After Paris Saint-Germain was removed from the list, I led England to victory!

Four days later, Bologna's home stadium, the Dallara Stadium, appeared particularly solemn under the afternoon sun.

This century-old stadium isn't particularly grand, but its layers of red and blue seats surrounding the neatly trimmed turf exude a classic charm unique to Italian football.

Fans gradually gathered in the stands, holding up red and blue scarves in twos and threes. The air was filled with the sounds of Italian conversation and laughter, occasionally interspersed with a few jokes about the away team.

Today, a friendly match will be held here between Bologna and Hoffenheim.

Yan Yuan followed his teammates off the bus and stepped onto this unfamiliar land. This was his first time in Italy.

The August sun in Italy is much more intense than in Germany because of the Mediterranean climate. Although it is intense, the dry wind feels more comfortable on the skin than the humid summer in Hoffenheim.

He took a deep breath, a faint aroma of coffee wafting into his nostrils. Outside the stadium, a makeshift stall was brewing espresso, and several locals wearing Bologna jerseys stood nearby, sipping their small coffee cups while observing the Hoffenheim players.

"First time in Italy, huh?" Gnabry patted Yan Yuan on the shoulder and grinned. "Their fans are way crazier than those in the Bundesliga. Don't be scared later."

Yan Yuan nodded, his gaze sweeping over the graffiti on the stadium's outer wall. It depicted the legendary stars of Bologna's history, their portraits outlined in vibrant paint, their eyes seemingly watching over everyone who stepped into the stadium.

He suddenly felt a slight tightness in his chest, not from tension, but from a strange excitement.

The feeling of competing abroad is indeed different, especially stepping onto a football mecca like Italy. Even if it's just a friendly match, he feels quite excited.

After a day of rest, the competition is about to begin, and everyone has already gathered in the locker room.

Nagelsmann stood in front of the tactics board, a marker in his hand, and waited until everyone was seated before speaking:

"Listen up, guys, this is the last real test before the new season starts. Don't treat it like a regular warm-up game. This is a test of our preseason training results, and I want you all to take it seriously." His voice wasn't loud, but every word was clearly enunciated.

"Bologna's midfield likes to control the tempo, but their defense is slow to turn. We need to use high pressing to disrupt their rhythm, and once we win the ball, we should immediately switch to attack."

Yan Yuan sat in his seat, listening to the coach's tactical instructions while tightly wrapping his ankle with a bandage. He would still be a starter today.

He could feel the atmosphere in the locker room gradually becoming tense, and his teammates' breathing became much lighter.

Demirbay was whispering something to Rupp in the front row, while goalkeeper Kober quietly checked his gloves, his eyes focused as if he could already see the opponent's shooting trajectory.

"Yan," Nagelsmann suddenly called his name.

"Their left-back is not very fast, but he likes to press high. When you are matched up against him, you can make more use of cutting inside and switching positions with Gnabry."

Yan Yuan looked up, met the coach's gaze, and briefly replied, "Understood, Coach."

Amiri chuckled softly beside him: "Don't worry, kid, their right flank defense is even worse. I'll be there to support you anytime."

A few low laughs rang out in the locker room, and the tense atmosphere eased slightly.

Nagelsmann didn't stop them, but waited for the laughter to subside before continuing, "Remember, don't think of yourselves as tourists. Bologna will treat this match as their final training session before the start of Serie A, and their intensity won't be low."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone. "So, cherish every minute and play like it's a real match."

Yan Yuan could feel his heart beating faster.

He glanced at the other side of the locker room, where Gnabry was neatly stuffing shin guards into his socks.

Veteran Hübner leaned against the wardrobe with his eyes closed, as if rehearsing his defensive positioning in his mind.

Everyone was preparing in their own way, while the faint chants of the home fans coming from outside reminded them that this was not Hoffenheim, but someone else's territory.

The staff knocked on the door and reminded them in heavily accented Italian English that it was time to come out and warm up.

Yan Yuan stood up and followed his teammates toward the passage.

The corridor was dimly lit, and the framed photos on the walls depicted glorious moments in Bologna's history: celebrations, raised trophies, and the jubilation of fans in black and white photographs.

At the end of the passage, a bright ray of sunlight streamed in from the exit, accompanied by increasingly clear shouts from the fans.

Gnabry walked ahead, then suddenly turned back and winked at Yan Yuan: "Are you ready? The Italians have a very enthusiastic welcoming ceremony."

"Of course, I've been prepared for this for a long time." Yan Yuan smiled, bumped fists with Gnabry, and unconsciously quickened his pace.

He could feel his blood heating up, and his muscles seemed to be awakened, full of eager power.

The light at the end of the tunnel grew closer, and when he finally stepped onto the pitch, the overwhelming roar made him instantly understand Gnabry's meaning.

A deafening chorus of boos erupted from the stands, punctuated by cheers from Bologna's home fans.

"We are one!!!"

"Bologna makes the world tremble!!!"

"Crush the Bundesliga!!!"

The slogan sounds arrogant, but it is indeed one of their commonly used slogans.

Today, it wasn't just Bologna fans who were present; many Genoa fans, who had recently been defeated by Hoffenheim, also showed up, hoping to see Hoffenheim suffer a defeat as well.

Italian football may lack the allure of money, but it has never lacked the passion of its fans.

The whistle to start the first half pierced the air at Dallara Stadium.

War broke out.

As soon as Hoffenheim's players kicked off, they rushed towards Bologna's half like arrows, executing the high-pressure tactics that coach Nash had deployed before the match.

Yan Yuan moved quickly down the right flank, his eyes fixed on Bologna's key defensive midfielder, Nagy, the Hungarian player with a buzz cut who was trying to receive a short pass from the goalkeeper.

"Guys, press them, let them feel the pressure!" Nagelsmann, with his hands in his trouser pockets, suddenly leaned forward and roared from the sidelines.

His voice didn't stand out in the noisy stadium, but the Hoffenheim players on the field had already received the coach's signal.

Hoffenheim's Ochs and Rupp both rushed towards Nagi, while Yan Yuan was looking for an opening on the right flank, subtly cutting off his pass back to the full-back – a clever decision.

Huo Cun's teammates are used to Yan's positioning; this kid always makes them feel very at ease.

Najib had no choice but to clear the ball with a long kick, which flew crookedly toward midfield and was easily intercepted by Grillitsch.

Hoffenheim's first press created a threat.

"Beautiful, you executed it very well!!" Nagelsmann clapped on the sidelines while having his assistant coach take notes.

In the 25th minute of the match, the deadlock was finally broken.

Attacking midfielder Rupp dropped back to midfield to receive the ball, and Bologna's defensive midfielder instinctively followed suit.

In the brief moment of disarray in the opponent's defense, Rupp gently flicked the ball with his heel, sending it through the gap between the two center-backs and precisely finding the onrushing Amiri.

Amiri made a decisive move, not even stopping the ball, and unleashed a powerful shot from the edge of the penalty area.

"Bang!"

The ball blasted into the top right corner of the goal like a cannonball.

Hoffenheim takes the lead! 1-0!

Nagelsmann on the sidelines suddenly clenched his fist, but quickly regained his composure.

He strode to the sideline and shouted to the players who had finished celebrating: "Get used to this feeling. We'll basically maintain this momentum throughout the season."

Yan Yuan wiped the sweat from his forehead and noticed that the coach had glanced at him and made a "keep the width" gesture.

He nodded to the coach, knowing that he was to be ready to exploit the gaps left by Bologna's full-backs when they made runs forward.

A new opportunity arose in the 40th minute.

Grillitsch made a clean and decisive tackle in midfield, completely anticipating Bologna's passing lane.

Without hesitation, he made a through pass to Yan Yuan on the right wing; this kind of tacit understanding was already commonplace for him.

The moment the ball started rolling, Yan Yuan had already launched his attack.

His timing for his run was perfect; he neither revealed his intentions prematurely nor missed the offside line.

Bologna's left-back De Maio hurriedly chased back, but Yan Yuan's handling of the ball was textbook perfect.

"Is this the positioning awareness a 17-year-old should have? Is this player really 17 years old?" The Bologna coach was no longer calm.

With his first touch, Yan Yuan gently guided the ball with the outside of his right foot, and the ball obediently rolled towards the penalty area.

This maneuver not only neutralized the impact of the incoming ball but also allowed the ball to change direction smoothly.

De Maio couldn't stop and slid out of control. Although he slipped, he was actually knocked down by Yan Yuan.

To be honest, he felt a little embarrassed.

"Beautiful!" Nagelsmann couldn't help but shout from the sidelines.

Yan Yuan did not make a decision immediately. He looked up and observed the situation in the penalty area. Oakes was holding back two center-backs.

Just when everyone thought he would cross the ball, Yan Yuan suddenly used his left foot to cut the ball inward, shaking off another defender who was covering for him.

This seemingly simple action actually contains a hidden secret.

Yan Yuan maintained his balance throughout, adjusting his shooting posture as he dribbled the ball.

When the ball rolled to the right position, he extended his right foot with a precise arc.

The ball flew past the goalkeeper's fingertips, grazed the inside of the far post, and nestled into the net. 2-0!

"Perfect! Absolutely perfect! This is the best 17-year-old player I've ever seen! He's even smarter than in the last game!!" Nagelsmann jumped up on the sidelines, a rare occurrence for him, and turned to high-five the players on the bench.

He yelled onto the field, "Yan!!! Stay focused!!! You're playing great!!!"

Yan Yuan was surrounded by his teammates who swarmed over.

Gnabry rubbed his hair, and Demirbay laughed and patted his back. Everyone was happy for Xiao Yan's performance.

Through the gaps in the crowd, Yan Yuan saw Nagelsmann gesturing something to his assistant coach on the sidelines, his face full of admiration.

"This kid is like a sponge that keeps absorbing water; he learns so fast," Nagelsmann told his teaching assistant.

"His decision to cut inside and his composure when shooting showed his thought process. That's the kind of decision-making that only veteran players can make, but he's only 17 years old."

"Who says otherwise, Coach? I have a feeling this kid's future achievements will be extraordinary." The assistant coach agreed.

Back in the center circle, waiting for the kickoff, Yan Yuan felt his heartbeat finally calm down a bit.

He looked toward the stands, where a few Hoffenheim fans were waving flags.

One of them was holding up a handwritten sign that read in German: "Number 17, well done!"

Although the sign was written by a fan on the spot, Yan Yuan still felt good; at least someone had actually noticed him.

Yan Yuan took a deep breath and refocused his attention on the field.

Before the first half was even over, the Bologna players' expressions had changed, from initial relaxation to current anxiety.

Yan Yuan knew that this kind of emotion often brought more opportunities.

"Don't let your guard down!" Captain Vogt shouted from the backfield. "Hold on for another four minutes!"

Nagelsmann had returned to the coaching bench, but his eyes never left the field.

He would occasionally stand up and shout out a few instructions, but most of the time he was observing, especially Yan Yuan's positioning and decision-making.

When he saw Yan Yuan make a timely recovery to help Kaderzabek during a defensive play, he couldn't help but nod.

"His defensive attitude is also good. He has a good grasp of the balance between offensive and defensive timing." He muttered to himself, his fingers lightly tapping on his notebook, recording Yan Yuan's performance.

In the first half stoppage time, Bologna launched a fierce attack, but Hoffenheim's defense remained rock solid.

When the referee blew the whistle to end the first half, Nagelsmann was the first to walk toward the players' tunnel, a satisfied look on his face.

As the players walked off the field, he stood at the tunnel entrance and gave each of them a high-five.

When it was Yan Yuan's turn, Nagelsmann put his arm around Yan Yuan's shoulder and chatted with him as they walked: "That goal was handled very cleverly."

Before Yan Yuan could say anything, Nagelsmann patted him on the shoulder: "However, they will definitely keep a close eye on you in the second half. Be prepared. I'm more interested in seeing your performance in the second half. Okay, come back and rest for a while."

After speaking, he walked towards the locker room with Yan Yuan. His back was as straight as ever, but his steps seemed a little lighter than usual today.