As Jin Hayes's German improved, he found himself spending more and more time browsing German football forums.
Compared to English-language forums, Kicker's online community—one of Germany's largest—offered a different flavour of content. Alongside tactical deep-dives from self-proclaimed experts, there were endless humorous anecdotes and memes about the Bundesliga.
Recently, Borussia Dortmund's head coach, Thomas Doll, had become an undeniable source of comedy. The internet had made him its latest punchline.
That morning, sitting in the Dortmund training ground canteen, Jin Hayes was scrolling through his phone, chuckling so hard he nearly choked on his breakfast.
Nuri Şahin and Mats Hummels, trays in hand, wandered over curiously.
"What's so funny?"
"Let me see."
Marco Reus hovered nearby, still a little shy around Jin Hayes. He slid quietly into a seat at the adjacent table, tilting his head to eavesdrop.
"Look at this one…" Jin Hayes could barely get the words out.
"'If points were awarded based on Thomas Doll's press conferences, Borussia Dortmund would be runaway Bundesliga champions this season.'"
"And this: 'Thomas Doll screams on the touchline, clutches his head, applauds wildly—as if any of it actually affects what's happening on the pitch.'"
"'Doesn't Thomas Doll remind you of your boss? Company performance? Irrelevant. What matters is proving he's not wrong and finding someone else to blame.'"
"'Fans tell Thomas Doll he doesn't understand football. Thomas Doll tells them they don't understand traffic.'"
After Dortmund's humiliating 2-2 draw with ten-man Hertha Berlin, Thomas Doll had faced the press and, true to form, insisted his substitutions had been perfectly reasonable.
He'd repeated himself, growing increasingly defensive:
"Theoretically, we should have taken three points from that match! We were two goals ahead. We controlled the game for long stretches. The opponent was down to ten men. Victory should have been ours."
"The only explanation is that the players lost focus. They underestimated the opponent in the final stages because of the comfortable lead."
The German media had promptly coined a new phrase: "eine Pressekonferenz-Rückkehr" — a press conference comeback.
This refusal to accept responsibility, this deflection onto other factors, infuriated the fans. It also grated on the players.
They had followed Thomas Doll's conservative instructions. When they should have pushed forward and killed the game, they'd sat back, invited pressure, and gifted Hertha Berlin a route back into the match.
This wasn't a one-off. Inexplicably dropped points had become a pattern over the past two seasons. Faith in the head coach had long since evaporated.
Jin Hayes's performances had briefly reignited hope. The Champions League had seemed, for a fleeting moment, within reach.
And then the head coach had personally extinguished that hope.
The frustration had been building—among fans, within the squad, even in the boardroom. After the Hertha debacle, it finally boiled over.
Hummels, having finished laughing at the memes, leaned in conspiratorially.
"Did you hear? The boss might be getting the sack."
"No way," Şahin whispered back. "They were going to fire him in the first half of the season, but then we went seven unbeaten and he saved himself."
"That's your fault, Jin. You played too well."
"Sorry for trying to win," Jin Hayes replied, offering a two-fingered salute.
"How do you know this, anyway?"
"I heard it myself," Hummels said, lowering his voice further. "Watzke was talking. If we don't win the next three matches, Thomas Doll is gone."
The three of them exchanged glances.
"So we…" Şahin began, a speculative look creeping onto his face.
He stopped mid-sentence. Jin Hayes was staring at him, his expression unusually serious.
"We play properly. We're professionals. The only thing that matters on that pitch is winning."
He held Şahin's gaze.
"Whether the coach keeps his job? That's not our concern."
Hummels and Şahin both nodded, chastened. They hadn't meant anything by it, but Jin was right. They were players. Their job was to play.
Marco Reus, still half-eavesdropping from the next table, nodded to himself in quiet approval.
Exactly. Do your job. Football should be simple. Pure.
>>>
While Jin Hayes recovered from his ankle sprain, Borussia Dortmund, still very much at the centre of a growing storm, continued their Bundesliga campaign.
In the DFB-Pokal quarter-finals, Dortmund comfortably dispatched second-division side Jena 3-1, securing their place in the semi-finals.
Marco Reus was given minutes in that cup tie, finally making his first-team debut for the club.
And fortune, it seemed, was smiling on them.
Their semi-final opponent was not Bayern Munich. Not Wolfsburg. Not even a established Bundesliga side. Instead, they drew Hoffenheim—a small club currently plying their trade in the second division, widely considered the weakest team left in the competition.
"Hoffenheim? Who are they?"
"They're second in 2. Bundesliga. They might cause some waves in the top flight next season, actually."
"Really?" Hummels looked deeply sceptical.
"I'll bet you," Jin Hayes said, taking a deep breath between bench presses in the gym. "They'll be top two by the winter break next season. At least."
Hummels snorted. "A promoted team in the top two by winter? Fine. If they're in the top five by the winter break, I'll give you a hundred euros and be your personal servant for a week. Free of charge."
"Deal."
Jin Hayes's expression didn't flicker. He continued his reps with the same calm focus.
That unshakeable confidence gave Hummels a momentary pause.
Wait. Could he actually be right?
>>>
Bundesliga Round 24. Dortmund travelled to the Volksparkstadion to face Hamburg.
Jin Hayes, his ankle fully recovered, was named in the matchday squad. He began the game on the bench.
By the 82nd minute, the score remained 1-0.
To the home team.
Hamburg were ahead.
Thomas Doll, trapped at the epicentre of public criticism, was a man unravelling. His usually fluffy curls were being tugged at relentlessly; he looked close to tearing them out entirely.
His gaze swept the bench. One substitution remaining. His eyes wavered between Reus and Jin Hayes.
In the end, he chose the miraculous teenager.
Mein Gott, this is absolute hell.
At that moment, Thomas Doll felt a profound, crushing sense of powerlessness.
On this chaotic, uncontrollable pitch, the only player who seemed capable of changing anything—the only one he could turn to—was the fifteen-year-old he privately disliked, the one who constantly ignored his tactical instructions, who dribbled when he should pass, who infuriated him in training...
And yet, the one who kept saving his job.
"Jin. Get warmed up. You're coming on."
"Okay."
Jin Hayes's face revealed nothing. He stripped off his training top and began jogging along the touchline.
The moment he appeared, over fifty thousand Hamburg fans inside the Volksparkstadion erupted. A deafening, overwhelming chorus of boos rained down.
On the pitch, Hamburg's captain and creative heartbeat, Rafael van der Vaart, had just received the ball. He looked around, utterly bewildered.
What did I do? Why are they booing me? I scored the goal!
Confused, he launched a speculative shot high into the stands.
Only then did he realise. The boos weren't for him. They were aimed at the slight figure in yellow, waiting to enter the field.
That face. Every Bundesliga player knew that face by now.
In tactical meetings across the country, Jin Hayes's photograph loomed large on PowerPoint slides. Head coaches spent hours, voices hoarse, spittle flying, devising plans to contain him.
Alongside Bayern's Klose and Toni, Wolfsburg's Džeko, Werder Bremen's Özil... Jin Hayes had become one of the most talked-about players in the league.
He hadn't even stepped onto the pitch yet, and Rafael van der Vaart felt a cold premonition settle in his stomach.
A one-goal lead, with less than ten minutes remaining, suddenly felt deeply precarious.
His instincts were correct.
Every time Jin Hayes touched the ball after coming on, he sent shivers through the Hamburg fans and players alike.
On the sidelines, Hamburg's coach, Huub Stevens, chewed anxiously at his fingernails.
The Bundesliga's director of broadcast, possessed of a mischievous sense of humour, cut to a split screen. On one side, Stevens, gnawing at his nails. On the other, Thomas Doll, mirroring the exact same action.
Another iconic image was seared into Bundesliga folklore: The Jin Hayes Effect. Both coaches, united in anxiety.
Jin Hayes, meanwhile, paid no attention to any of it.
He took a few touches, feeling the grass beneath his feet, testing his ankle gently.
Feels good. Let's finish this.
In the 88th minute, his moment arrived.
Hamburg had retreated deep. Şahin found space and played the ball out to the right flank. Jin Hayes collected it, instantly facing a double-team.
The ball arrived at an awkward height—a half-volley. Jin Hayes, with complete impropriety, trapped it against his knee, using the unconventional touch to wrong-foot Hamburg's left-back, Brečko, and skip past him in one motion.
Rafael van der Vaart rushed across to cover. Jin Hayes flicked the ball from knee to knee, juggling past him as well.
The sheer imagination of it—continuous knee juggling in the final third—stunned the stadium into silence.
Scheisse.
Hamburg's young centre-back, a certain Vincent Kompany, charged forward with all the aggressive certainty of youth. He would teach this kid a lesson. He would—
One second later, Kompany was spinning in confusion, watching the yellow shirt glide past him into the box.
It was a moment that would haunt him. Even years later, captaining Manchester City in the Champions League against Messi, against Ronaldo, his most vivid memory would remain this: a fifteen-year-old making him look like a training cone.
"MEIN GOTT!!! JIN! A MAGNIFICENT CHIP AND TURN! VINCENT KOMPANY IS LEFT FOR DEAD!!"
Jin Hayes had let the ball drop from his knees to his foot, then casually chipped it over Kompany's despairing lunge, accelerating past him as if he were out for a Sunday stroll.
By the time Kompany recovered, Jin Hayes was through. One on one with Hamburg's veteran goalkeeper, Frank Rost.
The thirty-four-year-old Rost rushed out, spreading himself, trying to close the angle.
Jin Hayes glanced up. No one in yellow in the box. Just white shirts converging.
No choice.
My shooting's too poor. I'll just have to dribble past everyone. Including the keeper.
As Rost charged, Jin Hayes shaped to chip—the same motion he'd used against Kompany. Rost committed, leaping, arms outstretched.
Gotcha.
In that instant, Rost's eyes widened in disbelief. The teenager had somehow hooked the ball back down, pushing it through his legs as he sailed past.
As the yellow shirt swept by, Rost caught a glimpse of his eyes. Calm. Focused. Almost robotic.
In the warm spring sunshine of the Volksparkstadion, Frank Rost felt a chill run down his spine.
"JIN!! HE'S PAST HIM!! A SOLO GOAL, BACK IN THE BUNDESLIGA!!"
"A gentle push into the empty net—"
"TOOOOOOR!!! JIN HAYES!!!"
Jin Hayes's unchallenged finish, combined with commentator Scholl's impassioned roar, sent another shockwave through German football.
The boy had done it again.