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

The next morning.

The entrance to Dortmund's largest sports injury hospital.

Dozens of German journalists, having heard the news, arrived with their cameras and microphones, completely blocking the passageway. Flashes of light rained down on the glass doors.

Team doctor Schmidt, with a dark expression, led two burly security personnel and forcefully pushed his way through the crowd.

Sun Yang sat in a wheelchair with a black Puma cap pulled low over his head.

"Get out of the way! Get out of the way! The patient needs to rest and refuses any interviews!" Schmidt yelled at the reporters who were practically shoving microphones at Sun Yang's face.

As per head coach Favre's orders, Sun Yang must use a wheelchair upon being discharged from the hospital today; absolutely no photos of him walking independently should be taken. This is a smokescreen to mislead Paris Saint-Germain, whom they will face in the Champions League in a few days.

Diana and Sun Wu flanked the wheelchair, walking quickly toward a black Mercedes-Benz van parked by the roadside.

After settling Sun Yang into the back seat, the car door was closed, completely shutting out all the noise from outside.

The car started smoothly and drove onto the highway leading to Cologne.

The carriage was filled with a strong smell of safflower oil mixed with traditional Chinese medicine ointment. This was a folk remedy that Sun Wu had asked someone to get from Chinatown in some European city last night, insisting that it was to improve his son's blood circulation and remove blood stasis.

Sun Yang was huddled in the back seat, his right leg still not fully engaged. Although the side effects of the trial card had passed their peak after a full day, he still felt unsteady on his feet, as if he had just completed an Ironman triathlon.

"These German journalists are crazy." Sun Wu glanced in the rearview mirror at the crowd still chasing after his car to take pictures, and let out a long sigh.

Diana sat next to Sun Yang, holding a tablet computer in her hands, her fingers flying across the screen.

"They were certainly a bit excited. Their son's low shot at the BayArena yesterday, plus his inhuman running in the last five minutes, combined with his two goals and two assists, had dominated the headlines of the entire sports section." Diana handed the tablet to Sun Yang.

The screen displays the cover of the latest digital edition of the German magazine Kicker.

The cover photo is a snapshot of Sun Yang, his thigh bleeding, standing on the grass pointing at the goal. The accompanying title is bold: "The New Icon of Dortmund! The Heir to an Iron Will!"

Sun Yang leaned back in his leather seat, glanced at the screen, and didn't take it.

"Mommy, just take these hyped-up news stories with a grain of salt. The media can praise you to the skies today, but tomorrow if you miss a shot and cause the team to lose, they'll trample you into the mud. Isn't that how the media in England behaves too?"

Diana put away the tablet, pleased with her son's composure.

"That's the best way to put it. But you don't need to worry about the business matters. The two million euros sponsorship fee from Puma has already arrived." Diana took a folder out of her bag. "The new contract salary Dortmund is giving you is enough to support a professional private team."

Sun Wu chimed in, "Why rent such a big house? Our family is fine living in an apartment. We can save the extra money for when we get married."

"Shut up, Sun Tzu! What kind of modern sports management experience can your shabby Peking Opera theater possibly teach?" Diana retorted without hesitation. "My son is now a professional football star worth eight million euros, and he's going to play in the UEFA Champions League next week. He needs an absolutely private recovery space, and he needs top-notch nutrition and medical care. An apartment? Are you suggesting he practice free kicks in the common green space downstairs?"

Sun Wu was rendered speechless by his wife's retort, and could only mutter a few words under his breath before focusing on driving.

Listening to his parents' daily bickering, Sun Yang finally relaxed after a long day of tension.

"Mommy, is there any new news from Paris Saint-Germain?" Sun Yang steered the conversation back on track.

Diana's expression turned serious.

"That's exactly what I wanted to tell you. They're very arrogant in Paris. Their coach, Tuchel, gave an exclusive interview to L'Équipe in France this morning."

Diana switched the tablet to another page, which was entirely in French.

"A French journalist asked Tuchel how to deal with Borussia Dortmund's current hottest players, Sun Yang and Haaland. Tuchel didn't even look at the camera, and directly said that the pace of the Bundesliga is incomparable to that of Ligue 1. He said that players like you who rely on drive simply can't stand on a top stage like the Champions League. He specifically mentioned your name."

"Click on my name?"

"Yes. Tuchel's exact words were, 'That Asian kid at Dortmund who likes to gesticulate on the pitch just got lucky and scored a few goals. PSG doesn't need to devise a separate defensive strategy for him. Marquinhos and Verratti will directly strangle you in midfield.' He also said that Neymar and Mbappe will give you a real lesson in football."

Sun Yang wasn't angry after hearing this; instead, he grinned.

No need to specifically devise defensive tactics?

Strangle me?

He glanced at the system panel deep within his retina, a panel visible only to himself.

Although most areas of the panel are still in a grayed-out dormant state due to physical exhaustion, in the special skills section, Batistuta's cannon shot, Beckham's free kick, and Zidane's Marseille turn are all steadily improving in proficiency.

More importantly, training at the Dream Training Camp can begin at any time.

Once we get to the Champions League, it's hard to say who will be the one teaching whom a lesson.

More than forty minutes later, the Mercedes-Benz van left the highway, turned onto a quiet tree-lined avenue, and finally stopped in front of a tall, black wrought iron gate with intricate carvings.

This is Cologne's affluent area. Many star players who play for Borussia Dortmund, Bayer Leverkusen, and Borussia Mönchengladbach prefer to settle here.

The gate opened, and the car drove into the yard along the gravel driveway.

The backyard is a neatly manicured lawn, large enough to be used as a standard half-court training area. A three-story modern minimalist villa stands in the middle.

Uncle Henry, who was quite chubby, was already waiting on the steps. He was wearing a large floral shirt and a stopwatch around his neck, looking just like a tourist on vacation.

"Oh! Look who's here! Our Dortmund hero!" Henry stepped forward, opened the car door, and carefully helped Sun Yang out of the car.

"Uncle, are you dressed like that for Hawaii?" Sun Yang joked.

"Don't tease me. I've been running around like crazy trying to find fresh ingredients for you." Henry patted his chest. "Come on, there's a big surprise inside to welcome you home from the hospital."

Sun Yang limped behind his parents and uncle as they entered the villa.

The living room is very large, and the two floor-to-ceiling windows make the room very bright.

The curtains inside the room weren't fully drawn, and the afternoon sunlight streamed in at an angle, cutting across the floor.

A Scandinavian-style sofa and a huge TV wall.

But the first thing Sun Yang saw when he entered the room was a thick pink yoga mat laid out in the center of the living room.

A blonde, blue-eyed young woman is doing a set of extremely difficult stretching exercises on a mat.

She was tall and slender, her legs appearing straight and long in a pair of dark gray, form-fitting yoga pants. Her long blonde hair was tied in a high ponytail, swaying slightly in the air as she bent down.

Hearing the noise at the door, the girl flipped herself over on the floor and, with the agility of a gymnast, straightened up.

Judging by his height, he's at least 1.79 meters tall.

The woman turned around. She had fair skin, deep and defined features, and bright, deep blue eyes that exuded an intellectual air.

Sun Yang looked at the familiar yet unfamiliar face, went through his memories for a moment, and almost blurted out the answer.

"Catherine? What are you doing in my house?"