“DFB-Pokal Round 1: Dominant Wolfsburg goes to penalties against a 2.
Bundesliga team, narrowly advances 5–4!”
“Chinese player Qin Ming makes debut with Wolfsburg in an epic win!”
“In five days, Bundesliga Round 1 begins—Wolfsburg vs.
Bayern Munich.
Don’t miss Qin Ming’s revenge match!”
“…”
Even though Qin Ming didn’t play a single second, the reports on Chinese sports forums were everywhere.
No surprise there—Volkswagen had bought traffic packages, and the media push was relentless.
But Chinese fans weren’t having it.
[Still no substance.
Tired of all the empty hype.]
[CCTV owns Bundesliga broadcasting rights.
Hopefully Qin Ming makes the squad list.]
[Barely managed a result against a 2.
Bundesliga team.
Think he’ll even play against Bayern?
Let’s not kid ourselves.]
[At this rate, Qin Ming’s going to be dragged back to China for some car promotion event.]
[A somewhat talented player, ruined by marketing hype.]
[…]
Fans who once held hope gave up after that match.
But in the midst of all the online chaos, Qin Ming kept training in silence.
He knew his training match performances had been steadily improving—his chance to play was just a matter of time.
You can’t forge iron without strong metal.
As long as he had the strength, the rumors and noise would burst like bubbles in the wind.
So with a clear mind, he didn’t spiral into mental exhaustion.
That evening—
Dieter Hecking rubbed his forehead as he watched Qin Ming’s figure on the training pitch, still unable to make a decision.
Age has a way of making people hesitant.
He knew Qin Ming had talent and was performing well in training.
But he wanted to wait a little longer.
The match against Bayern was too important.
If Wolfsburg could win, those three points would be crucial in the title race.
Yes—after finishing fifth last season, Hecking was now aiming for the salad bowl.
Which meant Bayern was their biggest rival this season.
No contest.
“…Better to wait,” he muttered, taking off his glasses.
Facing a team like Bayern, every substitution counted.
He couldn’t and didn’t want to gamble.
Stability always comes first with age.
Five days later, in Munich, at the Allianz Arena—
Bundesliga’s first round kicked off.
Much to the disappointment of Chinese fans, Qin Ming wasn’t even in the squad, let alone on the bench.
Fresh off the World Cup, Bayern—with several new signings—weren’t at their best.
But Wolfsburg didn’t look much better.
Still reeling from their narrow escape against a second-division team, the players seemed mentally shaken.
And Bayern’s squad was just too stacked on paper.
“Robben cuts in through the middle—he’s about to shoot!”
“No!
It’s a fake!
He passes—finds Müller!”
“No surprises there!
Müller taps it in from close range!”
“40th minute, Bayern takes the lead!”
CCTV commentator Liu Jiayuan called it live.
Though Qin Ming wasn’t playing today, Liu remained professional in his commentary.
Back in Wolfsburg, Qin Ming watched the goal on screen.
It wasn’t a pretty one—actually, it was kind of ugly.
But Müller was like Inzaghi—always appearing in ghost-like fashion at just the right spot, delivering simple but lethal finishes.
Beautiful football didn’t seem to apply to guys like them.
But as the saying goes: it doesn’t matter if the cat is black or white—as long as it catches mice, it’s a good cat.
In other words, a forward who scores is a good forward.
At the Allianz, the cheers from Bayern fans rolled like waves.
On the sideline, Guardiola stood with arms crossed, not particularly thrilled.
To him, a team with Robben, Müller, Lewandowski, and Götze should obviously score first.
For some reason, an image flashed in his mind—a boy juggling under the setting sun.
A simple move, yet brimming with brilliance.
Too bad they wouldn’t meet today.
But Guardiola had a feeling—they would meet in the future.
On the other side, Hecking looked worried.
He had placed De Bruyne on the left wing and used Aaron Hunt as the central attacking midfielder.
But the results were mediocre.
De Bruyne was a playmaker, not someone who could explode down the flank like Perišić.
Soon enough, his worst fears came true.
In first-half stoppage time, Robben executed the same move—faked the shot, delivered the pass.
But this time, the target wasn’t Müller.
It was Lewandowski on the left side of the six-yard box.
The Polish striker didn’t hesitate.
He struck hard from close range, easily beating Grün.
2–0!!!
The stadium erupted in red and white.
Lewandowski sprinted, slid to his knees, roaring in celebration.
Scoring in his Bundesliga debut for Bayern gave him the confidence to chase the top scorer title again—and maybe even aim for the Champions League golden boot.
In the Wolfsburg team lounge, Qin Ming watched the scene with envy.
He too wanted to celebrate in front of tens of thousands.
“Junior, do you think I’ll get to play next match?” he asked.
“Qin, you’ve gotta believe in yourself.
Honestly, I think you just need a shot,” Malanda said with a wink.
“I’ll talk to Kevin later—see if he’ll put in a good word for you.
You don’t know how much the coach loves him right now.”
“Haha, thanks in advance,” Qin Ming said with a laugh as he got up to leave.
“Qin, you’re not watching the rest?”
“I’m off to train.
Let me know how it ends.”
He figured with the current form of both sides, Bayern already had the win locked up.
There was no point watching the inevitable.
Better to use the time to train and level up.
This time, though, he didn’t do a lot of ball training.
Instead, he focused on strength, agility, and speed.
The club’s fitness and performance staff had crafted a personalized plan tailored to his physical traits and match needs.
“Ronaldinho really had some freakish athletic ability.”
Qin Ming could clearly feel how much his body had changed since crossing over.
His core strength, flexibility, and explosive power were on a whole new level.
And the truth is, almost every name you remember from football history had exceptional athletic traits.
Because at its core, football is a contact sport.
Every action—shots, passes, dribbles—happens under pressure.
If your body isn’t up to par, your movements will inevitably fall apart.
Smack!
Qin Ming whipped his right foot around, sending the ball on a whipping trajectory like a bull’s tail.
It was his favorite move.
A sudden burst of movement, with fast footwork making the ball shift directions twice in a flash.
If you’re quick enough, defenders just can’t keep up.
From the office building in the distance, Malanda watched Qin Ming’s nimble footwork and became even more convinced:
He needed to stick with this guy.
(END CHAPTER)