Guangzhou, Yiyuan residential complex.
"What's wrong with the TV?!"
"The cable signal's bad. It's not my fault."
"It was working fine before! You had to change the box—"
"Will you two stop arguing?" Jin Jianping slammed his fist on the set-top box. The screen flickered, then cleared.
Green grass. A football stadium. Duan Xuan's familiar voice filled the room.
"CCTV, CCTV! We're live from the Westfalenstadion for the final match of the 2007/08 Bundesliga season before the winter break! Borussia Dortmund at home against Bayern Munich, the league leaders who've already secured the winter championship!"
Ding Ru leaned forward, her nose almost touching the screen. "Where's Jin? I don't see him."
"He's on the bench, love. Players don't start every game."
"But why not? He's been playing so well!"
Jin Jianping sighed. Explaining football tactics to his wife was a full-time job. He'd already explained offside at least ten times, and she still got it wrong half the time. But lately, she'd been watching every match, learning, asking questions. It was... nice, actually.
"Just watch. If he comes on, we'll see him."
On screen, the lineups were announced. Ding Ru absorbed none of it except the name she was waiting for: Jin Hayes, on the bench. Substitute.
"Why do they keep him on the bench?"
Jin Jianping opened his mouth, then closed it. Some questions didn't have easy answers.
>>>
In the Westfalenstadion, the match was nine minutes old.
Jin Hayes sat on the bench, wrapped in a thick coat, watching the game unfold. Beside him, Nuri Şahin slumped in similar misery.
"Not starting again," Şahin muttered.
Jin Hayes said nothing. Thomas Doll had chosen experience over form – Tinga in midfield, the familiar 4-4-2. Against Bayern, the coach was playing it safe.
On the pitch, Tinga received the ball in midfield. Lahm, Bayern's right-back, was already pressing. Tinga attempted a casual pass, too casual, and Lahm's outstretched leg intercepted easily.
"No," Jin Hayes breathed. "Brother, he was right in front of you..."
The turnover was instant. Lahm to van Bommel, van Bommel lifting his head, spotting Ribéry on the left. A long, diagonal pass.
Ribéry controlled it beautifully. Degen, Dortmund's right-back, approached nervously. Ribéry feinted left, dropped his shoulder, and was gone – a blur of red past a static defender. Into the box. A fierce, curling shot.
Weidenfeller saved brilliantly, diving full length to palm it away. But the ball fell loose.
And there, arriving with the inevitability of a storm, was Luca Toni.
The tall Italian, all gangly limbs and surprising grace, stretched out a long leg and guided the ball into the empty net.
"GOAL! Just nine minutes in! Bayern Munich take the lead through Luca Toni! His twelfth of the season!"
Toni celebrated with his trademark gesture – right hand twisting near his ear, screwing in an imaginary lightbulb. He ran towards the corner flag, teammates mobbing him.
Jin Hayes watched. He knew Toni's story – the years in lower leagues, the accountants' certificate he'd earned when everyone said he'd never make it, the late blooming at 27, the World Cup winner's medal at 30. A man who had fought for everything.
As Toni jogged past the Dortmund bench, his eyes met Jin Hayes's. For a moment, something passed between them – not hostility, exactly.
Recognition.
A champion acknowledging a rising challenger.
Şahin noticed. "Why's he staring at you? Did you do something?"
"No idea." Jin Hayes shook his head. "I've never met him."
>>>
Twenty-seventh minute. Bayern attacked again.
Tinga, in midfield, was statuesque as Schweinsteiger collected the ball and surveyed his options. No pressure. No challenge. Just... watching.
Schweinsteiger slipped a simple through ball. Klose, ever intelligent, let it run, then back-heeled first time into the path of the onrushing Luca Toni.
Toni, from an impossible angle on the left side of the box, curled a perfect shot with his right foot. The ball arced beyond Weidenfeller's desperate reach and nestled in the far corner.
2-0.
"ANOTHER! Luca Toni again! A stunning finish! Bayern are in complete control!"
The cameras, as if by instinct, swung to the Dortmund bench. There, huddled together in their thick coats, sat the two young players everyone was talking about. Nuri Şahin, the Turkish-German playmaker. And beside him, the fifteen-year-old with the East Asian face, the one whose name was spreading across Europe.
Jin Hayes.
The message was clear. If anyone could change this game, it might be these two.