The ball plummeted from the gray November sky, and David Qin cushioned it with a feather-light touch of his right boot. His eyes were cold, scanning the unfolding chaos with predatory focus. This was the hallmark of his "Flow State"—a heightened sensory awareness where every moving piece on the board felt sluggish.
Tony Jantschke was lunging; Roel Brouwers hadn't lost his positioning yet.
In a heartbeat, David committed. He feinted a burst toward the touchline, a move so convincing Jantschke bit hard, only to drag the ball back with his instep.
Snap! Kevin De Bruyne was right where he promised he'd be. The Belgian held the ball for a microscopic beat, waiting for the precise moment Brouwers committed to a challenge before sliding a deceptively languid through-ball into the box.
The pass looked slow, but it caught Alvaro Dominguez completely off guard as Ivica Olić ignited his engines, ghosting past the defender's shoulder.
"Olić with a superb run into the channel!" Wolff-Christoph Fuss shouted into his headset. "Yann Sommer is coming out to meet him! He's closing the angle!"
"The snap-shot! Yes! It's under the keeper's ribs and into the back of the net!"
"Breakthrough! In the 57th minute, Wolfsburg take the lead at Borussia-Park!"
Olić wheeled away, fingers pointed toward the heavens in a silent prayer of thanks. David didn't join the initial pile-on. Instead, he lingered, his gaze fixed on Sommer as the keeper picked himself up. David was fascinated by the Swiss international. He'd recently seen a British media ranking of the world's best keepers: Neuer first, De Gea second, Courtois third. Sommer and Benaglio hadn't even cracked the top ten.
How is Joe Hart fourth? Is it just because he's English? David grumbled internally. He actually looked forward to facing Hart one day; he'd already "met" Karius, one of the future's most infamous keepers. He'd missed Ter Stegen, who had just moved to Barcelona in the summer, but he knew their paths would cross eventually.
"David! What are you doing over here? Come celebrate!" Ivan Perišić slapped David's shoulder with a boisterous laugh. "That rainbow flick over Herrmann... my god, kid, you nearly gave me a heart attack."
When Perišić had been sidelined with an injury earlier in the season, he hadn't missed a single Wolfsburg match. Watching the team struggle against Bayern due to a lack of width, he'd felt a selfish sense of relief—it proved the Wolves needed him. But as he watched David play one game, then two, then three... he realized he was looking at a formidable rival. Now that they were teammates on the pitch, Perišić had stopped looking at David's age and started seeing a peer.
"Want me to teach you, Ivan?" David teased, adopting a look of mock wisdom. "I can show you the ropes."
"Your professional career isn't even as long as my last vacation," Perišić retorted, though his eyes betrayed his interest. Every player wants to be a magician, to hold the defenders in the palm of their hand. But talent like that isn't taught; it's born.
Once the celebrations subsided, Gladbach restarted with a vengeance. Under Lucien Favre, the Foals had transitioned from relegation fodder to Champions League contenders, and they possessed a psychological resilience that was hard to break.
"Xhaka is demanding the ball more now. You can see the hunger in his movements!"
"Christoph Kramer is pushing higher as well—they're looking to go toe-to-toe with the Wolfsburg midfield!"
"Ooh! De Bruyne isn't having any of it. He's bypassing the technical battle and using pure physicality to shut Xhaka down!"
Having been told by Mourinho back at Chelsea that he wasn't strong enough, De Bruyne had spent months on a grueling conditioning program. In just one season, he had transformed. A technician like Xhaka hated physical confrontations; he needed "clean" air to orchestrate. When his rhythm was disrupted by De Bruyne's shoulder, the Gladbach attack sputtered.
Kramer couldn't carry the burden alone. The play was forced wide to André Hahn. David Qin immediately sprinted back to cover.
Thud! The sound of colliding muscle echoed. David staggered, nearly losing his footing.
Damn it! Does everyone use hulking tanks as wing-mids in this league? David recovered and continued the pursuit.
Hahn, standing 185cm and weighing 82kg, shrugged off Ricardo Rodríguez and whipped a dangerous cross from the 45-degree angle. The ball screamed toward the penalty spot. Robin Knoche misjudged the flight, the ball skimming off the top of his head. Naldo, his heart in his throat, managed to scramble and clear it for a corner just before Max Kruse could pounce.
"Robin! Wake up!" Benaglio barked.
"My inner thigh is killing me, Diego. I can't focus," Knoche admitted. He was clearly carrying an injury.
Hecking acted immediately, making a defensive change. Timm Klose came on for Knoche. Klose, despite being a bench option since his 6-million-euro move, was a dominant aerial presence. His market value had nearly doubled in a year, and he brought a fresh intensity to the backline.
"The substitution has stabilized things for the Wolves!" Derek Rae observed. "Gladbach's crossing strategy is being neutralized by Klose and Naldo. Kruse and Raffael just aren't the type of strikers to win those aerial duels."
"They have to keep it on the deck! Xhaka finds Raffael!"
The Brazilian was a typical "small, fast, and nimble" attacker—physically similar to Messi, though his technical ceiling was several floors lower. He attempted a series of step-overs to bypass Klose, but his final touch was heavy. By the time he pulled the trigger, he couldn't get any power behind it.
Benaglio gathered it easily and immediately looked long toward the left flank. The "Long Ball to Qin" strategy once more!
The Gladbach faithful held their breath, their eyes glued to David. David wanted another highlight-reel moment, but Jantschke had learned his lesson. He didn't lung; he stayed goal-side, cautious.
David tested him—a feint, a drag-back, a shimmy. Every movement was a trap. Jantschke resisted the urge to dive in, but a sudden realization hit him: Is he just waiting for his teammates to overlap?
As David's right foot prodded the ball again, Jantschke's instinct took over. He committed to the interception.
Snap!
David wasn't waiting for support. He was waiting for Jantschke's center of gravity to shift. In a blur, the "push" became a "flick." Using the sliver of space Jantschke had surrendered, David exploded past him like a gale of wind.
"Magnificent! His right foot is magic! He sells the defender a dream and delivers a nightmare!"
"The flank is wide open! Can Wolfsburg capitalize?"
"Oh! Roel Brouwers is decisive—he simply grabs a fistful of David's jersey!"
David was hauled down, tumbling across the turf. He didn't get up angry, though. He laughed, reaching out a hand to help Brouwers up. As long as it wasn't a malicious "career-ender," David respected the tactical foul. It was part of the game.
"I was afraid I couldn't stop you otherwise," Brouwers admitted, pulling David up with a helpless shrug.
"You aren't the only one who thinks that," David quipped, raising an eyebrow.
Brouwers blinked. Wait, aren't Chinese players supposed to be humble? But as he looked at the grinning teenager, he couldn't help but feel a grudging spark of respect. This kid was the real deal.
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