“De Bruyne takes a surprise shot!”
“Too bad… Süle reacts quickly and blocks it with his body!”
“Polanski recovers the second ball and launches it downfield!”
The ball spun as it dropped toward Firmino.
The Brazilian gritted his teeth and shielded Malanda, flicking a header to the teammate beside him.
But Gustavo read it well.
The moment Modeste tried to control the ball, he pressed, forcing an error and sending it out of bounds.
Moments later, the halftime whistle blew.
Qin Ming glanced back at the goal in regret—he had hoped to score in back-to-back matches, but the Bundesliga proved tougher than expected.
And let’s not forget, their last opponent, Frankfurt, wasn’t as strong overall as Hoffenheim.
Back in the locker room, Dieter Hecking clapped and smiled, “Good first half, no major issues.
Let’s continue to defend solidly in the second half and look for breakthroughs or key passes up front.”
In his fifties, Hecking preferred stability, but he also didn’t suppress his players’ natural instincts in the name of tactics.
Take De Bruyne and Qin Ming, for example.
Asking them to focus solely on defense would be a waste of talent.
Their energy was best used in attack.
This was one of the key differences between Hecking and someone like Mourinho.
“Qin, if you get the chance, try to control the ball more,” Hecking advised sincerely.
“Not to over-dribble, but to use your footwork to draw more defenders.”
As the saying goes, matches are the fastest way to improve.
No matter how hard you train, it means nothing if you can’t perform in a real game.
Hecking knew Qin Ming trained hard and wanted him to turn sweat into visible results.
Of course, all of this was only possible because Qin Ming had the talent to justify it.
“Got it, coach,” Qin Ming responded readily.
He had been worried about being seen as a ball hog and had held back on using his flashy footwork.
“Oh, right.” Hecking looked over to Gustavo.
“In the second half, shift more toward the left.
Keep an eye on the space behind Qin.”
If he was going to give Qin freedom, he needed to provide a bodyguard.
Otherwise, a turnover could lead to a dangerous chain reaction.
Choosing Gustavo made sense too.
The Brazilian was past his prime and didn’t mind taking on a supporting role—unlike the ambitious young Rodríguez.
Soon, halftime ended, and the teams returned to the field.
BEEP!!!
The second half kicked off on time.
Hoffenheim came out with a completely different approach—more aggressive, building attacks through Firmino and using a numerical advantage in midfield to reach the final third.
Once they stabilized the tempo and rhythm, they pushed their left-back deep and focused their attack on Sebastian’s side—successfully breaking through the flank.
“Szalai charges into the box—Naldo steps up!”
“Nicely done!”
“Cutback!
Looking for Firmino!”
Amid the cheers of Hoffenheim fans, Firmino took the ball, sidestepped Malanda, and evaded the pressure.
Then, just as Gustavo lunged in, he slipped a quick diagonal pass.
Firmino knew his Brazilian compatriot well.
Back in the day at Hoffenheim, it had been Gustavo who helped him integrate into the team.
Whap!
The ball skidded low across the turf toward the right side of the six-yard box.
Hoffenheim fans roared in anticipation.
Modeste was already there—he shrugged off Knoche and fired toward the near post!
Benaglio dove as fast as he could, but he couldn’t stop the goal.
ROAR!!!
Rhein-Neckar-Arena erupted.
A sea of deep blue flags waved across the stands.
“Hoffenheim equalizes just minutes into the second half!”
“Hate to say it, but this goal is on the right-back!”
“Sebastian, signed from Frankfurt for €2.4 million, clearly isn’t cut out to be a Bundesliga full-back!”
“He’s been shaky in preseason and the first three league games!”
“I’d say Wolfsburg’s biggest regret this summer is not signing a quality right-back!”
Many people shared the commentator’s opinion—including Dieter Hecking himself.
Last season’s first-choice full-back, Träsch, had been a classic defensive all-rounder.
He’d even backed up Ballack in the national team—that said enough about his ability.
But in May, during national team training, he suffered a serious ankle injury, sidelining him for at least three months.
And just as he was nearing recovery, he pulled his shoulder in preseason.
“We have to buy a full-back in the winter window!”
Hecking’s brow furrowed.
This season, he was aiming higher than just Champions League qualification.
So Wolfsburg couldn’t afford to have glaring weaknesses.
On the field, Hoffenheim players finished celebrating and strolled back to their half, chatting and laughing.
Wolfsburg players were already in position—and judging by their expressions, not overly discouraged.
They were professionals.
Having played countless matches since childhood, winning or losing was nothing new.
One goal wouldn’t kill their spirit.
Still, Benaglio worried about Qin Ming.
It was only his second Bundesliga game.
“Qin, don’t drop back without instruction just because we conceded.
Stick to the coach’s plan.”
“Don’t worry,” Qin nodded.
With Gustavo covering behind him, he trusted the Brazilian.
The referee blew the whistle again.
Hoffenheim, having found success, began relentlessly targeting Sebastian.
They were determined to break through that flank.
Wolfsburg had no choice—they pulled Caligiuri back to form a three-man defensive unit, adding Naldo’s support to finally stabilize the right side.
Time ticked on.
66th minute.
Salihović played a one-two with Firmino and immediately played the ball wide to Andreas.
Andreas took a heavy first touch to burst past Sebastian, looked up, and crossed decisively.
Whap!
The ball soared toward Modeste, and Hoffenheim fans rose in anticipation.
Just as they prepared to cheer—
A pair of white gloves flew into frame, punching the ball clear.
“Brilliant!
Benaglio!
Captain of Wolfsburg and hero in a clutch moment!”
“Gustavo recovers the second ball, barges Firmino aside, and lobs it toward the left midfield!”
“Was that a mistake?
Looks like he overhit it!”
(END CHAPTER)