Chapter 397: BOX TO BOX

De Ligt moved toward the back post, Yoro and Šeško crowded the central zone, while Rodri, Dias and Gvardiol tried to organize City’s defensive line. The Etihad was still loud, but there was a nervousness beneath it now, the kind of sudden tightening that came when a team had scored and immediately found itself defending a set piece.

And Bruno, after raising both hands in the air, whipped the corner toward the far post.

De Ligt attacked it powerfully.

Rodri jumped with him.

Both men rose together, shoulders colliding in the air, but Rodri managed to get the faintest touch before the United defender could make clean contact. The ball flicked upward and away from the immediate danger, dropping toward the edge of the box where Bryan Mbeumo was already moving onto it, his body shaping for the first-time volley.

"Rodri gets something on it... Mbeumo waiting!" Drury called.

Mbeumo never reached it cleanly.

Just as he set himself to smash the ball, Lukas stepped across him.

He did not tackle.

He did not swing a leg.

He simply put his body between Mbeumo and the ball with perfect timing, shielding it as though he had been born playing with his back to pressure. Mbeumo’s momentum carried him straight into the back of Lukas’ legs, the United forward bouncing off him and tumbling to the grass while Lukas somehow stayed on his feet, muscles tightening as he absorbed the hit and rolled away with the ball.

The United players shouted for a foul.

Anthony Taylor raised both arms.

Advantage.

"What strength!" Drury shouted as the noise suddenly changed again. "What monstrous strength from Lukas Brandt, and City can break!"

Gary Neville almost laughed in disbelief. "That is ridiculous. He’s just stood there, taken the contact, and Mbeumo is the one on the floor."

Lukas surged out of his own defensive third, carrying the ball through the centre of the pitch with long, powerful strides. Haaland reacted instantly and began sprinting just to his right, eating up the ground in pursuit of him, while Doku exploded down the left, giving City width and turning United’s desperate recovery into a nightmare. Behind them, Amad was the nearest red shirt trying to chase back, but even he was too far away to affect the first phase of the counter.

Ugarte and Yoro were the only United players between Lukas and the goal.

Yoro glanced repeatedly toward Haaland, trying to hold his line and keep the Norwegian offside, while Ugarte stepped forward to confront Lukas before he could gather too much momentum. The Uruguayan crouched low, ready to throw himself into the tackle, but Lukas slowed at exactly the wrong moment for him. One sudden deceleration forced Ugarte to plant his foot; one explosive change of direction sent the ball left, and Lukas skipped past him before accelerating again beyond the halfway line.

"Oh, he’s gone!" Drury cried. "Ugarte steps out, and Brandt is past him!"

Now it was three against one.

Doku had first made the run too early, drifted just beyond the offside line, then checked back into an onside position with both hands slightly out, asking for the pass. Haaland kept running through the inside-right channel, carefully timing his movement against Yoro, who was trying to watch everything at once: the ball at Lukas’ feet, Haaland’s stride, Doku’s position on the far side, and the huge empty space behind him.

Lukas kept carrying it.

The Etihad rose with every touch.

He crossed into the final third with Yoro finally forced to make a decision. The young United defender stepped toward him, legs wide, body low, trying to delay long enough for support to arrive. But Lukas had already seen the panic in his feet. He slowed again, almost inviting the challenge, then nudged the ball from left to right with the first half of a La Croqueta. Yoro stretched to block it, his studs skidding slightly on the grass. Before the defender could recover, Lukas pulled it back across with the second touch, gliding past him as Yoro’s legs opened too far and his balance disappeared completely.

Yoro slipped and landed sitting on the turf.

Drury’s voice broke through the roar. "He’s beaten another! Yoro is on the floor! Lukas Brandt is one-on-one!"

Bayındır came out.

There was nothing else he could do.

The United goalkeeper advanced quickly, trying to make himself big, trying to force Lukas to take the shot early, trying to erase the angle before the teenager could decide. But Lukas had carried the ball seventy yards and still looked calmer than everyone around him. He took one more touch, waited for Bayındır to commit, then lifted the ball with the softest chip over the goalkeeper’s shoulder.

For a moment the whole stadium watched it float.

Bayındır turned helplessly.

The ball dropped behind him and bounced into the net.

The Etihad detonated.

"GOOOOOOAL!" Drury screamed. "HE HAS DONE IT AGAIN! HE HAS DONE IT AGAIN! FROM HIS OWN BOX TO THE OTHER, THROUGH THE HEART OF MANCHESTER UNITED, AND LUKAS BRANDT HAS SCORED TWICE IN TWO MINUTES IN THE DERBY!"

Gary Neville could barely speak over the noise. "That is unbelievable. That is absolutely unbelievable. He starts by shielding the ball on the edge of his own box, takes the hit, stays up, carries it the length of the pitch, beats Ugarte, beats Yoro, and then has the composure to chip the goalkeeper. That’s not just quality. That’s personality."

Lukas sprinted toward the corner flag again, this time almost chased there by the sound of the stadium itself. The supporters were losing themselves, arms raised, faces twisted with disbelief and joy as the player who had been questioned for weeks suddenly turned the Manchester derby into his personal stage. Foden reached him first and jumped onto his back, shouting into his ear while Haaland arrived a moment later and smacked him on the side of the head with a grin so wide it looked almost childish.

"You were hiding this in the Premier League?" Haaland shouted, shaking him again.

Lukas laughed breathlessly, still trying to take in the noise.

On the touchline, Guardiola did not even try to hide it this time. He stood with both hands clapping above his chest, smiling as he watched the celebration unfold near the corner. Beside him, Pep Lijnders and the rest of the staff were already exchanging glances of disbelief. They had seen the quality in training. They had seen the dribbles, the passes, the flashes. But this was different. This was derby day, and Lukas had just turned pressure into theatre.

In the stands, Joanna had both hands over her mouth. Javi was standing now, clapping slowly with pride in his eyes. Lexi had forgotten completely that she was wearing a United shirt, jumping beside Joanna as the City fans around them roared. Jane remained seated for one second longer than everyone else, staring at the pitch with her phone still in her hand, before she finally stood and applauded too.

Down below, Lukas broke away from the group and turned once more toward the supporters. His chest rose and fell heavily, his face flushed from the run and the celebration, but his eyes were bright.

The scoreboard changed.

Manchester City 2–0 Manchester United

Two goals for Lukas Brandt.

And the derby was only just beginning.