Gustavo realized there was a problem, but with Firmino interfering just enough, it was hard to avoid a mistake.
Yet Qin Ming didn’t stop—he accelerated toward the ball’s drop point.
In his view, Süle stood like a wall, blocking the only clear path forward.
Rudy was closing in fast from behind.
It looked like a no-win situation—until inspiration struck.
As the ball descended, Qin gently raised his right foot and hooked it backward.
Pop!
A crisp touch echoed as Süle involuntarily froze for a moment.
He had planned to intercept during Qin Ming’s first touch.
But it wasn’t too late… He stretched out his long legs to keep chasing.
Only to be stunned the next second.
Because right after hooking the ball back, Qin followed it with a second deft flick!
The ball arced upward like a rainbow.
Under the blinding floodlights, Rudy instinctively looked up, only to watch the ball sail over his head.
In the Rhein-Neckar-Arena, after a brief moment of stillness, a chorus of astonished gasps erupted.
Just two simple touches—but under this teenager’s feet, they became a work of art, brimming with agility and elegance.
And no one could ever seem to guess what he would do next.
“Beautiful!”
“This is what perfect ball feel looks like!”
“Qin Ming’s double-flick trap shows how incredible his sense for the ball is.
He always reads the drop point early, staying one step ahead!”
“Let’s see what he does next…”
But Liu Jiayuan’s last line was unnecessary.
Before he could finish, Qin Ming was already moving.
Kevin.
Qin called out in his heart as he met the descending ball and pushed it laterally with his right foot.
De Bruyne appeared at the end of the pass like a precision-engineered machine.
Trap.
Touch.
Drive.
With Qin Ming having pulled two defenders, the path ahead was relatively clear.
“Caligiuri joins the run—De Bruyne plays a one-two, then finds the dropping Olić!”
“Wolfsburg’s counterattack is fast!”
“Multiple options!
This could be big!”
In an instant, Hoffenheim’s defense collapsed.
A disorganized backline is no backline at all.
Olić held off Bičakčić, then set up a screen for De Bruyne.
Another devilish ground strike flew out!
This time, Lady Luck didn’t smile on Hoffenheim.
Even with Oliver stretching out completely, he couldn’t touch the ball.
BEEP!!!
The referee pointed to the center circle—goal confirmed.
The away stand exploded in cheers.
De Bruyne jogged a few steps, gave a casual flick of his right hand in the air—a minimalistic celebration.
“Amateur level… Amateur celebration…” Qin Ming groaned as he watched.
It reminded him of that famous line: “World-class goal, amateur celebration.”
Classic De Bruyne.
De Bruyne noticed his teammates’ looks and could guess what they were thinking.
But social anxiety isn’t something easily fixed.
Unless…
Qin grinned mischievously—if Courtois had been the keeper, De Bruyne might’ve gone full slide-kick celebration.
“Wolfsburg makes a change—Arnold comes on for Qin Ming, and Dost replaces Olić.”
Hearing the announcement and seeing the fourth official’s board, Qin Ming frowned in disappointment.
He still had energy left and thought he could finish the match.
But Hecking had other ideas—less than 20 minutes remained, and instead of going for more goals, he wanted to secure the backline.
Every point mattered in the early stages of the league.
He preferred to leave with three points, safely.
“Well done!
Don’t overthink it—it’s a tactical decision, not a critique of your performance.”
Hecking patted Qin’s shoulder warmly.
He understood that young players today were more sensitive.
Times had changed.
Not that one generation was better than another—but mindsets evolved.
“Coach, does this mean I can start in the Europa League?”
Qin Ming showed no humility, following up immediately.
“Haha!
Every young player wants to play in Europe.
I once did too—but never got the chance.”
Hecking laughed.
“But I think you’re luckier than I was.
I’ll put you in the squad.
Be ready for your European debut—just stay in form.”
When he saw Qin Ming now, he saw his younger self—just more talented.
“Thanks, Coach!”
Qin Ming grinned from ear to ear as he returned to the bench, humming a cheerful tune.
“Kid, it’s just the Europa League.
Don’t get too excited.”
Olić handed him a water bottle.
“Of course I’m excited.
I’ve never played in Europe before!”
Qin took a swig and then asked seriously, “Hey Ivica, what was it like in the 2009–10 Champions League?
Two goals in the quarterfinal, then a hat trick in the semis…”
He knew exactly who he was talking to.
Ivica Olić—nicknamed the ‘Tireless Legend.’ A UCL semifinal hat trick against Manchester United that helped Bayern reach the final after nine years.
They lost to Inter, led by Mourinho.
“Well, honestly, I was exhausted.
Didn’t feel anything special at the time,”
Olić replied, eyes lost in memory.
Then he added, “But yeah… being called a hero?
That felt great.”
Qin rolled his eyes.
No kidding.
Being a hero under the spotlight must feel amazing.
He wanted to feel that too—to be the one who saved the team when it mattered.
“Qin, I never got to win the Champions League.
So now, I want a Europa League title.”
There was a hint of sorrow in Olić’s tone.
In 2009–10, they lost to Inter.
In 2011–12, they lost again—this time to Chelsea.
Two finals in three years, no trophy.
And then, in 2012–13, he moved to Wolfsburg… and Bayern went on to win the Champions League.
Sometimes, Olić thought—what a cruel twist of fate.
“Ivica, don’t worry!
I once had a fortune read.
Everything in my life is lacking—except titles!”
Qin Ming clapped him on the shoulder like an old soul.
“I’ll bring you the good life.
First, we take the Europa League!”
“You little punk—what a load of nonsense!”
Olić laughed despite himself.
But the energy radiating off Qin Ming had deeply affected him, lifting his heavy heart.
Just as they were chatting—
BEEP–BEEP–BEEP!
The final whistle blew.
Wolfsburg, through solid defense, had preserved the lead to full time.
(END CHAPTER)