In 2007, Chinese football was in a dark place. The national team, once hopeful, had crashed out of the Asian Cup group stage under coach Zhu Guanghu, suffering humiliating defeats. The following year would bring even greater misery: home losses to Qatar and Iraq in World Cup qualifying, finishing bottom of the group, and the Olympic team's disastrous campaign highlighted by a red card that became a symbol of everything wrong with the game back home.
The fans had given up. They'd seen too many false dawns, too many hyped-up prospects who faded into obscurity. When the news of Jin Hayes's Bundesliga debut filtered back to China, the reaction was predictable.
Beneath the Sina Sports article announcing his assist hat-trick, the comments told a familiar story:
"Another overhyped flop in the making."
"Next Dong Fangzhuo, mark my words."
"The whole system is rotten. One kid won't change anything."
"Wake me when he actually scores a goal."
"Who even is this guy? Never heard of him."
Chinese sports media, lacking the resources to send reporters to Dortmund, simply translated German reports and added hyperbolic headlines. The result was a disconnect: sensational claims met with weary scepticism from a fanbase that had been burned too many times.
Only a tiny corner of the internet paid real attention. On Baidu's Arsenal fan forum, a small group of dedicated supporters had been tracking Jin Hayes since his signing.
"That kid Wenger signed is actually doing well at Dortmund."
"Jin Hayes? I've been watching clips. He's legit."
"The Bremen match was insane. He destroyed them."
"Give him two years in Germany, then bring him home to Arsenal."
"Imagine him and Fabregas in the same midfield..."
"His talent might be even higher than Cesc's."
"Shame about Dortmund's form, but hope he keeps playing."
>>>
Jin Hayes knew nothing of this. His focus was elsewhere.
In the days following the Bremen match, he threw himself into training with renewed intensity. He needed to understand the change he'd felt during that final, perfect cross. The warmth in his foot, the sudden clarity, the absolute certainty that the ball would reach its target. It had happened after multiple successful dribbles.
Was that the trigger? Could he replicate it?
Training ground scrimmages weren't enough. The intensity, the pressure – it wasn't the same. He'd have to wait for the next real match to test his theory.
"Jin!" Nuri Şahin's voice cut through his thoughts. The Turkish-German midfielder, still catching his breath after a fitness drill, appeared at his side with a conspiratorial grin. "The guys are hitting a club tonight. Tinga's paying. You in?"
Jin Hayes stared at him. "Look at me. Do I look old enough to get into a club?"
Şahin shrugged. "They won't check. Come on, it'll be fun."
"You're seventeen. You should be focusing on training, not getting dragged into bad habits."
Şahin shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "Sometimes I forget you're younger than me. You talk like an old man."
Jin Hayes didn't answer. He was watching the training pitch.
His teammates were going through the motions. Jogging, passing, laughing – but no real intensity. No fire. He looked for Thomas Doll, the head coach. Nowhere to be seen. Only assistant Dick Fuhren stood on the touchline, clipboard in hand, watching with a resigned expression.
Dortmund sat eleventh in the table. Not relegation-threatened, but miles from the European places. A few more wins and they could push for a Europa League spot. A few losses and they'd be looking over their shoulders. The margin for error was slim.
But no one seemed to care.
Training was casual. Players coasted. After a rare win, some celebrated harder than the result warranted, treating victory as an excuse to party rather than a foundation to build on. The defence was a mess – miscommunications, poor positioning, individual errors. The attack had no system, no coherence. They relied on moments of individual brilliance to scrape results.
Jin Hayes saw it all. And it troubled him deeply.
If he hadn't torn Bremen apart with individual brilliance last week, Dortmund would have lost that match. Badly. And instead of using that victory as a foundation, his teammates had treated it as an excuse to relax. To party. To stop trying.
Where was the head coach? Thomas Doll was absent more often than present, his attention seemingly elsewhere. The team needed direction, discipline, a firm hand. Instead, they had a vacuum.
Nuri Şahin, catching Jin Hayes's dark mood, lowered his voice. "You think the coach is in trouble?"
Jin Hayes glanced at him. "He kept us up last season. That's the goal now, apparently. Just staying up."
Şahin frowned. "When you put it like that..."
"When I was a kid," Jin Hayes said quietly, "I watched Dortmund on TV. They were champions. They beat Bayern. They scared everyone in Europe. Now..." He gestured at the training ground, at the players jogging through drills with minimal effort. "Now this."
Şahin had no answer.
>>>
The 13th round of the Bundesliga arrived. Dortmund at home against Eintracht Frankfurt. A winnable match. A chance to build momentum.
Jin Hayes was on the bench again. Watching.
The first half started well enough. A cross from the right, Alexander Frei arriving at the far post, a clean finish. 1-0. The stadium celebrated. The players relaxed.
Too relaxed.
Chances came and went. Simple passes went astray. Players held the ball too long, ignored better-positioned teammates, took low-percentage shots. The intensity drained away, replaced by complacency.
Jin Hayes rubbed his forehead, a gesture becoming habitual. On the bench beside him, Şahin watched with growing concern.
"They're not concentrating," Şahin muttered.
"No," Jin Hayes agreed. "They're not."
The second half was a disaster.
Fifty-second minute: a defensive mix-up, two Dortmund players going for the same ball, leaving a Frankfurt forward unmarked. Easy finish. 1-1.
Fifty-fifth minute: Lee Young-pyo, the Korean left-back, was isolated against a quicker, stronger opponent. A single feint, and Lee was beaten. The cross came in, the shot was fired home. 1-2.
The Yellow Wall fell silent. Eighty thousand people stared in disbelief. Two goals conceded in three minutes. At home. Against a mid-table side.
On the touchline, Thomas Doll stood motionless, his expression grim, his lips pressed into a thin line. He made no immediate changes. He offered no instructions. He simply watched his team implode.
The minutes ticked away. Eighty. Eighty-two. Eighty-four.
Finally, with five minutes left in normal time, Doll turned to his bench.
"Şahin. Hayes. Get ready."
Jin Hayes was already stripped down, already laced, already waiting. He'd been warm since the sixtieth minute. Şahin scrambled to join him.
Doll looked at them both, his mouth opening, then closing. Whatever tactical wisdom he'd possessed as a player seemed to have deserted him. Finally, he managed: "Get on. Run. Try to create something."
That was it. No formation advice. No specific instructions. Just... try.
Şahin glanced at Jin Hayes, his expression helpless. "What do we do?"
Jin Hayes didn't hesitate. "Get me the ball. I'll handle the rest."
>>>
The whistle blew. They were on.
Jin Hayes took the right wing, his familiar position. From the first touch, he was different. Sharper. More determined. He received the ball, faced his marker, and simply went at him. A step-over, a burst of acceleration, and the defender was beaten. He cut inside, drew another defender, slipped the ball to a teammate.
The move broke down. The pass wasn't perfect. But the message was sent.
Minutes later, he did it again. And again. Each time, he beat his man. Each time, he delivered a cross or a pass into dangerous areas. And each time, his teammates failed to capitalise. Frei misjudged a run. Another forward arrived a second late. A shot was skied when it should have been buried.
Eighty-eighth minute. Frankfurt cleared a corner, and the ball fell to Şahin near the halfway line. He looked up. His teammates were static, waiting, watching. All except one.
Jin Hayes was moving. Not along the wing, but cutting infield, exploiting the space Frankfurt had left as they pushed forward. Şahin didn't hesitate. He struck the ball first time, a flat, driven pass that travelled fifty metres and landed perfectly at Jin Hayes's feet.
Two Frankfurt defenders converged. One behind, one coming from the side. The pincer was about to close.
And then Jin Hayes felt it. The warmth. Spreading from his right foot, flooding through his body. The same sensation he'd felt against Bremen. The trigger had been pulled.
Five dribbles, he realised. That's the count.
He didn't look. He didn't need to. With his first touch, he flicked the ball with his heel – a blind, instinctive pass towards the penalty area. The defenders, expecting him to turn, were wrong-footed. The ball arced over them, dropping into space.
And there, arriving perfectly, was Alexander Frei.