Jin Hayes's second consecutive start came to an abrupt end around the sixty-seventh minute.
His relentless activity on the right flank had finally pushed the Hertha Berlin players past breaking point.
In the sixty-sixth minute, Jin Hayes collected the ball and set off on another dribble down the touchline.
He was preparing to torment Hertha's left-back, Gilberto, for what felt like the umpteenth time.
The Brazilian, naturally hot-tempered and proud of his Samba football heritage, had spent the entire match being humiliated by Jin Hayes's close control and quick feet. It was a wound to his pride that he could not tolerate.
As Jin Hayes executed a sharp step-over to change direction and burst past him, Gilberto launched himself into a reckless, studs-up challenge, catching Jin Hayes directly on the ankle.
"NO!!!"
In the stands, Anna shot to her feet, her hand flying to her mouth.
If not for the row of fans in front of her, she might have tried to run onto the pitch.
Team doctor Frank was already sprinting across the grass.
This was not the first time Jin Hayes had been fouled and left writhing on the turf. But this time, it looked serious.
The Borussia Dortmund players gathered around him, their faces etched with concern. Seeing a fifteen-year-old boy clutching his ankle, his expression twisted in pain, was a genuinely distressing sight.
Mats Hummels felt a surge of anger and moved towards Gilberto, his fists clenched. Nuri Şahin grabbed his arm, holding him back.
"Don't do anything stupid! Calm down!"
"He's hurt our brother! Look at him!"
"You're already on a yellow card!"
In the heat of the moment, it was Şahin, the team's young strategist, who kept his head.
Frank and his medical team knelt down, carefully removing Jin Hayes's sock and gently examining the ankle. After a tense moment, Frank allowed himself a small sigh of relief.
The bones and joints felt stable. There was some swelling—likely a sprain—but nothing appeared broken.
"Jin. Can you hear me? How does it feel?"
Jin Hayes, who had briefly seen stars from the pain, blinked and forced a pained grin through gritted teeth.
"I'm okay. I can keep going."
Scheiße.
That tackle had been filthy. Deliberate. Jin Hayes's mind was racing, the pain still firing through his nerves.
Thankfully, at the moment of the dribble, he'd been hyper-focused. Everything had seemed to slow down, just for an instant. He'd caught the malicious glint in Gilberto's eye a split second before the tackle came in.
He'd managed to twist his body slightly, avoiding the full force of the impact. Instead of taking the studs directly, he'd landed awkwardly, rolling his ankle.
If he hadn't reacted, it wouldn't have been a simple sprain.
Frank shook his head firmly. "Nothing major, but we're not taking risks. You're coming off."
Jin Hayes nodded. He wasn't about to argue.
Dortmund were 2-0 up. It was a routine league match. There was no point jeopardising his career for this.
Captain Kehl, seeing Frank's signal, immediately gestured to the bench. A stretcher was waved onto the pitch.
For the first time in his professional career, Jin Hayes found himself lying on a stretcher, gazing up at the clear blue sky over the Westfalenstadion.
Unfortunately, it was an afternoon kick-off. The bright spring sunlight stabbed directly into his eyes, forcing him to throw an arm across his face.
"JIN!!! HE LOOKS TO BE IN AGONY! IS HE GOING TO BE OKAY?"
"As he's carried off on the stretcher, Jin Hayes is already in tears. Seeing him cover his face, sobbing like that—it truly breaks your heart!"
"I think the German Football Association needs to instruct referees to offer more protection for talented, technical players. We cannot allow this league to become a playground for physical brutes, like the Premier League."
Commentator Berenberg was in full flow, his voice thick with emotion.
Beside him in the commentary box, Lothar Matthäus was struggling to keep a straight face.
Jin Hayes was shielding his eyes from the bloody sun.
But in the stands, the fans held their breath, watching the stretcher bear their young hero away.
On the pitch, the referee had no doubts. He marched over to Gilberto, red card held high. The tackle had been reckless, malicious, aimed at the man, not the ball.
Jin Hayes, at the cost of a twisted ankle, had earned his team a numerical advantage.
Lying on the stretcher, catching a glimpse of the red card, he allowed himself a small moment of relief.
"That should do it, right?" he murmured.
"Game's stable now," Frank replied quietly. "Definitely stable."
>>>
On the touchline, head coach Thomas Doll clenched his fist in celebration.
He barely glanced at the stretcher. His attention was fixed on the pitch, already calculating the implications. This win would lift Dortmund back into seventh place. The Europa League spots were within reach.
Assistant coach Dick Fuhren watched Doll's reaction and felt a familiar twinge of unease.
Please don't let him say it out loud. Every time he says it's stable…
Dick Fuhren hurried over to check on Jin Hayes himself, exhaling with relief when he saw the young man was, indeed, fine.
"We'll get an X-ray after the match, just to be certain," Frank said, glancing at Jin Hayes with a wry smile.
His sister was going to be insufferable about this.
In truth, the most visibly distressed person in the stands was Aunt Maria. She was leaning heavily against Uncle Hans, tears streaming down her face.
"What if something's really wrong? How will I ever explain this to his parents? I promised them I'd look after him! I promised!" She was almost wailing now.
Maria had spoken to Jin Hayes's parents on the phone more than once. The two families had shared warm, if slightly broken-English, conversations. She had enthusiastically patted her chest and assured them their son would be safe in her care.
Now she was consumed with guilt.
Anna, beside her, remained outwardly composed.
"Don't worry. He's fine."
"Really? How can you be so sure?"
"I just am."
Anna's eyes had never left Jin Hayes. She'd seen her brother, Frank, talking and even laughing with him as they attended to the injury. If it were truly serious, Frank wouldn't be smiling.
And she had prayed. More fervently than she had ever prayed before.
Surely God would watch over him.
>>>
The good news: Jin Hayes's post-match X-ray results were clean. No fractures, no joint damage.
Just a straightforward soft tissue contusion. Once the swelling went down—probably within a week—he could resume training.
The bad news…
"What?!"
Jin Hayes had just stepped out of the hospital after his scan. He pulled out his phone to check the final score and genuinely wondered if he was still dreaming.
Borussia Dortmund 2-2 Hertha Berlin.
What the actual—
Blaszczykowski? Gordon?
He'd contributed two assists. Two! And they still couldn't win?
They'd been playing against ten men for nearly half an hour!
How do you concede two goals in that situation? How?
And Champions League qualification next season? Was that slipping away again?
He opened the match report, scrolling through with a deepening frown.
…In the 73rd minute, Borussia Dortmund were attacking in Hertha's half when Jakub Błaszczykowski lost possession attempting to dribble on the right flank.
Hertha Berlin launched a rapid counter-attack. Pantelic collected the ball, burst into the penalty area, and slotted home from a tight angle. Hertha had pulled one back.
In the 80th minute, head coach Thomas Doll made two substitutions. He removed Şahin and leading scorer Alexander Frei.
On came defensive midfielder Tinga and centre-back Daniel Gordon. A clear instruction: protect the lead, sit deep.
Deep into injury time, the 93rd minute. A Hertha Berlin corner kick.
Captain Friedrich rose highest. His header found the net. Last touch of the game. Equaliser.
Hertha Berlin, reduced to ten men for over half an hour, had somehow escaped with a draw thanks to sheer resilience and determination.
Borussia Dortmund, meanwhile, paid the price for their defensive retreat in the final stages.
Commentator Lothar Matthäus was scathing in his assessment during the live broadcast, openly criticising Thomas Doll for betraying Dortmund's attacking traditions and the spirit of Schwarzgelb…
Jin Hayes stared at the screen.
Beside him, Frank—who had accompanied him for the X-ray—was equally stunned. They exchanged glances, at a loss for words.
"The good news is," Frank said eventually, attempting levity, "you'll be back training next week. The team still needs you. You played brilliantly today. Anna will be… the family will be proud."
Jin Hayes raised an eyebrow. "Anna?"
Frank covered with a quick chuckle. "The whole family. Obviously. Grandpa will be overjoyed. Probably drink two extra cans of beer to celebrate."
"Tell him to go easy on the beer," Jin Hayes said with a wry smile.
He could picture it already: old Fritz in his armchair, raising a can with a triumphant, slightly tipsy grin.
On match days, when the team won, Fritz seemed twenty years younger. Bursting with life.
On other days, the eighty-year-old would sit alone in the courtyard, staring into the middle distance, lost in his own thoughts.
"Are you alright?" Frank asked, more seriously now. He was genuinely concerned about Jin Hayes's state of mind.
Jin Hayes shrugged. "I'm fine. Perfectly fine."
Leading by two goals. Two assists to his name. He'd done everything he could, and still they hadn't won.
He wasn't upset, exactly. If anything, he felt like laughing.
This team. This club.
It needed to change. Not just tweaks around the edges. A real transformation.
Jin Hayes had sensed it even before he'd arrived on loan. The potential was there—the young players, the passionate fans, the incredible stadium. But the direction wasn't right. The man leading them wasn't the man to take them forward.
When that change finally came. When the team's identity crystallised, when its spirit was unleashed…
Then the Black and Yellow storm would sweep across Europe.