The Heinrich household was transforming. Tinsel draped the furniture. A wooden nutcracker soldier stood guard by the door. And in the centre of the living room, a towering Christmas tree awaited decoration.
Hans Heinrich, red-faced and sweating, finally manoeuvred the tree into its stand and collapsed onto the sofa, reaching for a beer.
"Ahhh. That's better."
Maria emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "You call that helping? Jin did all the heavy lifting. You just drove the car."
"I drove! That's helping!"
Maria rolled her eyes with the practised ease of thirty years of marriage. She turned to Jin Hayes, who was arranging tinsel on the lower branches. "Jin, is this your first Christmas?"
He nodded. "We don't celebrate it back home. Chinese New Year is our big holiday."
"Perfect! Then you must try my roast goose with potato dumplings. It's a family tradition."
Behind Maria's back, Hans caught Jin's eye and shook his head vigorously, his expression one of desperate warning. Jin Hayes suppressed a smile.
Fritz Heinrich, the family patriarch, stirred by the fireplace. "Who's the last match before the break?"
Hans leaned close and shouted. "BAYERN MUNICH, FATHER!"
"Bayer Leverkusen?"
"BAYERN! MUNICH!"
"Ah." Fritz nodded slowly. His hearing had never recovered from a wartime explosion decades ago. His legs troubled him too. Since his wife passed, he'd grown quiet, spending his days by the fire or in the sun, coming alive only on matchdays.
"Bayern," he repeated, his voice distant. "Can we beat them?"
Maria's stirring paused. Worry flickered across her face. "They're top of the table. Seven points clear."
Hans took a long pull of beer and grinned. "We've got Jin. Of course we can beat them."
Five matches unbeaten. Three consecutive wins. A last-minute winner against Nuremberg. A solo masterpiece against Wolfsburg. A dominant away performance against Stuttgart. Dortmund had climbed from thirteenth to seventh, just four points off the Europa League places.
The transformation had a name. Number 24.
But Bayern Munich was different. Bayern was the mountain every other club measured themselves against. The German champions. The team with Luca Toni, Miroslav Klose, Bastian Schweinsteiger, and Franck Ribéry. A squad built to win everything.
>>>
Two days before the match, at Bayern Munich's Säbener Straße training ground, the atmosphere was tense.
Ottmar Hitzfeld, the veteran coach who had guided Dortmund to a Bundesliga title eleven years earlier, stood with arms crossed, watching his players go through drills. His expression was grim.
The team had already secured the winter championship, two rounds early. Seven points clear of Werder Bremen. But Hitzfeld was not satisfied.
In the last round, against bottom-placed Duisburg, Bayern had been held to a 0-0 draw. Three points dropped. The squad, full of world-class talent, had looked complacent, disinterested. Hitzfeld had cancelled their planned holiday and ordered extra training.
"We must win the last match before the break," he said to his assistant, Michael Henke. "No excuses."
Henke nodded towards the training pitch. "The opponent is Dortmund."
Hitzfeld's lip curled slightly. "Dortmund." The word carried weight – nostalgia, perhaps, but not fear. "They're a shadow of what they were. No threat."
"What about their young player? The Chinese kid? He's been in excellent form."
Hitzfeld had seen the videos. The solo goal against Wolfsburg. The dribbling displays. His analysts had dissected every minute of Jin Hayes's playing time, searching for weaknesses.
"Flashy," Hitzfeld said dismissively. "Effective against tired legs, but against our defence? He'll be contained. Franck is a hundred times the player. Ribéry can dribble, shoot, pass, defend. That boy is a one-trick pony."
Henke opened his mouth to respond, then closed it. Perhaps Hitzfeld was right. Perhaps a fifteen-year-old, no matter how talented, couldn't change the outcome against a team of Bayern's calibre.
>>>
That evening, Jin Hayes walked home from school with Anna.
The routine had shifted subtly over recent weeks. Anna, who once hurried ahead or lagged behind, now walked beside him, matching his pace. She never acknowledged it, never explained. She was simply there.
"The match tomorrow," she said quietly. "Can you win?"
Jin Hayes glanced at her, surprised. "You're following football now?"
Her cheeks coloured slightly. "I live in this house. It's impossible not to."
"Fair point."
They walked in silence for a moment. Then Anna spoke again, her voice smaller. "Bayern is... they're the best. Everyone's afraid of them."
"Are you afraid?"
She didn't answer directly, but her silence was confirmation.
Jin Hayes stopped walking. She stopped too, looking up at him with those clear blue eyes.
"Anna." His voice was calm, certain. "I've never lost a match I've played in. Not one. Tomorrow, at home, in front of your family and eighty thousand fans – I'm not about to start."
She stared at him, searching for bravado, for overconfidence. She found neither. Just absolute, quiet conviction.
"You really believe that," she whispered.
"When have I ever lied to you?"
She thought about it. He hadn't. Every prediction, every promise he'd made since arriving in Dortmund had come true.
"I believe you," she said.
He smiled – that smile she'd seen on television, the one that made her heart do strange things.
"Good. That's all I need."
They started walking again. Anna's cheeks were still pink, but she didn't look away.
After a moment, Jin Hayes spoke. "That modelling agency you contacted – any news?"
Anna's eyes widened. "You remembered?"
"You mentioned it. I pay attention."
She looked away quickly, but not before he saw the pleased smile she tried to hide. "I passed the selection. I'll start training soon. Catwalk, posture, all of it."
"That's great. You'll be brilliant."
"You don't even know what modelling involves."
"I know you. That's enough."
Anna's heart stuttered. She focused on the pavement ahead, willing her voice to stay steady. "My agent suggested I use a stage name. Something memorable. I thought... maybe Aether Hirsch? What do you think?"
Jin Hayes paused. The name sparked something in his memory, distant and unclear. "Aether Hirsch," he repeated. "It sounds like a world-famous supermodel."
"You're just saying that."
"Anna. When have I ever lied to you?"
She laughed – a real laugh, warm and unexpected. "You already used that line."
"And it worked, didn't it?"
They walked on, the cold evening air sharp but somehow not unpleasant.