The sun dipped behind the rooftops of Seville, painting the evening sky in hues of gold and amber. The city was electric with anticipation. On every street corner, in every bar, in every breath of air, one question floated like smoke: "Will Lucas deliver again?"
Sevilla FC was skating on the thin ice of relegation. With only a handful of games left in the season, every match was a make-or-break moment. And tonight, they faced Espanyol — a team equally desperate, equally wounded, and equally dangerous.
But while the players laced their boots and coaches ran final drills, another match had already begun — not on the pitch, but in a dimly lit bar called La Esquina Roja, just a few blocks from the stadium. Fans huddled around their drinks, eyes flicking between the television screen and each other's flushed faces. The bar was split, not by color, but by belief.
"I don't trust him," one middle-aged man muttered, his voice rising above the murmur. He wore an old Sevilla jersey stretched tight over his belly, his eyes sharp with frustration. "Lucas is flashy, sure, but he's not a fighter. He disappears when it matters most."
Across the table, a younger fan leaned forward, eager to defend his idol. "That's not true! Did you see him against Real Sociedad? He changed the game. You're too quick to forget."
"Changing one game doesn't make you a hero."
"Maybe not," the younger fan shot back, "but it makes you someone we can believe in. He's not perfect, but no one on this team is. At least he's trying."
The argument intensified as others chimed in, some agreeing with the older man, others rallying behind Lucas.
"The kid's got potential," a fan at the bar said, taking a sip of his beer. "But potential's not enough. We need results now. We need consistency."
"I get it," another voice cut in, a woman standing near the jukebox, "but the pressure on him is insane. I'm telling you, if you put anyone in that position, it's hard to shine every single game. But he's been stepping up. Against Valencia, against Atlético, and don't forget his assists for Neymar in the Brazil game."
The bartender, a middle-aged man with graying hair and a permanent frown, set down his cloth and leaned over the counter. "He's got heart. Reminds me of Dani Alves back in the day. Just wait. The kid's going to show us something tonight."
Still, the voices continued to rise, with every fan either defending Lucas or doubting his ability to pull through. The heat of the debate swirled in the air, mixed with the sweet and bitter smells of tapas and spilled beer.
Across town, inside the Ramón Sánchez Pizjuán Stadium, the tension was palpable. Fans filtered into the stands, the stadium buzzing with nervous energy. But within the stands, as the teams took to the field for the warm-up, the crowd was split just as much as the bar had been.
On the left side, a group of die-hard supporters held a massive banner reading, "For Sevilla. For Lucas. For Victory!" They wore matching scarves, waving their arms in unison, trying to spark hope in the hearts of the fans around them. But on the right side, just a few rows behind, a smaller group stood with arms crossed, whispering among themselves.
"I'm telling you, Lucas is overrated. This isn't the Brazilian league. You can't be flashy and survive in La Liga. You need grit, not show."
"Maybe grit's what we need, but we need goals more," came the sharp reply. "Look, Lucas might not be the finished article yet, but at least he's trying. You've got guys like Rakitic, who don't do a damn thing until it's too late."
As the teams lined up for the match, the noise swelled to deafening levels. The chants began — "¡Sevilla! ¡Sevilla!" — but there was a difference tonight. The usual rhythm of the crowd was interrupted by pockets of doubts.
"Lucas, Lucas!" came the cry from one corner of the stadium, followed by some unsure murmurs from the section next to it. "He can do it!" another fan yelled, raising their hands in hope.
But other pockets of the stadium had begun to jeer, their skepticism louder than ever before.
"Give him another year," one fan shouted. "He's not ready. He's not cut out for this level!"
The match started, but it wasn't just the players on the pitch who were engaged in a battle. The fans, too, were locked in their own silent war.
Sevilla FC was desperate for points. Espanyol, equally hungry, pushed forward with determination. Tackles flew, tempers flared. Lucas, operating in the central attacking role, found himself tightly marked from the start, a constant target of the Espanyol defense. He was elusive, but not yet explosive.
In the 15th minute, the breakthrough came — not from a dazzling dribble, but from an intelligent play. Lucas picked up the ball near the halfway line. He turned sharply, slipping past his marker, and drove forward. The stadium held its breath.
The play unfolded in slow motion. Lucas glanced up just as the defense opened slightly. He saw En-Nesyri making a darting run toward the box. Lucas floated a perfect ball over the top. It was inches perfect.
En-Nesyri met it with his head, the ball sailing into the back of the net.
Goal.
The stadium erupted in a cacophony of cheers. Fans screamed, hugged, and jumped. The Lucas defenders fell silent for a moment, exchanging glances of reluctant admiration.
But football, cruel as it is, doesn't allow joy to last. Espanyol pushed right back into the game. In the 61st minute, a quick one-two exchange around the box saw the ball slip past the Sevilla defense. A low shot at the near post beat the keeper.
1–1.
The groans echoed through the stadium like a collective exhale of frustration. Fans held their heads in their hands, but Lucas didn't flinch. He picked himself up, wiping the dirt from his jersey, and ran back to the center circle, shouting words of encouragement to his teammates.
"Let's go again," he yelled. "We've got this."
Yet, the clock ticked. The game was tight, and with every passing minute, the pressure grew heavier. In the 80th minute, Sevilla's attacking opportunities seemed to fade. Espanyol defended deeper, their goalkeeper pulling off some stunning saves. Sevilla's attack was stuttering, and some of the fans began to murmur in anxiety.
"I told you," the older man from La Esquina Roja said, gripping his beer, "He's good, but not the one. We need someone who knows how to win in these moments."
Another fan beside him shook his head. "You can't just judge one guy. We've seen enough of this team to know it's a collective effort. But Lucas? He's the spark we need. Just wait."
The final minutes of the match arrived, and with them, the defining moment. Sevilla earned a corner in the 87th minute. The ball was cleared, high and far, just as the stadium watched with bated breath.
Lucas stood alone at the halfway line. As the ball dropped, his eyes locked onto it. No one else saw what he saw.
He controlled it, then turned. His first touch was a thing of elegance, a delicate maneuver that instantly sent him into a sprint. The defenders closed in. One defender lunged — Lucas cut inside. Another slid in — Lucas skipped over him. The pitch opened before him like the Red Sea parting.
The crowd rose. The noise built into a tidal wave.
At the edge of the box, Lucas took a quick look at the keeper, who was inching off his line. Lucas shifted his weight, faked a shot, and with the outside of his right foot, curled the ball.
It flew with purpose, kissed the underside of the bar, and dropped into the net.
GOAL.
2–1.
The stadium erupted. Fans leapt to their feet. The roar was deafening, a wild, jubilant release of pent-up emotion. Lucas fell to his knees, arms stretched wide, his teammates piling on top of him in celebration.
At La Esquina Roja, chaos erupted once more.
"Did you see that?! My God!" one fan screamed, his face bright with disbelief.
"Lucas! Lucas!" another shouted, already jumping up, pointing at the screen. "That's the moment we've been waiting for!"
The doubters, however, were silent. The older man who had criticized Lucas earlier now stood frozen, eyes wide.
He turned to the younger man beside him, the one who had defended Lucas all night. "I was wrong."
The younger man just smiled. "It's okay. You're not the only one."
Across social media, the goal exploded. Tweets poured in.
"Lucas, the savior of the night."
"That goal wasn't just a goal. That was history."
"Lucas showed us why we never gave up on him."
After the match, as Lucas was named Player of the Match, he gave his typical calm response during the post-match interview: "To everyone who believed, thank you. And to those who didn't, just keep watching."
He winked at the camera.
Back in Seville, in the bars, the streets, and the homes, his words echoed.
And for the first time in weeks, the city had one unified chant:
Lucas.