Munich's Allianz Arena.
The Bayern Munich players were disheartened. Watching Borussia Dortmund's wild celebration, Philipp Lahm felt both envy and regret. Perhaps due to Bayern's long dominance in the Bundesliga, he hadn't experienced the thrill of creating a miracle in a long time. Just a few rounds ago, no one would have believed that Dortmund could surge northward, securing the last Champions League spot with a four-game winning streak, overcoming an eight-point deficit. These young men were truly crazy.
On another pitch, perhaps threatened by Dortmund's performance, Schalke 04's morale plummeted. Their initial 2–1 crumbled, and they were ultimately defeated 5–1 by Werder Bremen. After the final whistle, the Schalke coaching staff could only stare at the scoreboard in disbelief. No one had predicted such an outcome.
"Jin, want to swap jerseys?"
Philipp Lahm found the young Asian player in the crowd. Jin Hayes's jersey was already soaked with sweat, but the joy of victory washed away his fatigue. It must be said, Lahm was genuinely impressed by the teenager's performance in this match—two assists and one goal, a dominant display. It had been a long time since he had seen such brilliant young talent.
"Sure."
Facing Lahm's invitation, Jin Hayes readily took off his jersey.
"Uh... it's completely wet."
"Hahahaha, it doesn't matter... you played well."
"Thanks. You were tough to deal with too."
"Really? I got dribbled past by you so many times."
Lahm recalled the match, feeling a constant sense of pressure whenever he faced Jin Hayes. You could never predict what move this boy would use to beat you. Every touch of the ball was filled with wild inspiration. He was practically an artist.
"Seriously, I rarely come up against a defender as difficult as you."
Jin Hayes was not exaggerating in the slightest. Lahm wasn't tall, nor was he exceptionally fast, but his willpower was incredibly resilient. Every time Jin Hayes thought he had easily shaken off Lahm, the opponent would stick to him like glue. That forced Jin Hayes to exert a lot of effort and energy, using various high-difficulty techniques just to get past him. If not for Lahm's defense, Dortmund might have scored one or two more goals.
"Thanks. It's a shame we still lost..."
After exchanging jerseys, the two shook hands amicably. Before leaving, Jin Hayes suddenly turned back.
"Hey, Philipp."
"What?"
"You'd better watch out for that Spaniard."
Lahm looked bewildered.
"Fernando Torres. His acceleration is very fast—faster than you imagine."
"Um... thanks for the warning."
Lahm wanted to ask for more details, but Jin Hayes had already been pulled away by his Dortmund teammates to celebrate. For a moment, Lahm didn't take it to heart. It wasn't until more than a month later, at the Ernst-Happel-Stadion in Vienna, that he would remember those words. In the 33rd minute of the European Championship final, the Spanish sharpshooter Fernando Torres—like a gust of wind—swept past Lahm, who watched in despair as he was overtaken and the ball was poked into the net.
By then, it was too late.
…
"Mom, I'm fine... really, no swelling at all... Mm-hmm, I know how to protect myself on the pitch."
"Yes, I can come back for the holidays... Okay, I'll make a note..."
Munich, victory night.
As he was still a month shy of his sixteenth birthday, Jin Hayes was not eligible to enter German entertainment venues. While the entire team went to a Munich nightclub to celebrate, Jin Hayes was miserably sitting in his hotel room. After the match, he had been drenched in beer by his ecstatic teammates in the dressing room. It took him half an hour to wash off the smell in the shower, and he had just lain down on the bed, ready to browse forums, when at 11 PM his heart nearly seized up upon receiving a long-distance call from home.
It was 5 AM in the capital.
Wandering abroad, the thing a traveler dreaded most was receiving a family call in the middle of the night.
Seeing her child being tackled multiple times on the pitch, risking injury, she insisted on calling long-distance to confirm Jin Hayes was all right. After repeated reassurance, Ding Ru finally felt completely relieved.
Then she immediately wanted Jin Hayes to help her purchase inexpensive German cosmetics and skincare products—CeraVe facial cleanser, Annemarie Börlind eye cream, Herbacin Kamille hand cream… she listed a long string of items. Jin Hayes was genuinely afraid of being detained by customs.
Having been in Europe for nearly a year, the fifteen-year-old inevitably missed home, and his thoughts had already drifted back to his homeland. Jin Hayes's first professional season concluded with a DFB-Pokal runner-up medal and a third-place finish in the Bundesliga.
For individual honors, his 16 assists led the league, and he would be awarded the assist king trophy at the start of next season.
Amid widespread praise from the outside world, Jin Hayes was nonetheless not entirely satisfied with his debut campaign. He had initially thought that with his talent, he would have the chance to lead the team to at least one trophy. But unfortunately, he could only keep working harder next season.
After chatting with his parents for a long time and hanging up, Jin Hayes received many congratulatory messages. Besides the Heinrich family, there were also messages from Arsenal figures like Wenger, Walcott, Van Persie, and Fabregas. Even the QQ group for the old "Football Kid" talent show became active again, and his former teammates sent their congratulations.
"Lord Jin is amazing!! You're playing in the Champions League next season!"
"Holy cow, remember to treat us when you come back to China!"
"So jealous!"
Jin Hayes's flourishing career in the Bundesliga made many of the other draft players envious. Once upon a time, Jin Hayes was just an inconspicuous young player who had filled in on the roster, while the others were champions from various regions, favored sons eligible to join Chinese Super League youth teams.
Now, the tables had turned.
The others still hadn't stepped onto the path of professional football, while Jin Hayes could already participate in the Champions League as a starter in a top European league.
"Lord Jin, are you going back to Arsenal next season or staying at Dortmund?" asked Jin Hui, who was quite close to him, curious about Jin Hayes's destination.
"I'm not sure yet. The club hasn't made any arrangements."
"Arsenal should be better. They're also in the Champions League next season, and the Premier League is high quality."
"No, the Premier League is too intense. Not suitable for a technical player like Lord Jin."
"I think Dortmund is better."
"What if Dortmund's new coach isn't reliable? Who knows who this 'Klopp' is…"
The football kids in the group discussed Jin Hayes animatedly, but he, the person in question, couldn't get a word in. Helplessly closing the chat window, Jin Hayes leaned shirtless on the hotel balcony, letting the cool evening breeze of Munich wash over him.
Why no news from Anna?
To be honest, when Frank gave him the lucky four-leaf clover sticker, Jin Hayes was focused on the match and didn't think much of it. Later, upon careful reflection, Anna's beautiful profile inevitably appeared in his mind. Before, after winning away games, Anna would always send him a congratulatory message. But this time, he had waited a long time and still hadn't received anything.
Did I annoy her recently?
Jin Hayes thought hard but couldn't find any issues.
Little did he know, far away in Dortmund, as the Heinrich family celebrated the victory with beer, Anna sat alone on the backyard swing, holding her phone and staring blankly.
What should I send?
"Congratulations on the win…" No, no, no!
"You played great, the goal was beautiful…" No, that's too stupid!
Anna typed continuously in the input box, then repeatedly deleted it.
Hmph! Why should I congratulate that guy? He doesn't even care about me anyway.
Anna angrily closed the message interface—but accidentally pressed the call button, connecting directly to Jin Hayes's phone.
"Eh?"
She didn't have time to hang up. Jin Hayes answered instantly.
"Anna? What's wrong?"
"N-nothing. Just congratulating you on the win… and on qualifying for the Champions League."
"Thanks."
"…"
Silence. An awkward silence on the phone. Anna's already fair fingers clenched tightly, turning even more bloodless. She racked her brain but couldn't think of anything to say. Jin Hayes on the other end was in the same predicament.
This isn't right!
Logically, talking to Anna should be stress-free. Before, he could chat however he wanted—so why was he suddenly speechless? It was like he had forgotten how to flirt.
Jin Hayes suddenly realized his problem.
"You… haven't slept yet?" Anna finally squeezed out a sentence.
"Mm, not yet. You haven't slept either?"
"Mm."
Isn't that obvious? Both of them almost simultaneously complained to themselves.
"Well, then, get some rest. You must be tired today."
"You too."
"Goodnight, Anna."
"Goodnight, Jin."
Click. The call ended.
Following a common technique in television dramas, the screen might as well have split in two: on the left, Jin Hayes leaned against the balcony railing; on the right, Anna leaned on the swing. Both sighed at the same moment.
He really doesn't have feelings for me.
She really doesn't have feelings for me.
Perhaps all those moments of attraction before had just been an illusion. Under the same bright moon, two melancholic young people sat alone with their thoughts.