Knauff was near the touchline, already mid-motion, his right foot swinging through the ball. The pass came hard and fast along the ground, skimming the grass with pace, angling toward Lukas from his left.
Lukas didn't break conversation. He didn't even look surprised.
He took one short step back, opened his body, and met the ball cleanly with his right foot.
The strike was pure. Low. Violent.
The ball fizzed across the grass and buried itself inside the bottom corner of the empty net, snapping the side netting so sharply that even Trapp, standing well off to the side, shook his head instinctively. If he'd been in goal, he wouldn't have gotten close.
Lukas turned, pointing immediately.
"You owe me fifty euros."
Larsson burst out laughing. "When are you going to learn?" he asked Knauff, shaking his head. "Every time."
Knauff spread his hands in mock disbelief, already grinning. "That wasn't fair. That doesn't count."
Nearby, the set-piece coach had stopped walking.
