Later that afternoon the squad boarded the bus again for a short acclimatization session.
UEFA had arranged for Eintracht Frankfurt to use the training facilities of SD Leioa, a small club just outside Bilbao whose stadium sat tucked between green hills.
The session itself was light.
Mostly stretching.
Short passing drills.
Some jogging.
Nothing intense.
Just enough to shake the travel stiffness out of their legs.
The coastal air was fresh and cool, carrying the faint smell of grass and sea.
Standing on the sideline watching his players move the ball around, Dino Toppmöller folded his arms and studied them carefully.
He had been worried.
But seeing them here—focused, laughing, relaxed—his concern slowly eased.
At one point Lukas received a pass, flicked it over Larson's foot with a smooth touch, and chipped it casually toward the mini goal.
Larson threw his arms up.
"Oh come on!"
A few teammates laughed.
Toppmöller shook his head quietly.
"Good."
"Very good."
