The on-field argument didn’t escalate.
De Bruyne held back his anger and chose to ignore Bendtner.
Meanwhile, Dieter Hecking was agonizing on the sideline—he had no substitutions left.
That’s right, if he could, he would have subbed Bendtner off.
The reason was simple.
Right now, Wolfsburg had only one true core: De Bruyne.
No one had higher priority than him.
If Bendtner couldn’t cooperate with De Bruyne, Hecking wouldn’t hesitate to pull him.
On the pitch, Qin Ming looked up at the clock.
Four minutes of regular time remained.
He wanted to make the most of his debut.
Who knew how long it would be until the next chance?
And honestly, after seeing his teammates score, he was itching for that feeling—to hear the crowd cheering for him.
“Kevin!”
Qin Ming increased his off-the-ball movement and actively called for the ball.
De Bruyne obliged.
After all, Qin Ming had already proven his ability to carry the ball and attack.
They also had good chemistry from training.
“Push up!”
Hasebe, seeing Qin Ming with the ball, signaled for Nelson to press.
After over 80 minutes, Hasebe was running on fumes—especially after so many battles with De Bruyne.
De Bruyne’s athleticism had even earned praise from Mourinho despite their differences in football philosophy.
As Nelson closed in aggressively,
Qin Ming didn’t try to take him on alone—instead, he played a simple one-two with Rodríguez.
Hasebe, clever as always, anticipated Rodríguez’s overlapping run and shifted sideways to intercept.
But Qin Ming didn’t flinch.
He stepped forward, using his body to shield the ball from Hasebe.
Thud!
The dull sound of muscle-on-muscle echoed as both players staggered.
In the end, Qin Ming had the upper hand.
There was no way the Ronaldinho template would lose in physical duels.
Besides, he was taller and heavier than Hasebe.
And as a substitute, he had fresher legs.
With all those factors combined, Hasebe stumbled and fell awkwardly.
“Don’t be fooled by Qin Ming’s slender frame—he’s strong on the ball!”
“He shrugs off Hasebe and continues dribbling!”
“Ignjovski is closing in fast!”
“What will he do?”
It was clear: Hasebe had been marking De Bruyne.
But now that he was caught up with Qin Ming, space opened in the half-space.
De Bruyne spotted it instantly and broke forward.
“Qin!”
His accent was off, but the intent was clear.
Qin Ming wasted no time—he laid the ball off into De Bruyne’s path.
Meanwhile—
Wolfsburg’s lightning-fast counterattack was firing on all cylinders.
Bendtner was charging into the box, Vieirinha was pulling wide, and Rodríguez overlapped on the flank.
Thirty meters from goal.
The camera followed De Bruyne as he adjusted his stride and locked onto a target.
He leaned slightly and struck with his right foot!
Russ tried to block, but only heard a sharp snap as the ball whizzed past his toes!
Smack!
A stunning arc cut across the green turf like a rainbow, curving around Frankfurt’s scrambled defense.
“De Bruyne!”
“He just carved out a perfect curve ball with his right foot!”
“Rodríguez!”
“The linesman says no offside—Rodríguez is clear!
What will he do now?”
Inside Volkswagen Arena, Rodríguez looked up and saw Bendtner.
The King of Confidence waved his arms and shouted, “I’m open!
Pass it!”
Whether Rodríguez heard him or not was unclear—but he suddenly stopped at the edge of the box, adjusted his body, and swung his right foot.
Most expected a cross to Bendtner.
So did Frankfurt’s defenders.
Center-back Zambrano turned his body to block.
Goalkeeper Trapp shuffled toward the near post in anticipation.
But then their pupils shrank in disbelief—
Rodríguez didn’t pass to Bendtner.
He passed to the edge of the box—top left.
From the corner of the screen, a flash of green and white blurred into frame and took center stage.
With 30,000 fans watching intently, Wolfsburg’s number 13 stepped into the ball and struck cleanly—placing it toward the far corner.
BOOM!
The shot flew precisely opposite of Trapp’s position.
Even the best keeper couldn’t reach it.
3–1!!!
“Beautiful!
BEAUTIFUL!”
“It’s in!”
“89th minute of the second half—our Chinese player Qin Ming scores to seal the match!”
“That’s his first ever Bundesliga goal!”
“Absolutely brilliant!
What a perfect debut for him today!”
“One goal, one assist!”
Liu Jiayuan could barely contain himself, voice trembling with joy.
Chinese fans across the country jumped to their feet—or screamed loud enough to startle the neighbors.
They were ecstatic.
At Volkswagen Arena, the cheers rose like crashing waves—one after another.
Qin Ming stood by the corner flag, looking up at the sea of fans, beaming.
The feeling of scoring… was on a whole other level from assisting.
The thrill—it was something else entirely.
At that moment, one thought burned in his mind:
Score more goals.
Make the crowd louder.
“Qin!
I knew you could do it!
Thank god I passed it to you!”
Rodríguez didn’t care one bit about Bendtner’s darkened expression.
The Danish Confidence King was never particularly likable.
And comparisons are brutal.
Bendtner’s arrogance vs.
Qin Ming’s humility—the squad had clearly picked a favorite.
“Thanks!”
Qin Ming hugged and high-fived Rodríguez.
“Thanks for what?
We’re brothers!” the Swiss fullback laughed.
Not far away, Bendtner looked completely out of place, quietly watching his teammates celebrate.
“We’ve lost…”
On the other side, Ignjovski shook his head, disappointment written all over his face.
At 2–1, they had hope.
At 3–1, it was over.
With five minutes left, including stoppage time—
What were the chances they’d pull off a Camp Nou miracle like Manchester United?
Not likely.
Because miracles are called miracles… for a reason.
Makoto Hasebe looked at Qin Ming with a long, deep stare, as if to etch him into memory.
He had a strong feeling that, from this day forward, Asian football had gained a top player.
And from a national team perspective, China just got a lot harder to face.
When the last seconds ticked away—
BEEP—BEEP—BEEP!
The final whistle blew.
The score remained unchanged.
(END CHAPTER)