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

The locker room after the game still echoed with the laughter of teammates and the "pop" of champagne being opened.

Gnabry found a bottle of mineral water from somewhere and poured it all over Yan Yuan from behind when he wasn't looking, which caused a burst of laughter.

"Welcome to professional football, kid!" Vogt laughed and patted him on the back.

"Scoring four goals in your debut? You're going to steal our jobs!"

Yan Yuan wiped the water off his face, and couldn't help but smile.

He looked down at his phone; the screen was piled high with unread messages—from his Paris youth team teammates, childhood friends, and even a few buddies he'd met playing pickup football in England.

Just as he was about to reply to each message, Kramaric put his arm around his shoulder: "Yan, don't rush to look at your phone, you're the star tonight!"

As Kramaric spoke, he handed him a sports drink: "Let's toast to our rising star with a drink instead of alcohol!"

The celebration in the locker room lasted for nearly an hour until the strength and conditioning coach reminded everyone it was time to go back and rest.

The August night still carried the lingering warmth of summer, and a gentle breeze blew through my sweaty hair, bringing a touch of coolness.

He took a deep breath; the adrenaline rush from the court still lingered in his body, and his steps felt as light as if he were walking on clouds.

As soon as he opened the dormitory door, his phone rang, and the words "Dad" on the screen warmed his heart.

"Son!" came the father's loud voice from the other end of the phone, with the commentary from the TV replaying the game in the background.

"Four goals! Four goals! My son scored four goals in his German Cup debut!" Mr. Yan's voice trembled slightly with excitement.

"Did you see the replay of your world-class goal? The way the ball fell through the air was almost perfectly planned!"

Yan Yuan held his phone between his ear and shoulder, laughing as he changed into his slippers, "Dad, calm down, you're making my ears hurt from yelling."

"Calm down? How can I calm down!" Mr. Yan paced back and forth on the other end of the phone, the sound of his leather shoes hitting the floor clearly audible.

"Do you know how many people messaged me today? My German client, who loves football, called me directly and asked, 'Would your son consider joining Bayern Munich in the future?'"

Yan Yuan couldn't help but laugh out loud, placing his gym bag on the chair: "Well, Bayern Munich has to want me, hahahahaha..."

Dad Yan suddenly became serious.

"And also, the positioning for the first goal, the calm shot for the second, and that assist—these weren't just luck."

"Son, your dad has been in the foreign trade business for so many years, and I've never misjudged anyone."

His voice rose with pride again: "If you keep playing like this, becoming a star is only a matter of time. Your old man will be so proud to be your agent!"

Yan Yuan walked to the window and looked at the lights of the training ground in the distance.

His father's words warmed his heart, but at the same time he felt a sense of pressure.

"Dad, you can't score four goals every game. Today... you really did have an exceptional performance."

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by a hearty laugh: "Of course! Of course! I'm not that senile yet."

Father Yan's voice suddenly lowered: "But son, do you know what I'm most proud of? It's not those four goals, but the choices you make every time you get the ball. That backheel pass, and the change of rhythm when you break through—these aren't just guesses."

Yan Yuan felt his eyes getting hot.

"Hmm...Our coach specifically asked me to pay close attention to the center of gravity of the defenders before the game."

"That's right!" Yan's father's voice was suddenly interrupted by another familiar female voice, "Oh dear, your mother can't wait to grab the phone."

"Son?" Yan's mother's gentle voice came through the phone, and in the background, Yan's father could be heard muttering, "I haven't finished speaking yet."

"Are you tired? Mom saw that you couldn't run anymore at the end of the race."

Yan Yuan rubbed his slightly sore thighs: "It's okay, Mom, just a little cramp, but the team doctor said it's nothing."

"That's good." Aunt Yan's voice was filled with concern. "Is it still hot in Germany? Remember to drink plenty of water after training. Did you finish the chrysanthemum tea I sent you?"

"Not yet, I'll brew it tomorrow." Yan Yuan felt a pang of guilt as he thought of the unopened packet of tea in the cupboard.

"Don't just talk about tomorrow," Aunt Yan scolded. "You're a professional athlete now; you need to learn to take care of yourself. By the way, are you keeping up with your German lessons?"

Yan Yuan breathed a sigh of relief at the mention of German.

"German is not difficult. It has similarities to Chinese grammar. Apart from the vocabulary being hard to remember, it's quite easy to learn."

"As long as you can keep up with your studies," Aunt Yan's voice suddenly turned serious. "Playing soccer is a short-lived career, but knowledge is what truly belongs to you. I don't object to you playing soccer, but your academic studies absolutely cannot fall behind, understand?"

"Okay, Mom," Yan Yuan replied obediently, feeling particularly at ease being nagged.

Mother Yan's voice softened again: "Also, if training is too tiring, tell the coach. Don't push yourself. I saw you get bumped several times today..."

"Mom, that's normal competition," Yan Yuan carefully replied to his mother. "That's how it is in professional football."

The sound of parents arguing quietly came from the other end of the phone. Finally, Mr. Yan took the receiver back: "Son, your mother is just too nervous, and..."

His tone suddenly turned serious. "Did your coach reveal any information about the Champions League qualifiers?"

Yan Yuan sighed: "Dad, you know I can't say these things; they're team secrets."

"Yes, yes, professional ethics." Dad Yan quickly corrected himself, "I was just asking casually. Okay, I won't disturb your rest anymore, remember..."

Yan Yuan smiled and replied.

"I know, I remember to drink water, attend classes on time, and take care of my health. I remember everything. Dad, you and Mom should get some rest too, and stop staying up late watching replays."

After ending the call with his family, Yan Yuan was finally able to rest properly. He went into the bathroom, where the warm water washed away his fatigue and the bits of grass.

The mirror gradually became blurred by the moisture, but he could still see the smile on his lips.

After drying his hair, Yan Yuan took out the packet of chrysanthemum tea that his mother had sent from the cabinet and solemnly put it into a mug.

The moment the hot water was poured in, a faint fragrance wafted out. He picked up the cup, walked to his desk, and opened his school textbooks.

He always remembered what his parents said and always listened attentively.

……

The next morning, as soon as Yan Yuan stepped into the training base, he sensed an unusual atmosphere.

The German media reacted quickly.

Several unfamiliar media vehicles appeared in Hoffenheim's parking lot, and a few strangers wearing press passes were gathered around the training ground. When they saw him approaching, they immediately raised their cameras, ready to capture the daily life of this rising star.

Yan Yuan subconsciously lowered the brim of his hat and quickened his pace to slip in through the side door.

In the locker room, the teammates gathered in twos and threes, each holding the day's sports newspaper.

"Look at this! Yan!" Gnabry waved a copy of Kicker, the front page of which featured a large photo of Yan Yuan sliding on his knees after scoring a goal, with the headline "17-year-old genius shines in the German Cup! Hoffenheim's new star emerges."

Polanski whistled and shoved the Bild newspaper in front of Yan Yuan: "They call you 'Hoffenheim Rocket,' saying you're even more formidable than Gnabry was back in the day."

"Nonsense, he's way better than me," Gnabry said, feigning annoyance as he grabbed a towel and threw it at him. "I didn't even score four in my debut!"

A burst of laughter erupted in the locker room.

Yan Yuan took the newspaper, glanced at it, and his lips twitched slightly.

Those exaggerated headlines made his ears burn: "Nagelsmann's Secret Weapon," "The Strongest Debut in the German Cup," "The Next Hundred Million Yuan Man?"

He shoved the newspaper back at Polanski: "That's an exaggeration...the opponent is just a third-division team."

"Don't be modest, kid," Captain Vogt walked over and patted him on the back. "Even the Süddeutsche Zeitung has given you a special column."

He pointed to the thickest newspaper on the table. "They analyzed every one of your technical movements and said your positioning awareness is like that of a twenty-year-old Thomas Muller."

On the training field, Nagelsmann seemed to ignore the media frenzy.

He blew his whistle as usual, gathering the players together.

"Guys, yesterday's victory is in the past."

His gaze swept over everyone, lingering on Yan Yuan for less than half a second.

"I know everyone is happy, but I still hope everyone can focus on the upcoming Champions League qualifiers. Baumann, you need to practice your saves more today; Gnabry, your crosses still need some work..."

Nagelsmann mentioned all of Yan Yuan's teammates from the first team, but not Yan Yuan.

As expected, Yan Yuan did not get a chance to play in the next Champions League qualifier, not even as a substitute.

He stood silently at the edge of the team, listening to the coach assign training tasks.

He noticed that Nagelsmann never mentioned his performance in the German Cup, nor did he mention the overwhelming media coverage.

This relieved him, but also left him somewhat disappointed.

During the group scrimmage, Yan Yuan was assigned to the reserve lineup.

He made his runs and fought hard as usual, but after a few beautiful passes, the reporters on the sidelines started snapping photos like crazy.

During lunchtime, the cafeteria's television was broadcasting sports news.

Behind the host, a highlight reel of Hoffenheim's 6-0 victory was playing, with Yan Yuan's last-minute wonder goal being replayed repeatedly.

"Hoffenheim has become the most dazzling team in the first round of the German Cup..." the commentator's voice came from the loudspeaker.

"Nagelsmann's rotation strategy to preserve strength has been a great success, resulting in a resounding victory in the first round of the German Cup, and the performance of 17-year-old Yan Yuan is even more impressive..."

Upon hearing his name mentioned by the media, Yan Yuan lowered his head and frantically ate his salad, pretending not to hear.

In the afternoon tactics session, the analyst focused on explaining the defensive weaknesses of Champions League opponents.

Yan Yuan took notes diligently, but noticed that in the new offensive routine demonstrated by the coach, the starting position on the right wing was still marked with other people's names, and his name was not on the bench.

After the meeting, he hesitated for a moment, but stayed behind. He wanted to confirm whether he would have a chance to play. He still had a glimmer of hope and decided to talk to the coach.

"Coach," Yan Yuan stood in front of the tactics board, his voice lower than usual, "about the Champions League qualifiers..."

Nagelsmann continued organizing the documents without looking up, remaining remarkably patient.

"Yan, I know you performed very well. You played exceptionally well in the German Cup, but your task now is to recover and maintain your form."

He closed the folder, finally looked at Yan Yuan, and said earnestly.

"Although your debut was perfect, the opponent was a third division team. The Champions League is a different level of competition. Liverpool is not comparable to Erfurt Red and White."

So… I hope you can calm down and continue to hone your skills. I know you're not someone who aims too high, and I hope you can give yourself some time to continue improving.

"I understand, Coach..." Yan Yuan nodded, then unconsciously lowered his head again.

Nagelsmann knew that Yan Yuan was a good kid who listened to advice, but when he saw that Yan Yuan was somewhat depressed, he suddenly changed the subject.

"However, I still want to say that you are the best young player I have ever seen in all my years of coaching. I believe you will make a name for yourself this season, I mean in the Bundesliga."

You will definitely become a key player on the team, but not now.

As Yan Yuan walked out of the meeting room, he noticed dozens more unread messages on his phone.

He glanced at them briefly; most were media reports forwarded by friends, along with a few congratulatory messages from teammates.

He replied to everyone with "Thank you, keep up the good work," and then turned off the notifications on the social media.

After the extra training session ended in the evening, Yan Yuan was once again the last to leave the training ground.

Today's training was supposed to be mainly for recovery, but he couldn't resist adding a passing drill to his schedule.

Yan Yuan was somewhat sullen. He thought that he had performed so well, so why couldn't he get a chance to play in the Champions League qualifiers?

This is mainly due to Nagelsmann's cautious consideration.

Indeed, as he said, Liverpool is a team of another level, and Nagelsmann needs to play it safe with his regular first-team starting lineup rather than risk using a rookie player.

It is clear that Yan Yuan is not currently in Hoffenheim's first-team starting lineup.

On his way back to the dormitory, Yan Yuan passed by the club's wall of honor.

The glass case displays photos and jerseys of past star players, the most recent one being a team photo taken at the end of last season.

He stood there for a while, then gently touched his empty locker.

"Let it settle," he told himself.