He felt the soft touch of the ball, the way it responded to his movements. He twisted on the ball, baiting his marker into a challenge before slipping past him with a quick burst of speed.

He scanned the pitch, his eyes flicking between his teammates and the Sporting players. He could see the spaces, the gaps in their defense, the possibilities. He moved the ball slowly, strafing from side to side, waiting for a chance.

In the 24th minute, he received a pass from Reus, his first touch perfect as he flicked the ball past his marker. He drove forward, the Sporting defense scrambling to keep up. Coates came across to challenge, but Luka twisted away from him.

He could feel his confidence growing with each touch, each movement.

But Sporting were still dangerous on the counterattack. In the 30th minute, they broke forward again, the ball moving quickly through the midfield. Gonçalves found space on the left, his cross whipped in with pace. Akanji missed his clearance, and the ball fell to Haller, who fired a shot towards the bottom corner.

Luka watched as Kobel dived to his left, the ball slipping just wide of the post.

As the clock ticked towards the 35th minute, Luka began to take control. He moved into space, his scanning of the pitch almost instinctual now. He could see the patterns of play, the way the Sporting defense shifted and moved. He knew where the gaps would appear, where the opportunities would come.

He started to demand the ball more, his confidence growing with each touch. He received a pass from Bellingham, his first touch immaculate as he twisted away from his marker. He drove forward before playing a quick one-two with Haaland.

The ball came back to him, and he was off again, cutting inside past two defenders before being brought down by Coates just outside the box. Luka winced as he hit the ground, his shoulder throbbing from the impact. But he didn't let the pain show, didn't let it distract him.

As he got to his feet, Coates walked past, a smirk on his face. "Not so easy, is it?" he taunted in English.

Luka didn't respond, just dusted himself off and took his position. He could feel the frustration boiling inside him, the anger at being fouled, at the arrogance of Coates.

The free-kick had been taken quickly, a short pass from Reus to Bellingham, and then back to Reus again. Reus, under pressure from Gonçalves, looked up and saw Luka with his hand raised, signaling for the ball.

Reus obliged, threading the ball between two Sporting players. The pass wasn't perfect—slightly behind Luka's run—but he adjusted swiftly, planting his left foot firmly and stretching back with his right to trap the ball with a deft touch. The second he touched it, he twisted his body, shielding the ball from João Palhinha, who had charged toward him to close down the space.

Luka felt the weight of Palhinha pressing against his back, the Sporting midfielder trying to muscle him off the ball. Luka dug in his heels, lowering his center of gravity and using his body to protect the ball. Palhinha was strong, much more than he was. He shifted his body slightly, dropping his right shoulder as if to pivot away from Palhinha, but then sharply reversed his movement, rolling the ball with the sole of his left foot into the space he had created by deceiving Palhinha with his feint.

With a quick glance up, Luka spotted his options. Jude was making a late run into the box, while Haaland was trying to find a pocket of space between the two center-backs. Meanwhile, Malen was hugging the right touchline, ready to make a darting run into the box.

But Luka didn't pass. Instead, he drove forward, pushing the ball past Palhinha's outstretched leg and into the narrow gap between Palhinha and Matheus Reis. He could hear the shouts of Sporting's players, desperate to close him down. He could also feel his heart hammering in his chest, adrenaline coursing through him. He was tired of the mistakes, the bad touches—this time, he would get it right.

As he broke into the box, Sebastián Coates stepped up, the big Uruguayan defender towering over Luka. Coates lunged in, trying to close the gap, but Luka was quicker. He pulled off a sudden stop, his left foot slamming down on the ball, causing Coates to lose his balance slightly. In that moment of hesitation, Luka pivoted sharply, keeping his body between Coates and the ball.

Coates, frustrated, tried to clamp down on Luka, his arms extending as he attempted to use his physicality to regain control. But with a sharp movement Luka rolled the ball under his foot, pulling it back and then flicking it through Coates' legs—a nutmeg that left the defender spinning in confusion.

The ball rolled into space just inside the box. Matheus Nunes, rushed forward to cover, but Luka was already in motion. He faked a shot with his right foot, causing Nunes to lunge to block the expected strike. But it was a ruse. Luka deftly pulled the ball to his left foot, opening up the space he needed.

He had a split second to decide. Malen was making a run to the far post, calling for the ball, while Haaland was still battling for position in the center. Luka could cross, try to pick out one of his teammates. But instinct told him otherwise. This was his moment.

Without hesitation, Luka moved the ball to his right, and curled his shot, aiming for the far top corner. The ball arced beautifully, bending away from the outstretched fingers of Sporting's keeper, Antonio Adán. The entire stadium holding its breath as the ball sailed through the air, spinning gracefully before nestling into the top corner of the net.

The roar from the Dortmund fans was deafening. 

But there was no time for celebration. As he jogged back to his position, Luka could still feel the throbbing pain in his shoulder from the earlier foul, and the heavy breathing of his opponents who were now eyeing him harder than ever.

Sporting restarted the game with ferocity, pressing Dortmund high up the pitch, but the goal had lit a fire in the Dortmund players.

The first half ticked on, and Luka found himself embroiled in a constant battle on his flank. Every touch of the ball was contested, every inch of space hard-fought. Sporting's defenders weren't just trying to stop him—they were trying to intimidate him, with Coates and Reis leading the charge. 

A few minutes before halftime, Luka received the ball near the halfway line. A bad pass from Akanji forced him to stretch to control it, but his first touch was sublime, cushioning the ball with the outside of his right foot while keeping it inches from the sideline. He took off down the wing, his mind whirring as he scanned the field. 

Reis was the first to challenge, lunging in with a desperate attempt to dispossess him, but Luka sidestepped with a delicate drag back, leaving Reis sprawling on the turf. As he sprinted forward, Palhinha closed in, his muscular frame blocking Luka's path. Luka feigned left, then right, before slipping the ball through Palhinha's legs with a deft flick. He barely had time to react as Coates thundered in, attempting to shoulder him off the ball, but Luka dropped his shoulder, absorbing the impact before spinning away, the ball still at his feet.

He was in the box now, and three more defenders rushed to close him down. Luka kept his movements tight and controlled, using quick cuts and sharp changes of direction to evade them. He could feel the pressure mounting, the adrenaline surging through his veins. But instead of panicking, Luka slowed down, baiting the defenders into committing, then exploding into space towards the edge of the box with a burst of speed.

By the time he had maneuvered through five Sporting players, the entire stadium was on its feet, the atmosphere electric. Luka reached the edge of the box, his options narrowing as defenders converged on him. He faked a shot, drawing Coates and Reis out of position, then quickly shifted the ball to his left foot, preparing to curl it into the far corner.

But just as he struck the ball, Reis managed to get a foot in, deflecting the shot high into the air. It wasn't over, though. The ball spun dangerously close to the touchline, and Luka sprinted after it, managing to keep it in play with an acrobatic first touch that sent the ball looping over his head and back onto the field.

The Sporting defenders were scrambling now, desperate to clear the danger, but Luka was relentless. He rushed forward, getting the ball before cutting it back to Reus who had found a pocket of space just outside the penalty area.

Instead of shooting Reus played the ball to Jude who was further out, Jude took a touch, looked up, and, seeing that the Sporting defense had sagged back into the box, unleashed a thunderous shot from 25 yards. The ball flew through the air and slammed into the top corner. The net bulged as the Dortmund fans erupted in pure joy. 2-2.

Luka was the first to reach Jude, wrapping him in a bear hug as the rest of the team mobbed them. It wasn't his assist, but it didn't matter. They were level now, the momentum fully in their favor.

As the referee blew for halftime, the Dortmund players jogged off the pitch, their heads held high. But Luka could feel the fatigue setting in, his muscles aching from the relentless pace of the game. He knew the second half would be even tougher.

In the locker room, the atmosphere was tense but focused. The players gathered around Marco, who was gesturing emphatically with his hands, his voice rising above the murmur of the room.

"Good work getting back into the game," Rose began, his eyes scanning the room. "But we're not done yet. They're going to come at us even harder in the second half. We need to stay sharp, stay focused."

He paused, his gaze settling on Reyna, who had been playing in a deeper role. "We're pushing you up to a more advanced position, Gio. I want you to operate as a second CAM. We need to overload their midfield and create more opportunities in the final third."

Reyna nodded, understanding the tactical shift. Rose then turned to the rest of the team. "Haaland, Luka, stay alert. We're going to play more direct, get the ball forward quickly, and exploit the spaces in behind. Let's put them under pressure."

Luka could feel Rose's eyes on him as he gave his instructions. The tension between them had dissipated, replaced by a shared determination to win. Luka simply nodded, focusing on the task ahead. There was no room for hesitation now.

As they headed back onto the pitch the Sporting fans were still loud, but there was a noticeable tension in the air. They knew Dortmund had the momentum, and it was up to Luka and his teammates to capitalize on it.

The second half began at a frenetic pace, with Dortmund immediately pressing high, forcing Sporting into mistakes.

In the 53rd minute, Dortmund won a corner. As the ball was swung in, it was partially cleared by Sporting's defense, only to fall at the feet of Akanji, who was positioned just outside the box. With the defenders rushing out to block him, Akanji took a touch to control, then unleashed a powerful shot. The ball skimmed off the wet grass, swerving away from Adán's outstretched hand but unfortunately hit the crossbar and bounced back in play, erupting a series of Oh's from the Dortmund faithful.

In the 68th minute, Luka found himself in space on the left wing, with the ball at his feet. Malen had made a darting run down the right, and Luka spotted the opportunity to switch play. He lofted a perfectly weighted cross-field ball, watching as Malen sprinted onto it.

Malen, however, struggled with the first touch, the ball bobbling awkwardly as he tried to control it. Luka cursed under his breath, but quickly shook it off, moving back into position as Malen managed to keep the ball in play.

The game was tense, every pass, every touch charged with significance. In the 72nd minute, Sporting won a corner, and as the ball was swung into the box, it was cleared by Akanji with a powerful header. The clearance found its way to Bellingham, who quickly played it forward to Luka, who was lurking near the halfway line.

Luka controlled the ball with a delicate first touch, then quickly turned and sprinted forward. He could hear the pounding of feet behind him as Sporting's defenders scrambled to get back, but Luka was faster, his legs pumping as he raced towards goal.

As he entered the box, he could see Adán rushing off his line, trying to narrow the angle. Luka knew he had only a split second to decide. He could see Haaland making a run into the box but a defender alongside him. 

Luka decided to go for it. He struck the ball cleanly, aiming for the far corner. But just as it left his foot, it clipped the outside of the post, the ball ricocheting away from goal. Luka's heart sank as he watched it bounce away, but the danger wasn't over.

A Sporting defender tried to clear it, but in his panic, he scuffed his clearance. The ball rolled back into the box, and Haaland, who had followed up Luka's shot, was there to pounce. He slammed the ball into the back of the net, the net rippling with the force of his shot. 3-2 to Dortmund.

The Dortmund fans exploded into celebration, the noise drowning out the groans of the Sporting supporters. Haaland ran to the corner flag, dropping into a meditation pose as his teammates mobbed him. Luka was there too, throwing his arms around Haaland in celebration. They had done it. They had turned the game around.

As the final whistle blew, the Dortmund players embraced, their faces alight with joy and relief. They had secured the victory.