As the song swelled one last time, Lukas lifted his head, the lights of Deutsche Bank Park shining in his eyes. He turned toward the stands, clapped again, and whispered under his breath—
"Thank you."
And then he walked off the pitch, side by side with his teammates, the echoes of his name still rolling through the stadium.
* * *
The door to the dressing room swung open with a low, metallic creak. One by one, the players filed in — silent, heads down, boots dragging against the floor. The hum of the fluorescent lights above filled the room, mixing with the faint sound of showers running in the distance. No one spoke.
Jackets were tossed aside, tape peeled off, gloves dropped onto benches. The air smelled of sweat and disappointment. Lukas sat at the far end of the room, still in his kit, staring at the floor. He could hear Larsson's slow breathing beside him, the sound of someone still trying to make sense of the loss.
