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

The bus, heavily escorted by security guards, finally stopped outside the hotel gate.

The car door opened.

The security captain shouted loudly into his earpiece, and the security guards linked arms to form a human wall.

Head coach Favre got out of the car first, his face as cold as an iron plate.

The Dortmund players followed behind, filing out one after another.

The crowd's insults grew even louder.

All sorts of vulgar and offensive language were thrown at me like dirty water.

Sun Yang, carrying a backpack, stepped out of the train carriage.

He made no attempt to avoid those glaring gazes.

Amidst the boos from the crowd, he stopped and stared at the burly man holding up the "Glass Boy" poster.

He didn't get angry, nor did he show any weakness.

Haaland strode up from behind.

The Norwegian beast grabbed Sun Yang's shoulder, clenched his right fist, and looked like he was about to give the middle finger to the group of fans.

The club's press officer reacted quickly, grabbing Haaland's wrist and raising his voice to its highest point.

"Erling! Keep your hands to yourself! Do you want to get banned by the FA for your debut?!"

Captain Hummels walked up behind the two men and gave them a big push on the back with his broad hand.

"Hurry up, all of you. Don't waste your hormones on these idiots. The louder they yell, the more insecure they are. If you're angry, take it out on the grass."

The group hurried through the lobby, ignoring the overwhelming boos, shutting out all the noise through the glass doors.

8 PM.

WWK Arena Media Center.

There wasn't even a place to stand at the pre-match press conference.

German media outlets had already set up their cameras and microphones.

The reporters from Bild and Kicker stared at the empty seats on the stage like a pack of Siberian wolves that hadn't eaten for three days.

Favre, wearing a Dortmund coat, sat down with Hummels.

Before they could even settle into their seats, the guns and cannons below opened fire.

The bald reporter from Kicker was the first to stand up and challenge the magazine.

"Coach Favre, Dortmund spent a lot of money this winter break to bring in Haaland and Emre Can. You're now only four points behind Bayern. Will Haaland start tomorrow's game? Can this hothouse flower from the Norwegian league withstand the Bundesliga's timber-like defense?"

Favre brought the microphone closer, his voice cold and hard, devoid of any warmth.

"Erling has only been with the team for a few days, and he still needs to fully understand the tactics and positioning. He won't be starting tomorrow. But that doesn't mean he can't come on and win the game. As for the physicality issue, you don't need to worry about the Norwegian's muscle toughness."

The bald man had barely sat down when the famous, curly-haired reporter from Bild grabbed the microphone and fired questions more venomous than knives.

"Coach, let's talk about that Chinese-European kid named Sun Yang. All of Europe knows Arsenal tore up his contract because he's a disabled player with a broken leg. Everyone's saying Dortmund signed him purely to please the Chinese broadcasters. Putting someone who could be crippled at any moment into the squad—don't you think this kind of shameless marketing is disgusting?"

The press conference room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The flashbulbs were clicking wildly on the stage.

Favre's face darkened completely.

He grabbed the mineral water bottle on the table and slammed it down heavily on the table with a bang.

"What third-rate tabloid wrote this piece of trash? Borussia Dortmund is a pure football club. When I select players, I don't look at skin color, nationality, or any of that damn broadcasting market."

Favre stared at the curly-haired reporter with an extremely imposing gaze.

"Sun's medical report is flawless. The passing penetration he showed at the training base is exactly what I need for my tactics. He can join because he has the ability. Dortmund doesn't accept trash; without the right skills, he wouldn't even get a key to the training base."

A local media outlet nearby stood up and pressed on relentlessly.

"Since you've praised him so highly, will he dare to play tomorrow? Augsburg fans have prepared a special gift for him. A rookie who's never played for the senior team before, won't his mental fortitude collapse in this pressure-cooking away game?"

Favre interrupted him impatiently.

"I'm the head coach. Who plays and how we play are none of your business. When we take all three points tomorrow night, you'll all shut up."

Veteran Hummels simply pulled the microphone to his mouth. This guy's temper flares up; he's even more ferocious than the manager.

"We've had a scrimmage within the team. That Chinese kid's bones are harder than all of your mouths combined. Playing psychological warfare with posters? That's childish. I suggest you go to church and pray your goal doesn't get riddled with holes. Remember to bring plenty of tissues to wipe your tears after tomorrow night's game."

The press conference ended abruptly amidst a tense atmosphere.

Before we knew it, it was 3:30 p.m. the next day.

There was only half an hour left before the match kicked off.

The outer area of ​​WWK Arena.

Despite the away team's locker room doors and windows being tightly closed, the roar of 30,000 home fans stomping and shouting overhead still shook the ceiling, causing dust to fall.

The stands and grass here have almost no buffer zone.

Fans could even spit in the faces of players on the sidelines.

The atmosphere in the away team's locker room was extremely tense.

Everyone silently adjusted their shin guards and sneakers.

Sun Yang sat on a long bench near the door.

He bent over and tore open the white duct tape layer by layer to tighten it around his ankle.

Then he unzipped his backpack, carefully took out the shin guards that his father had drawn on by hand, and solemnly stuffed them into his socks.

Favre stood in the center of the tactics whiteboard.

The starting lineup was covered with red and black markers.

The attacking trident consists of Reus, Sancho, and Hazard. Witsel and Brandt anchor the midfield. Hummels leads the defense.

"Look up at me, everyone." Favre turned around and slammed his palm heavily on the whiteboard.

"Augsburg will definitely press like mad dogs from the start. Don't try to outmaneuver them in the middle. Once you get possession, pass it to the wings immediately! Mats, keep a close eye on the edge of the box, absolutely no long-range shots allowed!"

Hummels suddenly stood up and clapped his hands together.

"Wake up, everyone! Did you hear what the coach said?! Our goal is the salad platter, not a vacation in Bavaria!"

"Dortmund! Kill!"

The players roared in unison, pushed open the door, and strode into the tunnel.

Favre walked toward the corner where the substitutes were, his gaze sweeping over Sun Yang, who was already wearing a long coat, and Haaland, who was excitedly cracking his knuckles next to him.

"You two go straight to the bench and wait. Open your eyes wide and make sure you see the opposing team's defensive positioning clearly."

The two nodded vigorously.

The substitute players went to their seats on the bench.

Sun Yang and Haaland, wrapped in thick coats, walked along the edge of the field into the area beneath the hostile stands.

As soon as he appeared, the home team fans overhead went wild.

Tens of thousands of mouths booed simultaneously, and flying beer glasses and popcorn hit the roof of the substitutes' bench with a crackling sound.

Sun Yang sat down on the bench at the very edge.

Next to him, bundled up like a big bear, is Dortmund's veteran player, number 10, Mario Götze, who is currently sidelined due to injury. This German golden boy has been plagued by injuries all season, and his presence with the team today is purely as a spiritual leader.

Götze breathed warm air into his palm and patted Sun Yang on the shoulder.

"Hey, rookie. Scared yet? This is Bundesliga away games. They don't just want to win, they want to tear you apart with their words." Götze pointed to the noisy stands. "There's no such thing as gentleness, courtesy, frugality, or humility here. The more afraid you are, the fiercer they'll bite."

Sun Yang remained silent, his gaze sweeping across the field and landing on the Augsburg players who were warming up in the halfway area.

Coincidentally.

Augsburg's starting center-back with a full beard happened to run to the sideline near the substitutes' bench.

The bearded man immediately recognized Sun Yang's Asian face, which had sparked heated discussions across the internet.

He stopped in his tracks, a sneer spreading across his face.

In front of a stadium full of fans, the bearded number 6, Guvelliu, raised his hands and placed them in front of his chest, making a gesture as if he were forcefully breaking a small wooden stick.

Both legs were broken.

This action was extremely dirty.

Haaland, who was standing next to him, jumped up from the bench. He was about to curse when Götze grabbed his clothes.

Sun Yang sat steadily on the bench, his back ramrod straight.

He met the bearded man's provocative gaze without even raising an eyebrow.

He simply raised his left hand slowly.

With his index and middle fingers joined together, like the sights of a gun, he arrogantly pointed towards the goal behind the bearded man, even through the air several meters away.

The meaning is very straightforward: point and hit.

If you dare to leave the goal open, I'll blow that goal apart today.