Football: He suffered a broken leg at the start of the game, but partnered with Haaland!

Favre did not stop Sun Yang.

During this ten-minute extra practice session, Sun Yang abandoned all his fancy techniques.

He was like a tireless pile driver, repeatedly unleashing powerful shots from outside the penalty area's arc.

The ball tore through the air, struck the net, and hit the underside of the crossbar.

It hit his chest, which had been suffocating for too long.

Batistuta's roar still echoes in my ears in my dream.

Secure the supporting foot firmly!

Hips fully open!

Don't use your calves to swing the ball, throw your whole body weight in!

Sun Yang gritted his teeth.

He forcefully ingrained that brutal and wild way of exerting force into the muscle memory of his right leg.

He only wiped the sweat off his face with his jersey and turned to walk toward the locker room when the support staff came to collect the ball.

The scene shifts to China.

The office area of ​​CCTV Sports Channel.

The clock on the wall ticked on Friday evening.

The office felt like a substitutes' bench before a game, with the sounds of keyboards and audio editing blending together in a chaotic mess, making it impossible for anyone to sit still.

Duan Xuan, clutching a stack of freshly written English documents, strode into the conference room and slammed a few sheets of paper onto the table.

Tao Wei was staring at the computer screen, scrolling back and forth through the Augsburg match video.

"Coach Tao, the station has made the decision."

Duan Xuan pulled out a chair, his voice brimming with barely suppressed excitement.

"The Bayern Munich away game against Hertha Berlin tomorrow night will be cut from the broadcast. We'll broadcast Borussia Dortmund away against Augsburg instead!"

Tao Wei rubbed his sore eyes and took a sip of strong tea from his thermos.

"As expected. As soon as the video of Dortmund's press conference was sent back to China, the hotline was ringing off the hook."

He put down his cup and sighed.

"Wu Lei's playing time at Espanyol has been reduced, and domestic fans are already holding their breath. This young Chinese prodigy has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and he's even joining a Champions League powerhouse like Borussia Dortmund. Who can sit still? He's the second hope for the whole village."

Duan Xuan flipped through the documents, his brows furrowed in worry.

"But there's so little information. This kid is like a bolt from the blue. There's no record of him in the domestic youth academy. I dug around with reporters stationed in the UK and all I found was that his father was a Peking Opera singer and that he grew up in Arsenal's youth academy."

Duan Xuan found it somewhat absurd.

"What's even more outrageous is that he had just had his leg maliciously broken by an Englishman and was kicked out of Arsenal like trash. Not only did his leg heal, but he also landed a contract with Dortmund's first team. Coach Tao, even online articles wouldn't dare to write something like this, it's simply unbelievable."

Tao Wei glanced at the data twice, his eyes fixed on the height and weight column.

"His position is somewhere between an attacking midfielder and a shadow striker, a typical number 9.5. He has top-notch passing vision and is good at playing through balls into the flanks."

He poked the paper twice heavily.

"Look here, his physical tests at Arsenal were excellent, with perfect balance and flexibility, probably due to his early training in Peking Opera. But he weighed less than 70 kilograms, which is a fatal flaw in the Bundesliga."

Tao Wei pressed the space bar, freezing the video.

On the screen, Augsburg's defensive midfielder is like a wild boar, knocking the opposing attacking midfielder and the ball flying.

"The Bundesliga doesn't play by the rules. Especially at a home ground like Augsburg, you absolutely won't get away with anything fancy in front of the penalty area."

Tao Wei's tone was low.

"They'll teach newbies a lesson with iron elbows, knees, and brutal tackles; it's a real meat grinder match."

Duan Xuan leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.

"The internet is in an uproar right now. Half of the people are hoping he and Wu Lei will shine together. The other half are being sarcastic, saying Dortmund is just signing a mascot to sell jerseys. The German media are even more scathing, calling him the 'glass boy'."

Tao Wei tightened the thermos cup again.

"Whether he's glassy or not, we'll only know once he's on the field. That old fox Favre never uses league points for charity. If Sun Yang makes the squad, he definitely has tactical value."

He pressed play.

"Let's work overtime tonight and completely dismantle Dortmund's 3-4-3 formation. Let's see if he actually plays, whether he'll replace Brandt or go to the right flank to set up Haaland. If he can deliver a through ball that tears through the defense, our ratings will explode tomorrow night."

Duan Xuan looked at the screen, rubbed his face with a wry smile.

"Alright, let's give it our all. The whole nation is watching, we can't afford to mess up."

At the same time, in North Rhine-Westphalia, Germany.

A bus bearing the Dortmund team logo is speeding along the highway towards Bavaria.

At 450 kilometers per hour, the atmosphere in the train carriage was relatively relaxed at first.

In the back seat, Haaland had his huge headphones hanging around his neck and elbowed Sun Yang in the waist.

"Dude, did you go thieving behind our backs last night? Your dark circles are so bad, you look like you've been drained dry."

Sun Yang leaned back in his chair, too lazy to even lift his eyelids.

Last night, he dreamt that Batistuta had brutally violated him all night. Every muscle in his leg was disassembled and reassembled, and now both legs are still cramping.

He opened his eyes and twisted his neck.

"Still alive. But you, if your headphones leak any more sound, the head coach in the front row will be dancing to your rhythm."

Haaland grinned widely, looking like a berserker.

"Nordic death metal, you know? Pre-match fuel! After hearing this, all I want to do is put the opposing center-back in the GG card."

He lowered his voice, but his eyes were gleaming with excitement.

"If you get to play tomorrow, don't hold back with those country bumpkins. Just shove the ball right in front of me! Those media mouths are too foul; I'll conquer them by scoring goals!"

Sancho, sitting in front, turned around, holding a tactical tablet in his hand.

"Erling, save your breath. You should pray you get a starting spot first. Augsburg's home ground isn't an amusement park; the grass is long, unwatered, and the ball moves like a snail. Your first touch will definitely feel like your foot is stuck."

Sancho scrolled through the video on the screen.

"They'll stifle our ground play. As soon as you get the ball in the middle, their defensive midfielders will pounce like mad dogs, forcing you to play with your back to the goal."

Haaland rolled his eyes.

"Jaden, you're talking like a boring weather forecaster."

Sancho immediately retorted.

"Listen, buddy, the weather forecast can be a lifesaver. If you get knocked down from behind tomorrow, don't blame me for not warning you."

Across the aisle, Hummels closed his tactics manual and glanced at Sun Yang.

The older brother spoke, his words slow but weighty.

"Rookies, Jaden wasn't kidding. Teams like Augsburg are most motivated when playing strong teams at home. They don't have relegation pressure or European competition to play for, so they have nothing to lose."

Old Hu demonstrated a blocking move.

"This is your first time experiencing a Bundesliga away game. Remember, before receiving the ball, look back at your shoulders and sides, don't just stare at the ball like an idiot. If you stand with your back to the goal, their defensive midfielder will take off from their blind spot and crush you and the ball into mincemeat."

"The referees here are very lenient. As long as the soles of their shoes aren't exposed, many collisions are treated as legitimate fights and let go."

Sun Yang nodded seriously.

"Got it. Observe before receiving the ball, and if you can pass it out in one touch, don't hold onto it. If you're really double-teamed, protect the ball first and look for an opportunity to pass it back."

Hummels leaned back in his seat, satisfied.

"Keep your mind clear, stay focused."

At that moment, teaching assistant Terzic walked over with a tablet computer.

He sat in the empty seat in front of Sun Yang and turned the screen around.

"Sun, now that Mats has started, let me give you some more practical details."

On the screen, clips of Augsburg's recent defensive line are playing.

Terzic pointed to the right flank and pressed pause.

"Watch closely. Their defense is extremely cowardly, closing the middle very narrow, just to force you to the flanks. Once you get to the right flank, the full-back presses, the defensive midfielder moves laterally, and the center-back moves up, all three of them working together to strangle you in a localized attack."

The scene continues.

The moment the opponent's attacking midfielder controlled the ball, three burly men surrounded him. The ball wasn't lost, but the rhythm was completely ruined.

Terzic stared into Sun Yang's eyes.

"So, if you need to get the ball on the right flank tomorrow, absolutely do not try any fancy tricks from the same spot. Your current physique can't withstand the physical contact from three of them taking turns."

Sun Yang didn't reply, his gaze fixed on the blind spot in the movement on the screen.

With his maxed-out passing attribute of 99 points, he immediately envisioned countless deadly passing trajectories in his mind.

When a full-back moves up, there will inevitably be a large open space behind him.

If the defensive midfielder moves laterally, a gap will be torn open in the central defensive line.

If the wing-back on the weak side marks them closely, the left flank becomes a veritable corridor!

Sun Yang suddenly looked up, his eyes shining.

"I understand. I won't engage them in a physical battle on the right flank; I'll act as bait. Drag the full-backs and defensive midfielders out, then attack directly behind them. Erling will rush the first ball, and Jaden will attack the weak side blind spot!"

Terčić patted Sun Yang on the shoulder and smiled.

"Absolutely right, your vision is excellent. Remember, one kick, two kicks at most. Don't fall in love with the ball at your feet; the ball is cute, but sticking to it will get you carried off on a stretcher."

Sancho laughed out loud in the front row.

"Did you hear me? Don't dream of being an artist; when you step onto the stage, be a cold-blooded killer."

Haaland immediately responded.

"He just needs to pass the ball to me, and I'll be the killer."

Sun Yang glanced at the two of them and curled his lip.

"You two better get in there. It would be embarrassing if the pancakes were baked and nobody ate them."

The carriage erupted in laughter.

The tense atmosphere, which had almost frozen over, finally thawed a bit.

A few hours later, the Grand Bazaar entered Augsburg city.

The city may not be big, but the smell of football is already overwhelming.

The streets were filled with red, white and green team flags, and the bar entrances were packed with enthusiastic fans drinking beer.

Someone gave the middle finger to the bus, and the boos were so loud they hurt your eardrums even through the glass.

The laughter in the carriage completely stopped.

Hundreds of extreme fans crowded there like a swarm of bees.

They pounded on the iron railings, their boos deafening.

Haaland leaned close to the car window and glanced at it; his large face immediately darkened.

"Come on, these idiots' provocative signs look like scribbles."

Sun Yang looked in that direction.

At the front of the crowd, several burly men held up two huge posters.

The first picture shows a Scandinavian pirate wearing a Dortmund jersey, with a line of large text next to it.

"Norwegian brat, go home and drink your mother's milk! The Bundesliga doesn't need Scandinavian mercenaries!"

Haaland sneered.

"Okay, I'll make them cry for their mothers tomorrow."

The second poster, however, was even more vicious.

A small, yellow-skinned man with black hair, carrying Sun Yang's jersey number on his back. He leans on crutches, his left leg is wrapped in an exaggerated cast, and his face is painted bruised and swollen.

Below is a sentence written in bold German.

"For scrap metal collection, head straight to London! Augsburg won't take in a boy with a glass splinter!"

The temperature inside the carriage dropped sharply.

"Snapped!"

A raw egg flew out of nowhere and hit the car window next to Sun Yang's face.

The yellow egg yolk burst open, dripping down the glass like a disgusting scar.

The Dortmund players were furious.

Haaland suddenly stood up, his knuckles cracking as he clenched his fists.

"These sons of bitches! Do they really think I'm easy to bully?"

Hummels grabbed him and pressed him down, his voice stern.

"Sit down, Erling. There are cameras everywhere outside. If you rush out now, tomorrow's headlines won't be about the competition."

Sancho, his face grim, tossed the tablet aside.

"Dude, calm down. They're just trying to provoke us, trying to mess with our mentality before the game."

Haaland's chest heaved violently, his eyes blazing as he stared at the jubilant fans outside the window, then he sat back down, breathing heavily.

Sun Yang didn't move.

He looked at the group of aggressive, extremist fans through the glass.

The hand that was on the sports bag slowly touched the shin guards with the image of the Monkey King printed on them.

Some disputes are beneath you to argue about them.

tomorrow.

On the green field, let the ball do the talking!