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

The plane landed smoothly, and the screeching sound of tires rubbing against the runway completely pulled Qin Feng back to reality from the jubilant memories of winning the Asian Cup.

Just over ten hours ago, he was a national hero welcomed by a throng of people lining the streets; now, outside the porthole are Dortmund's gloomy sky and the familiar outline of its industrial district. The burning feeling of honor and fervor he had experienced back home is being rapidly cooled by the cold air of a German winter.

He took a deep breath and locked the gleaming championship trophy and MVP title, along with the deafening roar that almost made him lose his senses, deep into the depths of his memory.

The championship? That's a thing of the past.

His battlefield is here.

The club's car was very discreet, offering no special treatment. Qin Feng even declined Klopp's offer of extra leave, arriving at the Blakel training ground parking lot early the next morning.

He needs a high-intensity training session to rediscover the rhythm that belongs to "Dortmund No. 37".

As soon as I pushed open the locker room door, a wave of heat hit me.

"Bang!"

A figure suddenly darted out from the side, accompanied by a deafening shout, and rammed right into him.

"Our King of Asia is back!"

Kevin Grosskreutz, the "Grande Cross" who is practically a Dortmund DNA, expressed his passion with a bear hug that could break a person's bones.

"Cough cough... Kevin! Do you want to send me straight to the infirmary so you can start the game?" Qin Feng rolled his eyes as he was being choked, pounding on Kevin's muscular back.

"Haha! You're as strong as an ox now, I can't knock you down!" Big Cross loosened his grip, patted him hard on the arm and chest like inspecting merchandise, and grinned as he shouted, "I watched it all on TV! It was so cool! Especially that poking shot in the final, it was fucking cunning! And that rainbow flick, when are you going to teach me?"

Before Qin Feng could reply, Aubameyang slid over and said in an exaggerated tone, "Qin, I saw the news. You almost caused a riot at the Chinese airport! Do you have to wear three masks every time you go out now?"

"Could you get Zhang Langlang's autograph next time you go back? My mom is a fan of his!" Shaheen chimed in.

"Enough with the nonsense!" Mkhitaryan walked over with a smile and gave Qin Feng a hug. "King of Asia, dinner tonight is on you!"

Amidst the cacophony of laughter, Captain Sebastian Kyle leaned against his wardrobe, quietly observing the scene. He waited until Qin Feng broke free of the crowd before approaching, offering only a brief and forceful statement:

Welcome home.

……

The high-intensity recovery training sessions helped Qin Feng quickly regain his form.

But during the group scrimmage, he clearly sensed something was off. His teammates, who usually responded with aggressive pressing, seemed to have toned down their tactics today.

Until Big Cross, during one of his dribbling runs, subconsciously slowed down by half a beat.

"Kevin!" Qin Feng abruptly stopped and pulled the ball back, dodging the challenge, then turned and yelled, "Are you taking a stroll?! Go for it!"

Big Cross paused for a moment, then that familiar arrogant look returned to his face. He spat viciously, "Damn! You won a championship, and now you're acting all high and mighty!"

The next second, he used a vicious sliding tackle to bring Qin Feng to the ground, ball and all.

Klopp blew his whistle from the sidelines, but no penalty was awarded.

Qin Feng leaped up from the grass without complaining. Instead, he smiled and reached out to pull the large cross, which was also grinning, off the ground.

Seeing this, everyone smiled knowingly.

That Asian champion has become the brother they know and love again, the one they can fight tooth and nail with on the court.

After training, the players were heading to the locker room in twos and threes.

"Everyone, please stay behind!"

Captain Kyle's voice suddenly rang out, his tall figure blocking the locker room doorway.

The group, who had been laughing and joking, instantly fell silent. Everyone knew that the captain was about to get down to business.

Kyle's gaze swept over each of his teammates, finally landing on Qin Feng, who was wringing out his soaked jersey.

"There are rules in the locker room. Some things are up to us players to decide." He pointed to Hummels and goalkeeper Weidenfeller beside him. "We old guys have a team committee, you all know that."

Qin Feng stopped what he was doing and looked over in confusion.

"We discussed it yesterday," Kyle said simply and directly, without any preamble. "We unanimously decided to let this kid in too."

He gestured with his chin toward Qin Feng.

Team committee! How could they allow a mere 17-year-old kid who's only been here for less than six months to join the "senior council" composed of the captain, vice-captain, and veteran goalkeeper?

Are you kidding me!

Qin Feng was completely dumbfounded. He opened his mouth, looked at Kyle, then at Hummels who was standing to the side with a blank expression, his mind completely blank.

"Captain, I...I'm too young."

"Young?" Kyle's lips curled into a rare smile. "When you were walking the entire opposing defense like a dog in the Asian Cup final, why didn't you say you were young then?"

"Hahahaha!" A deafening roar of laughter erupted in the locker room.

"We're not looking at your age on your passport." Kyle's expression turned serious again. "What we're looking at is the tenacity you showed when you were beaten half to death by the Australians and still dared to step up and take responsibility at halftime. That's the kind of tenacity our team needs."

"The future of Dortmund cannot rely solely on us old guys. You have to shoulder the responsibility."

Hummels then stepped forward, patted Qin Feng firmly on the shoulder, and said in a deep voice, "We agree."

"So, it's settled then. Anyone have any objections?" Kyle looked around.

No one spoke.

Big Cross was the first to yell, rushing over and grabbing Qin Feng by the throat, shaking him excitedly: "Did you hear that! Boss! From now on, I'll protect you... no, you protect me! Anyone who dares to mess with you, I'll be the first to break their legs!"

Amidst enthusiastic applause and good-natured cheers, Qin Feng straightened up and bowed deeply to all his teammates.

……

In the evening, in Klopp's office.

"Kid, sit down."

Klopp pulled a neatly folded yellow and black jersey from under his messy, bomb-damaged desk and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of Qin Feng.

A golden number gleamed under the dim table lamp—"10".

Qin Feng's heart skipped a beat.

He could feel his throat getting dry. It was Rosicky's agility, Götze's former genius, the ultimate temptation that no attacking player could resist.

"Next season, it's yours." Klopp crossed his legs, leaned back in his chair, and said casually, as if he were asking, "What should we eat tonight?"

Qin Feng's gaze was fixed on the jersey, his fingers unconsciously clenching on his knees. Wearing it, he would be the undisputed king of this youth team.

But in his mind, he recalled how last season, he and Heinrich, wearing the number 10 jersey, repeatedly executed exquisite combinations in the attacking third, ultimately snatching the heavy salad plate back from the invincible Bayern Munich.

He took a deep breath and forcefully suppressed the surging heat.

He looked up, met Klopp's scrutinizing gaze, smiled, and then shook his head.

"Coach..." His voice carried a hint of youthful hoarseness and stubbornness, "I want to 'steal' this shirt from you fair and square."

Klopp raised an eyebrow, said nothing, and gestured for him to continue with great interest.

"Henrich wore it and won the championship with us. The honor of this jersey belongs to our entire team."

Qin Feng pointed to the team emblem on his chest.

"My size 37 is great. I want to wear it, and with Henrich and everyone else, go and snatch that damn salad bowl... from those bastards in Munich again!"

"I want everyone to know that Dortmund's championship wasn't won by a single number 10, but by every one of us wearing the yellow and black jerseys!"

Klopp's smile slowly faded. He looked quietly at the boy in front of him, a hint of shock flashing in his eyes, which then turned into heartfelt admiration and pride.

He stood up, walked up to Qin Feng, and patted him heavily on the shoulder.

"You brat..." he grinned, chuckling as he cursed, "I had a whole bunch of things I was going to tell you how to be a leader, but it seems you were born for this!"

After Klopp finished speaking, he turned around, took a bottle of beer from the cabinet, pried open the cap, and handed one to Qin Feng.

"Come on, have a drink with me."

Qin Feng paused for a moment, then took it.

Klopp raised the bottle, looked at him, and said earnestly:

"Putting everything else aside, just for what you just said, a toast to the future captain of Borussia Dortmund!"