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[15-06-2021 | Allianz Arena, Germany | 21:42 CET]

[France 3-2 Germany]

[90+2’]

Klostermann had tracked back frantically from the failed cross and managed to get within striking distance thanks to his teammates, who held the winger up. The winger feinted to cut inside again, getting a slight reaction, then chopped it back the other way, his ankles seemingly made of rubber. The fullback stumbled momentarily, just enough, and Dembélé burst toward the right side of the box, head up, scanning.

Mbappé had peeled off the back of Kimmich, drifting toward the penalty spot unmarked. Dembélé picked him out and whipped in a curling cross with the outside of his right boot, sending the ball dipping wickedly toward the spot, perfect height, for a volley. The French superstar pulled his right leg back, body coiling for a side volley, eyes already widening as he saw the ball dropping into his striking zone.

But before he could swing through it, a white blur came hurtling across his vision. Hummels, having recovered, had thrown himself forward in a last-ditch attempt to clear the danger. The veteran defender leapt with everything he had left, neck snapping through the contact, trying to loop the ball over the outrushing Neuer and his own bar to safety.

The header connected high on his forehead, sending the ball spiralling upward in a sickening arc. Neuer, who had charged off his line the moment Dembélé crossed it, suddenly realised the danger was no longer where he expected it. The captain twisted desperately, backpedalling, eyes locked on the descending ball that wasn’t cleared as high as he would like.

Falling backwards, he raised his hand, but couldn’t reach it in time as it clipped the underside of the crossbar with a hollow thud and dropped vertically toward the line. Neuer flung himself backwards, gloves clawing through the air, fingertips scraping desperately for any contact. He managed to claw it on the bounce quickly, tucking it to his body, but Mbappé was already off celebrating.

(Fweet!)

"They don’t believe that was the goal," Mowbray stated. The Germans swarmed the referee, trying to argue their case. "The French side is clearly convinced that it was a goal, and from where I am sitting, I am Inclined to believe them."

Receiving backlash from protests by both fans and players, Carlos del Cerro raised a hand toward his earpiece, signalling for a check. The Spanish referee jogged toward the touchline and held both hands up to the bewildered crowd, gesturing for patience as the cameras zoomed in on his furrowed brow. The big screens at either end of the stadium cycled the replay frame by frame, showing Hummels’s leaping header looping high.

The frame paused, and the goal-line technology graphic appeared, the white wireframe ball sitting cleanly past the chalk, fully across the line by a margin that left no room for argument. A tortured groan rolled around the Allianz before the referee’s watch had even vibrated. Carlos del Cerro didn’t care, though, and tapped his earpiece, pointed firmly to the centre circle, and the French bench erupted as one.

"Oh, that’s all the way over," Mowbray confirmed solemnly. "Goal-line technology has done its job. That’s been a goal all along."

Hummels stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the turf, not processing what had happened. Neuer remained on his backside inside the six-yard box for a long beat, gloves resting in his lap, before pushing himself slowly to his feet.

[France 4-2 Germany — Mbappé 90+3’]

"And that, surely, is that," Jenas exhaled. "Hummels, who has been a colossus all night, ends up putting it past his own keeper. Football can be a cruel game, Guy. He has done everything right for ninety-three minutes, and one desperate clearance writes the headlines."

"Mbappé would have wanted that, but he won’t be complaining about an extra goal for his side," Mowbray added, "Mats Hummels return to the national team went better for France than it did for Germany."

The restart was more of a formality as the French players took their time, wandering back to position and milking every second. The home crowd sat in stunned silence, scarves slack in their hands, watching in disbelief. Kross tapped it back to Gündoğan, who immediately launched it long toward Werner, more in hope than expectation.

Varane rose calmly and headed it clear, the ball dropping to Kanté, who shielded it from Rakim’s late press before rolling it back to Lloris. The Tottenham keeper did not hesitate and launched it long up the field, and that was all the prompting the referee needed.

(FWEEET! FWEEET! FWEEEEEEEET!)

"And that is full time at the Allianz Arena," Mowbray declared, the weight of the result settling over the broadcast. "France four, Germany two. The world champions open their Euro 2020 campaign with a statement victory over the host nation, and Group F just got a whole lot more complicated."

"A brutal scoreline that doesn’t quite reflect the contest," Jenas added. "Germany was right in this match. Müller’s equaliser, Sané’s strike, and Rakim’s introduction gave them late life. But moments of quality from France, Benzema, Griezmann, Pogba’s hammer, and an unlucky Hummels late blow, separated the two sides. That is the difference between very good and world champions."

~~~

[15-06-2021 | HomeGround, Nurenberg | 23:40 CET]

"Alright, lads, let’s turn in for the night and meet bright and early in the morning." Lead trainer Mattias Engel announced as they entered the HQ lobby. "If you are feeling any pain or strain, come see one of our staff or me."

The players more or less nodded or grunted in response, taking that as their excuse signal as they headed for their accommodations. NO one seemed to be in the mood to talk to anyone, needing their own time to process the match. That especially went for Hummels, who was already in a bad mood following the brief interview he had with a few reporters at the stadium.

Despite the more than two and a half hour bus ride, his mood hadn’t improved in the slightest. But he wasn’t the only one feeling that way, as all the players who had played or hadn’t gotten their chances had their own struggles. Rakim followed Gnabry to their room as doors clicked shut one after another, the soft hum of the air conditioning glaringly loud.

The moment he entered the room, he dropped his backpack next to his bed and went to get cleaned up in the bathroom. "I’m going to see the trainers," Gnabry announced, more than notifying as he left the room. Sighing, he quickly finished his night routine and went back into the room, foregoing his yoga routine as he had barely played 10 minutes. He reached for his phone and was greeted by Forty-seven notifications from his messages.

Dad: Played well. Should’ve buried that one past Lloris, but you’ll get the next one. Proud of you.

Mom: Mein liebling, ignore whatever the press says tomorrow. You came on and changed the game. I love you.

Emma: BROOOO THE SOMBRERO?? Hernández is still spinning lmaooo 😭😭

He smiled despite himself, thumbs moving across the screen, eagerly answering everyone. He was just about to respond to May’s texts when his phone flashed and the girl FaceTimed him.

"Hello Tiger," She said, voice grorgy as she sat up against the headboard, hair neatly tucked in a green silk bonnet. "You played well,"

"Did you watch the same game?" He asked back in disbelief but quickly calmed down upon noticing her tiered expression. "Thanks, we’ll get the W next time,"

"I know you will,"

He chuckled softly, leaning back against the headboard as his shoulders slowly began to unknot. May’s face filled the small screen, her face dressed in one of his hoodies, and behind her, he could make out the faint glow of a bedside lamp and the corner of a hotel headboard he didn’t recognise.

"Where are you?" he asked, frowning slightly as he sat up.

"Hotel in Manhattan," May said with a small yawn. "Remember, I’m here for the Khaite photo shoot I booked."

"Already I thought it was next week?" Rakim frowned. "Sorry, it must have slipped my mind."

"No, it was next week, they moved it up." She shrugged, reaching off-camera, then returned with a glass of water. "Honestly, I was surprised too, but it’s a chance I don’t want to miss."

"That’s good, I’m sure you’ll do great." He tierdly responded, holding back a yawn. "Remember, don’t take sweets from strangers, leave your drink unattended, or sign anything without having a lawyer or Uncle William look it over."

"Yeah, alright, I’m not a kid," She retorted with an exasperated expression. "Don’t give me that look. I’ve become much more responsible."

"Tell that to your wallet," he coldly retorted. "How many Birkin and pumps does a girl need?"

"Clearly you’re tired, so good night."

"Hahah, good night, love you,"

"Sure, love you too,"

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TO BE CONTINUED...