The victory against Espanyol and Lucas's stunning last-minute goal had set the stage for something monumental. The euphoria in the Sevilla locker room was palpable, like a warm surge of hope coursing through their veins. They had fought hard, and now, with momentum on their side, the team felt invincible, ready to climb up the league table. Lucas, especially, was on fire—his confidence soaring after his match-winning goal. But in football, the highs are often fleeting, and the tension was building. He could feel it in the air, thick and suffocating, like a storm waiting to break.
The next match was against Granada, and Sevilla was under no illusion—it would be a battle. Granada had been performing admirably throughout the season, and this was no ordinary game. For Sevilla, a win wasn't just a matter of points; it was a lifeline.
From the very first whistle, the contrast between the teams was evident. Granada pressed with relentless energy, shutting down Sevilla's rhythm before they could even build it. Lucas, who had been so brilliant in the past match, was now a shadow of that performance. The defending was suffocating, and he found himself constantly closed down, his attempts at creativity thwarted. He couldn't find the space he needed, and with each passing minute, his frustration grew.
Then, disaster struck. A defensive mistake in the 20th minute handed Granada an easy goal, and just like that, Sevilla's confidence crumbled. The mistake felt like a dagger to the heart of the team. The defense, usually so reliable, had faltered at the worst possible time. As the first half ticked away, Granada capitalized again, doubling their lead just before halftime with a swift counter-attack.
Sevilla trudged to the locker room, the weight of the first half's failure sinking in. The tension was palpable, like a heavy fog that refused to lift. Coach's voice broke through the silence, firm and commanding. "We've been here before," he said, his eyes scanning the room. "Stay composed, fight back in the second half. We can still do this."
But Lucas wasn't sure anymore. He could feel the weight of the expectation pressing down on him, smothering his every move. He had promised to lead, but the cracks were beginning to show. Would this be his breaking point?
The second half started with urgency. Sevilla threw everything at Granada, pressing forward with everything they had. Lucas tried desperately to find his rhythm, to spark something, but the defense remained unyielding. In the 60th minute, he saw his chance—a perfectly timed pass from Navas, a quick dribble to set himself up, and then, he pulled the trigger. The ball soared, but it sailed just over the crossbar.
Frustration gnawed at him. Every chance seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. The clock ticked on, and Sevilla's hopes seemed to dwindle with every second. In the 75th minute, a third goal from Granada crushed what little hope remained. 3-0. The stadium fell silent, the energy drained from the players and the fans alike.
The coach made substitutions, hoping to spark some fresh energy, but nothing could stop the inevitable. Lucas, his body aching, kept pushing forward, desperate to make something happen. In the 80th minute, he found a small opening and threaded a pass to En-Nesyri, but the shot was saved. It was over. The final whistle blew, confirming a 3-0 defeat.
In the locker room, the silence was deafening. No words were needed—the scoreboard spoke for itself. The team was back in the relegation zone, and the reality of their position hit like a slap in the face. The fight had been lost, but the war was far from over.
Coach's voice was calm, but it carried weight. "This was a tough loss. But it's not the end. We need to stay united. We've come back from worse before."
Lucas, struggling to swallow the sting of failure, dialed his father's number later that evening. The phone rang once, twice—then João's voice filled his ear, warm and steady. "Lucas, I know it's tough, but you've got to keep fighting. We're proud of you. Remember, it's not over until the final whistle."
His mother, Maria, echoed his father's sentiments. "Son, every great player faces setbacks. It's how you respond that matters. Keep believing in yourself."
Sofia, always the bright light in his life, added her unshakable optimism. "Lucas, you're amazing. This is just a bump in the road. We believe in you."
Their words, like a balm to his wounded pride, gave him the strength to keep going. But the pressure was mounting, and Lucas knew that his next performance could make or break his season.
The next match, against Alavés, felt like his last chance to prove himself. The pressure was unbearable, but the thought of his family's support kept him grounded. It was time to turn the tide.
The match started with both teams playing cautiously, aware of the high stakes. Lucas, feeling the weight of his past struggles, worked tirelessly to create chances. And in the 30th minute, the breakthrough came. Lucas received the ball just outside the penalty area, dodged a defender with a swift move, and delivered a perfect cross to En-Nesyri, who didn't miss. The stadium erupted, and for the first time in days, Sevilla had a lead.
But even with the advantage, Lucas felt the nagging pressure, the weight of every expectation. Alavés fought back fiercely, and when they equalized in the 60th minute, the tension was unbearable. The game was in the balance, and Lucas could feel every heartbeat as if the entire world was watching.
The clock ticked towards the 90th minute. Sevilla pushed, desperate for a winner. The stadium held its breath, the noise swelling with every second.
Then, it happened.
A long clearance found its way to Lucas. The ball at his feet, he took off—determined, unyielding. The defenders closed in, but Lucas danced past them, his movements fluid and precise. A quick step-over, a burst of speed, and then a brilliant nutmeg. He was free. The goal was in sight.
In that moment, time seemed to slow. Lucas could hear the roar of the crowd, the pounding of his heart. With one swift motion, he curled the ball with the outside of his foot, sending it soaring toward the top corner. The goalkeeper stretched, but it was too late. The ball kissed the net, and the stadium exploded in euphoria.
Lucas, overwhelmed by the moment, was mobbed by his teammates. "Incredible goal, Lucas!" En-Nesyri shouted, lifting him off his feet.
The final whistle blew, sealing a 2-1 victory for Sevilla. Relief, joy, and an overwhelming sense of accomplishment filled the air. They had done it. They had fought, and they had won.
As Lucas stood in the center of the pitch, receiving the player of the match award, he felt the weight of everything—his struggles, his determination, and now, his triumph. The words of his family echoed in his mind, reminding him that it was never about the setback—it was about the comeback.
Later that night, Carlos called, his voice brimming with pride. "Lucas, that was an amazing run and goal. You're showing great resilience. Keep enjoying the game."
Lucas smiled, a mixture of pride and relief in his voice. "Thanks, Carlos. It feels amazing. I'll keep working hard."
That evening, Lucas shared the news with his family. His mother, Maria, was ecstatic. "Lucas, we saw the goal! It was incredible. We're so proud of you."
João added, "You showed true grit and determination. Keep it up, son."
Sofia cheered, "Lucas, you're a superstar! That goal was amazing."