"Tottenham might be the most dangerous opponent we've faced this season, Bayern aside," Dieter Hecking declared, his voice echoing through the VfL Training Center.
Two days before the clash, the tactical briefing was in full swing. Hecking had selected the recent North London Derby as his primary case study. "Wenger was too cautious. He thought his counter-attacking masterclass against Villa would work on Spurs, but he miscalculated. Tottenham possess a raw, athletic dynamism—Lamela, Demba Ba, Paulinho—that Villa simply cannot match."
Hecking pointed his laser pen at the projection screen. "Arsenal's midfield was suffocated. Ramsey couldn't breathe under the press, let alone distribute. Their attack died in the cradle. So, David," he said, shifting the spotlight, "how do we break the chokehold?"
A great coach doesn't treat players like puppets; he cultivates their tactical intelligence. Hecking knew David Qin lacked the years of his veteran peers, but he wanted to force the teenager to think his way through the game.
"High risk, high reward," David replied, leaning forward. "Their high press is a double-edged sword. If they win the ball, they're through on goal immediately. But if they miss... their defensive structure is compromised. If it's me out there? I'm going to take them on. I'm going to break the lines."
David had watched Mesut Özil get swarmed by Kyle Walker and Paulinho, his world-class technique neutralized by sheer numbers. Could he do better? Alone, probably not. But he had the ultimate insurance policy.
"Kevin is the difference," David added, glancing at the Belgian. "Unlike Coquelin or Ramsey in that match, Kevin can actually hold the ball under pressure. If he draws their fire, I'll only have to beat one or two men. I can't promise a 100% success rate, but I can promise I'll make them bleed for every inch."
"And you, Kevin?" Hecking asked.
"Arsenal's tempo was too predictable," De Bruyne mused. "Spurs just timed their jumps. I think we need to vary the rhythm—sometimes we need to slow the game down to a crawl just to frustrate them."
Hecking nodded, a rare look of paternal pride crossing his face. He knew De Bruyne was a world-class accelerator, but the Belgian often struggled to play as a "metronome." That's where David came in. When David protected the ball, he dictated the pulse of the match.
The hour-long meeting felt like a high school cram session. Once dismissed, David stretched his limbs and clapped De Bruyne on the shoulder. "Kevin, I'm cooking tonight. Team dinner at my place?"
"I'm in," Ivan Perišić interjected before De Bruyne could answer. "My son Leonardo has been pestering me to see you. I told him I'd teach him some drills, and the little brat actually told me my technique isn't as good as yours! Can you believe that?"
"Sounds like Leonardo has a bright future in truth-telling," David teased, sparking a roar of laughter from the squad.
"What's on the menu?" Bas Dost asked, rubbing his freshly shaved head for luck.
"I'll cater the basics from the restaurant, but I'll whip up some specialties myself. What are we craving?"
"Bratwurst!" "Sauerbraten!" "Schweinhaxe and pretzels!" "Can you make Mapo Tofu?" Dost asked. "I had it at a Chinese place once. It was incredible."
That evening, the villa was filled with the scent of spices and the sound of easy camaraderie. In the yard, David was showing young Leonardo how to juggle.
"David, my dad says he's better than you. Is he lying?" Leonardo asked with wide-eyed wonder.
"Well," David grinned, ruffling the boy's hair. "Your dad is a legend. You work hard, and in fifteen years, maybe you and I can be teammates."
"Yeah! I'll be better than Dad! We'll play on opposite wings and win the Champions League for ten years straight!"
"Ole! Ten years straight!" David hoisted the boy into the air, tossing him up as Leonardo shrieked with delight. Inside, Perišić rolled his eyes, muttering about how his son would be lucky to make it in the 2. Bundesliga, while secretly wondering if he needed a daughter to finally have a fan in the house.
London, England.
At the Tottenham training ground, Mauricio Pochettino was staring at a screen. The image was frozen on David Qin's face.
"He's a ghost in the machine," Pochettino told his squad. "He broke Owen's record, but his technique is what matters. When he has the ball, do not hesitate. I want him crowded. I want physical contact every time he breathes. If the ball enters his zone, you hunt him."
Pochettino, a disciple of Marcelo Bielsa, lived for the high press. "Kyle," he said, looking at Kyle Walker. "The Wolfsburg number 13 is your responsibility. Don't let him turn."
Walker, arguably the fastest fullback in the Premier League, nodded confidently. "I've got him, Boss. I've pocketed the best wingers in England. He's a kid. Aside from Lahm, does the Bundesliga even have fullbacks who can run? I'll make him forget how to do those fancy tricks."
"Don't be arrogant," Pochettino warned. "Wenger is obsessed with him for a reason. And keep an eye on De Bruyne. Cut their connection, and we win. We haven't had a major trophy since the 90s. This Europa League campaign is our chance to put something in that empty cabinet."
February 20th, Volkswagen Arena.
The air was electric. This was Wolfsburg's first European knockout tie in years, and the fans had turned the city green.
Inside the tunnel, the two teams lined up. David caught his first glimpse of Harry Kane. The Englishman looked young, far from the tragic "regent" figure he would later become in internet memes—the man who stared at the sky in beautiful, trophyless sorrow. Here, he was just a hungry striker.
Kyle Walker was staring at David, his eyes full of predatory intent. He was surprised to see David smiling. Is he not nervous? David glanced back, caught Walker's gaze, and mentally noted the aggression.
"Kevin, he's faster than me," David whispered to De Bruyne. "Watch your lead on the passes."
"Got it. I'll put them right on your laces."
As they walked out, the anthem of The Wolves erupted.
"Hell am Fußball - Firmament! Wolfsburg ist 'ne grüne Stadt!"
David hummed along, the melody grounding him. He looked up and spotted old Scott in the stands, wearing his signed, match-worn jersey from the Schalke game. David flashed a quick wave.
"See that?" Scott bragged to the fans around him. "Told you he's a regular at my place. The kid never forgets a friend."
Derek Rae's voice boomed over the feed: "Good evening from a chilly Lower Saxony! It's the first leg of the Europa League Round of 32. A clash of philosophies, a clash of cultures, and a clash of two of the brightest young stars in world football: Harry Kane and David Qin. The stage is set!"
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