Football: Start with the Kaka template, dominate the football field!

With the final whistle of the last round of the first half of the Bundesliga season, Borussia Dortmund secured a resounding home victory, bringing a perfect end to what could only be described as a dream half-season.

The players have enjoyed a valuable winter break. Meanwhile, European football is entering its annual "review and awards" season.

The highly anticipated results of the European Golden Boy award have been announced.

Turin, headquarters of Tuttosport. When the chairman of the jury announced the winner, the world's sports media held their breath.

"The winner of the 2013 European Golden Boy award is—Paul Pogba from Juventus!"

The dust has settled.

This result was both reasonable and unexpected.

France's most authoritative sports newspaper, L'Équipe, published a commentary immediately: "A reasonable choice, a regrettable result."

"...Without a doubt, Paul Pogba deserves this trophy. He had a perfect season at Juventus, helping the 'Old Lady' win the Serie A title as their absolute core player. His consistent performance throughout the year is something no judge could ignore."

"But we also feel sorry for that young man from China. If Pogba represents 'stability,' then Qin Feng represents 'miracle.' In just four short months, he went from a 'glass man' abandoned by Real Madrid to the most sought-after talent in all of Europe. His god-like performances in the Champions League's group of death and the German Derby are enough to go down in history."

Italian legend Alessandro Del Piero, in an interview, stated: "Paul Pogba is the cornerstone, while Qin Feng is the storm. The storm is more powerful, but the cornerstone determines how far you can go. This year's awards belong to the cornerstone, but the future belongs to the storm."

……

Borussia Dortmund, Blakel training ground.

The team is conducting its final recovery training session before the winter break, but the atmosphere in the locker room is much more lively than usual.

"It's a cover-up! This is absolutely a cover-up!"

Grosskreutz slammed his newspaper on the table, angrily shouting, "For that goal you scored at the Allianz Arena, you should have received the trophy! That Frenchman, besides having a cooler hairstyle, what makes him any better than you?"

His words drew a chorus of agreement from his teammates.

"Exactly! Are the judges blind?" Aubameyang exclaimed.

Qin Feng looked at his teammates who were speaking up for him, feeling both amused and exasperated, but a warmth welled up in his heart.

Just then, Royce walked over with two freshly brewed cups of coffee. He handed one of them to Qin Feng with a mischievous smile on his face.

"Hey, Mr. 'Second in Europe,' how are you feeling? Want me, someone who didn't even crack the top ten in Europe, to comfort you?"

"Come on, Marco." Qin Feng took the coffee, took a sip, and said, "You didn't even make the top three last year, what right do you have to comfort me?"

"puff--"

The locker room erupted in laughter. Royce was speechless for a while, and could only helplessly point at Qin Feng.

Lewandowski, who had been silently organizing his equipment, also approached. He didn't smile, but coolly patted Qin Feng on the shoulder and said in his heavily Polish-accented English:

"Individual awards are not as important as team championships. Next year, we just need to bring the Ballon d'Or back."

His words instantly transformed the atmosphere in the locker room from teasing to one of boundless pride.

Qin Feng nodded heavily. He knew that for this team, no individual honor could compare to the team's victory.

Just then, a club staff member walked in.

"Qin, Mr. Watzke and Mr. Zorc would like to see you in their office."

……

The atmosphere in the CEO's office was serious.

Watzke and sporting director Zorc sat upright.

"Qin, sit down." Watzke gestured to the sofa opposite him.

"We've all seen the results of the Golden Boy award," Watzke said slowly. "We're proud of you, and we're also sorry for you. However, in Dortmund, we have our own way of awarding prizes."

He placed a thick file folder in front of Qin Feng.

Qin Feng opened the file bag with suspicion and took out the document inside: "Professional Player Contract Renewal Agreement".

He flipped to the most crucial section on salary, and the numbers there made his heart skip a beat.

Weekly wage: 10 euros!

"We know there have been a lot of rumors about you lately," Zorc added from the side, his voice steady and powerful. "Especially those from Madrid. They're like a school of sharks smelling blood, always trying to steal our best treasures."

"So, Qin," Watzke leaned forward slightly, his eyes becoming more serious than ever before, "this contract isn't just a reward for your past performance."

"Moreover, it is to declare to Madrid, and to all of Europe—"

"Qin Feng is our future king, and he is absolutely not for sale!"

These words resonated deeply!

Qin Feng looked at the two club leaders before him, seeing the unwavering trust and determination in their eyes. He knew that he was no longer a lucky break, but an indispensable cornerstone of the team.

"I see."

He picked up the pen and, without the slightest hesitation, signed his name on the last page of the contract.

……

The Christmas holidays are coming.

Qin Feng declined all of his teammates' party invitations and boarded a flight back to China alone.

After a flight of more than ten hours, as the plane entered Chinese airspace, he looked out the window at the familiar, endless mountains and lights below, and a complex emotion welled up in his heart.

At the airport exit, amidst the bustling crowd, he immediately spotted two figures that were both familiar and unfamiliar: his parents.

"Dad, Mom."

Qin Feng stepped forward and called out softly.

Tears welled up in the mother's eyes instantly. She stepped forward and hugged her son tightly, as if she wanted to pour all the longing and worry of the past six months into that embrace.

"It's good to be back...it's good to be back...you've lost weight..."

Back home, looking at the familiar yet somewhat cramped room, Qin Feng was filled with mixed emotions. At the dinner table, his mother kept putting food on his plate, muttering, "Are you getting used to the food outside? Do Germans eat sausages every day? Have you been bullied?"

His father stood silently by, pouring him a glass of wine, his eyes slightly red.

After the meal, Qin Feng placed a bank card with a seven-figure euro deposit in front of his parents.

"Dad, Mom, take this money. Pay off the mortgage, and you can buy whatever you want with the rest."

The elderly couple were completely stunned when they saw the long string of zeros on their bank card.

"Feng... Feng, where did you get so much money?" The father's voice trembled slightly.

"The club's bonus, and the signing bonus for the new contract," Qin-Feng said casually.

His mother took his hand and looked at the scars and calluses on his hands and feet from training and competitions, and tears streamed down her face once again.

"Is it very hard working out there?"

Qin Feng smiled and took his mother's hand in return.

"It's not hard work."

He looked at his mother's graying temples and the wrinkles around his father's eyes, his voice not loud, but unusually firm.

"Being able to play football is not hard work at all."