The name stayed there.
Fixed.
Unmoving.
Diogo Jota.
Nagelsmann's voice continued in the background, steady, instructive, pointing out movements and patterns on the screen, but for Lukas, it all blurred into something distant, something muffled, like it was happening behind a wall he couldn't quite see through.
Because his mind had already gone somewhere else.
"What do I do?"
The question came quietly at first.
Then again.
"What do I do?"
It was something that had completely slipped his mind until that morning.
The fifth day of the LTC training.
He had been in the theater room, watching matches like he always did—studying, analyzing, breaking down movements. Portugal had come up in his rotation, just another team to study, another set of patterns to learn.
Then—
a substitution.
A familiar face coming on.
Jota.
And just like that—
everything had come rushing back.
Not from this life.
From before.
