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

As night fell, the pubs in Dortmund's south side were already bustling with activity.

This is a holy site for Borussia Dortmund's die-hard fans. The walls are covered with yellow and black scarves from various eras, autographed jerseys, and black and white photos of the team winning championships.

The air was filled with the rich aroma of beer malt, the smoky scent of grilled sausages, and the passionate sweat of the fans, creating a unique, rugged, and intense atmosphere characteristic of the Ruhr region.

When Qin Feng followed "Grand Cross" Grosskreutz inside, he immediately attracted everyone's attention.

"Hey Kevin! What brings you here today?"

"Kevin, this is... the new guy?"

The fans greeted Da Shizi warmly, while curiously observing Qin Feng behind him.

"What are you all looking at!" Big Cross casually put his arm around Qin Feng's shoulder and announced loudly to everyone in the tavern, "Let me introduce you, this is my new brother, Qin Feng!"

"This afternoon, he ripped through that old man Piszczek's groin on the training field!"

"Ha ha ha ha!"

A burst of good-natured laughter erupted in the tavern.

As a team legend, Piszczek is naturally respected by the fans. But it is precisely because of this that seeing the veteran struggle in training makes it all the more amusing and endearing to them.

"Well done, kid!" A burly man with a full beard handed over a large glass of beer.

Welcome to Borussia Dortmund!

"That's right! The person Kevin brought here is one of our own!"

The fans' enthusiasm was pure and undisguised.

Qin Feng felt a little uncomfortable, but he still smiled, took the wine glass, and took a big gulp.

The cool liquid slid down my throat, carrying a hint of bitterness, yet it felt incredibly refreshing.

"That's right!" Grand Cross patted him on the back with satisfaction. "Listen, kid, there's one thing you need to remember when playing football here."

He pointed to a huge yellow and black flag on the tavern wall, with two words written on it in German:

"Echte Liebe" — true love.

"Fans will give you their hearts, provided you give them your life on the field."

"Especially there." Grand Cross's gaze drifted through the tavern window toward the distant Westvall Stadium.

"South Stand, the 'yellow human wall.' The 25,000 people standing there are our family. Fight for them, and they will give everything for you."

Qin Feng followed his gaze and, although he could only see the outline of the stadium, he could almost feel its overwhelming momentum.

He nodded, making sure he remembered those words.

Qin Feng didn't drink too much that night.

But he felt that for the first time, he truly belonged in the city and the team.

……

The following morning, Borussia Dortmund held its final press conference before the start of the new season.

The protagonist is none other than Qin Feng.

The press conference room at the training base was packed with sports journalists from all over Germany, their flashbulbs going off everywhere.

Club CEO Watzke and head coach Klopp accompanied Qin Feng to the event.

"...Following friendly negotiations, we are pleased to announce that Qin Feng, a young player from Real Madrid Castilla, has officially joined Borussia Dortmund. The two sides have signed a five-year contract, and the transfer fee is..."

CEO Watzke paused deliberately, keeping everyone in suspense.

"500 million euros."

As soon as he finished speaking, the reporters at the scene erupted in uproar.

A reporter from Kicker immediately stood up and asked a pointed question.

"Mr. Klopp, we all know that Qin Feng has a serious injury history during his time at Real Madrid, and was even called 'glass man' by the Spanish media. Is Dortmund's signing of him for only 500 million euros a high-risk gamble?"

Klopp picked up the microphone with his signature smile on his face, but there was no smile in his eyes.

"Gambling? No, I never gamble."

"I only believe my own eyes. My eyes tell me that Qin is a top genius, and his body is in the best possible condition."

"As for Real Madrid's report?" Klopp scoffed. "I don't fucking care what's written in it! Maybe their team doctor needs a new pair of glasses."

His blunt remarks once again caused a stir among the crowd.

"I can assure you all that this is about to happen." Klopp stood up, leaned slightly forward, placed his hands on the table, and scanned the reporters in the room.

"Qin Feng will be the biggest surprise in the entire Bundesliga this summer!"

"You can question him all you want now, it's fine. Because soon, you'll have used up all the words you have to praise him in the newspapers!"

Klopp's words were full of passion and undeniable confidence.

……

Less than an hour after the press conference ended.

This storm started in Germany, swept across Europe, and eventually broke out on Chinese fans' forums, transcending time zones.

The German newspaper Bild, in its usual style, directly labeled Qin Feng:

Dortmund's panic signings! Can the "five-million-pound injury man" save Klopp?

The Spanish newspaper Marca, on the other hand, was filled with a gloating sense of superiority:

Real Madrid wisely sells off injury-plagued players, leaving Borussia Dortmund to take over.

When the news reached China, the initial anticipation and excitement were quickly overshadowed by various exaggerated "marketing press releases."

In an effort to penetrate the Chinese market, Borussia Dortmund's sponsor, Puma, has purchased headlines on major Chinese sports portals.

Fourth in history! Chinese player Qin Feng joins Borussia Dortmund in the Bundesliga!

Klopp praises Qin Feng: He reminds me of Kaká in his prime!

Insider Reveals: Zidane Privately Says Letting Qin Feng Go Was Real Madrid's Biggest Mistake This Summer!

Each one is more outrageous than the last.

These news reports, which were essentially "praise to death," completely ignited the long-suppressed disappointment among domestic fans.

On Hupu, China's largest sports forum, the thread about Qin Feng joining the team has been building up to thousands of pages, but the comments section is filled with offensive content.

[Holy crap, this press release was bought! It's so cringeworthy I could dig a whole stadium out of my toes!]

[Peak Kaka? Is he even as thick as one of Kaka's leg hairs? Puma has no shame, just to sell a few jerseys?]

[A pure commercial player, confirmed. Probably won't even get a single game played; just a walking game-changer.]

[Don't be so harsh, I watched the training match video, that groin nutmeg really had some skill.]

[Come on, a training match proves nothing! The defensive players were clearly not putting in any effort; it was all an act. It was just filmed for us to see, understand? It's a business operation!]

"The Five Million Glass Man," that's an amazing nickname, hahaha!

Stop cursing! What if Qin Feng proves himself and proves you keyboard warriors wrong?

[You want to slap me in the face? Fine, I'll wait! If he scores 5 goals in a season, I'll do a handstand while washing my hair live on stream!]

……

"FUCK! These bastards!"

Agent Garcia angrily slammed his tablet onto the sofa in his hotel room.

"Why are domestic fans like this too? Shouldn't they support their own players?"

Compared to his excitement, Qin Feng himself appeared unusually calm.

He had just returned from training and was shirtless, checking his muscles in the mirror.

The body, modified by the system, has distinct lines, exudes power, and has not an ounce of excess fat.

"That's normal."

Qin Feng picked up a towel to wipe his sweat, then took his tablet from the sofa and started browsing the comments on Hupu.

To him, those sarcastic and harsh remarks were like a farce that had nothing to do with him.

"They've been hurt too many times; they no longer believe in miracles."

From Dong Fangzhuo to Zhang Xizhe, Chinese fans have witnessed the fall of too many "rising stars".

Every expectation only brings deeper disappointment.

Over time, self-deprecation and insults became their armor to protect themselves from further harm.

Qin Feng chuckled and closed the webpage.

He understands, but that doesn't mean he agrees.

To earn their respect, you need not words, but goals.

"Knock knock knock".

There was a knock on the door.

Qin Feng opened the door, and standing there was Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang.

The Gabonese striker, sporting a distinctive mohawk, held a copy of Bild and wore a mischievous smile.

"Hey, 'The Five Million Glass Man,'" he waved the newspaper in his hand, "how's it going? A celebrity now?"

Aubameyang is the team's clown; he's outgoing, likes to joke around, and doesn't mean any harm.

"It feels pretty good." Qin Feng leaned against the door frame and shrugged. "At least, this nickname sounds more prestigious than 'Prince of Slaying Noobs'."

"Prince of Stomping the Weak" is a nickname given to Aubame by fans for his frequent goal-scoring performances against weaker teams.

"Hey!" Aubameyang was taken aback for a moment, then burst into laughter. "You little rascal, you've got a sharp tongue!"

"Seriously," he said, his smile fading, "don't pay any attention to what those reporters are saying. Tomorrow at training, we'll shut them up with our speed."

"certainly."

"That's good." Aubameyang winked at him. "See you tomorrow, 'Expensive Glass'."

Qin Feng smiled as he watched Aubameyang's departing figure.

He likes this straightforward atmosphere.

There was no backstabbing or infighting; everything was resolved on the training field.

He closed the door and picked up the newspaper that his agent had thrown on the sofa.

The front page headline featured a photo of him wearing a Borussia Dortmund jersey, with a large and eye-catching headline:

"Der Fünf-Millionen-Euro-Glasmann"

Qin Feng stared at the glaring headline in the newspaper and remained silent for a few seconds.

Then, he folded the newspaper neatly in half, then in half again, and finally stuffed it into the outermost mesh pocket of his training backpack, leaving the bold German title sticking out.

He will carry this backpack to training tomorrow.

Klopp is right, football is about letting your feet do the talking.