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

The morning sun shone on the streets of Sinsheim, and the Rhein-Neckar Arena, Hoffenheim's home stadium, was already bustling with people.

With hours to go before the match, fans were already eagerly flocking to the shops around the stadium, with the official jersey sales area being the most popular.

"I want a tight number 17!" a young fan shouted excitedly as he squeezed to the front of the counter.

"I want one too! With his name on it!" Another fan waved his banknotes, afraid he'd miss out if he was too late.

The shop assistants were extremely busy, and Yan Yuan's jerseys were almost completely sold out on the shelves.

Just a few weeks ago, this jersey was quietly hanging in a corner, with mediocre sales and practically no one paying attention to it.

But everything changed after that stunning comeback victory against Liverpool away from home.

Yan Yuan's name began to spread locally, and his jersey sales skyrocketed, even surpassing those of his team's veterans Kramaric and Vogt.

The reason is simple: Yan Yuan's shot sent the team into the Champions League group stage, and he is now a hero in the hearts of Hoffenheim fans.

The marketing manager wiped his sweat, watched the fans snapping up jerseys, and said to his colleagues.

"If I had known it would sell this well, I shouldn't have ordered so few. I must arrange another counter for Yan Yuan for the next game."

Fans not only snapped up Yan Yuan's jersey, but jerseys of other players also sold like hotcakes.

Hoffenheim's team crest scarves, hats, flags, and even custom T-shirts printed with "Wunderkind Yan" (a nickname for Yan the genius) all became hot commodities.

The club even printed an extra batch of Yan Yuan posters, which were sold out as soon as they were put on the shelves.

"This kid is our new cash cow now," one employee said, shaking his head with a smile. "Who would have thought that just a few months ago he was a nobody?"

As the match time approached, the atmosphere in the stadium gradually heated up.

In the stands, more and more fans were wearing Yan Yuan's number 17 jersey, and some were even holding up Chinese banners with slogans written on them.

"The Terminator Yan Yuan!"

This was clearly written by a Chinese student who studied abroad.

This nickname was chosen by a vote on the Hoffenheim fan forum after his game-winning goal against Liverpool.

Initially, some suggested calling him "Rocket" or "Oriental Magician," but in the end, "Der Terminator" (German for Terminator) won by an overwhelming margin.

After hearing the fans' cheers, Gnabry joked, "That's a pretty harsh nickname, but it suits you well, since you always manage to solve problems at the last minute."

Yan Yuan himself was quite calm, even a little embarrassed.

He didn't think he deserved such an exaggerated title, but the fans' enthusiasm made it impossible for him to refuse.

The match is about to begin.

Inside the players' tunnel, Yan Yuan stood in the team, taking deep breaths to adjust his mindset.

He could hear the deafening roar of shouts outside, and when his name was announced over the loudspeaker, the sound from the entire stadium instantly rose a notch.

"YAN! YAN! YAN!"

"TERMINATOR!"

Cheers surged forth like a tidal wave, and Yan Yuan could even clearly distinguish the Chinese cheers mixed in.

He looked up at the stands, where countless arms were waving and countless faces were flushed with excitement.

He waved gently, a slight smile unconsciously playing on his lips; it was a truly wonderful feeling.

"Looks like you're a star here now," Captain Vogt patted Yan Yuan on the shoulder from behind. "Kid, don't let them down."

"Of course, Captain, every goal I score is for the team and the fans. I will do my best in this game," Yan Yuan said.

The fans' enthusiasm wasn't just because of his performance, but also because they saw hope in this team.

From a small rural club to today's Champions League stage.

Hoffenheim is rising at an astonishing pace, and Yan Yuan himself has become a symbol of this new hope.

The moment I stepped out of the passage, the sunlight was blinding, and a wave of sound rushed towards me.

Yan Yuan squinted, adjusted his eyes to the light, and then stepped onto the grass.

He could feel the grass beneath his feet trembling slightly, as if the entire stadium was boiling over with excitement for the game.

In the stands, a giant TIFO slowly unfolded, depicting Yan Yuan kneeling in celebration after his game-winning goal at Anfield, with the following text written in German:

"History is written by us!"

This giant tifo isn't just for Bayern's own fans; it's also for the Bayern players and fans playing away from home.

Only a powerhouse like Bayern Munich deserves the tifo spontaneously made by Hoffenheim fans.

Yan Yuan looked at the large tifo of the fans, took a deep breath, and felt a slight warmth in his chest.

Today's match is far more than just an ordinary Bundesliga game. To exaggerate a bit, this match is just as important as the last one against Liverpool, and he has to do everything right.

Bayern's players were already lined up, their eyes scrutinizing, especially full-back Alaba, whose gaze was fixed on Yan Yuan.

"Be careful this time, Yan, they've definitely studied you," Gnabry whispered.

Yan Yuan nodded to Gnabry, bumped fists with him, and said,

"You too, let's work hard together."

On the other side of the field, Wagner, the future legend of Tianjin Tigers, was standing in Bayern's half, his gaze unconsciously sweeping towards the familiar blue and white figures opposite him.

A few months ago, he also wore a Hoffenheim jersey and ran on this grass, high-fiving captain Vogt to celebrate a goal and discussing tactical details with Nagelsmann.

But now, he has returned as an opponent.

It's a strange feeling, like walking into your old home only to find that the locks have been changed.

"Hey, Wagner," Muller grinned and nudged him with his elbow, "Nervous? Don't let your legs go weak in front of your old boss later."

Wagner smirked and retorted casually, "You should worry about yourself, Thomas. Don't let me steal your thunder."

Muller laughed heartily and patted him on the back: "Don't worry, everyone will go easy on us and won't let Hoffenheim lose too badly."

Kimmich chimed in from the side, "Hoffenheim is not weak this season, especially that Asian kid."

Mentioning Yan Yuan's name, Müller's eyes lit up: "Ah, yes, that's the number 17! The Champions League debut winner against Liverpool, ruthless!"

He turned to look at Wagner.

"Wagner, did you train with him when you were in Hoffenheim? Was he this good in the youth teams too?"

Wagner shook his head: "No, Thomas, he had just joined Hoffenheim when I left, we didn't even have any contact. But I heard he trains very hard, and Nagelsmann likes him a lot."

Captain Ram cleared his throat, interrupting their chatter from behind: "Everyone, focus, the match is about to begin."

His gaze swept over the crowd, finally settling on Wagner.

"Sandro, you're key today. Don't overthink it, just play like you do in training."

Wagner nodded and took a deep breath.

That's how professional football is; teammates who fight side by side today may become fierce rivals tomorrow.

Feelings may matter, but the moment they step onto the court, everyone has only one goal: to win the game.

The referee blew his whistle, and the match officially began.

Wagner stood in the center circle, looking at the familiar Kramaric opposite him. The moment their eyes met, they nodded slightly to each other in greeting.

There were no extra pleasantries, but in that instant, they were both saying:

"Each serves their own master and gives their all."

Müller, standing beside him, suddenly lowered his voice and said, "Seriously, if you score later, don't celebrate too wildly, or you'll get booed by the Hoffenheim fans."

Wagner smiled and said, "Don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

In the stands, Hoffenheim fans had already begun their cheering songs.

Wagner could hear the familiar melody of the team song, but this time, the song was no longer sung for him.

His gaze unconsciously drifted towards Yan Yuan.

The young number 17 was looking down, gently stepping on the grass, studying Bayern's entire squad. Wagner narrowed his eyes, deep in thought.

"This kid definitely has a different kind of aura."

The referee blew the whistle to start the game.

The ball rolled toward Bayern's half, and Wagner strode toward the battlefield he once knew so well.

This time, his task is to break through the goal guarded by his old teammates.