"Boss, David's been playing too much lately. You have to remember he's only seventeen. You can't run him into the ground like this."
As David Qin disappeared down the player tunnel, Ton Lokhoff couldn't help but voice his concern to the manager.
"I know... I know," Dieter Hecking replied, a trace of lingering fear in his voice. "I got ahead of myself. Watching Bayern pick up points every week while David was putting in those kinds of performances... I lost sight of his age."
Hecking felt a pang of guilt. Had David suffered a serious injury, he would never have forgiven himself.
"Let's focus on the defense for now. This time of year is always the great watershed of the season," Hecking sighed, staring out at the pitch. "Only those who survive the winter have the right to dream of the title. It's just a shame our bench isn't as deep as Bayern's."
"Maybe we can find some reinforcements in the winter window," Lokhoff suggested, a spark of hope in his eyes. "This season is our best chance."
By the time David finished his post-match shower and returned to the bench, the game was deep into stoppage time. A Wolfsburg side committed to full defense was a formidable wall—one that Paderborn simply lacked the tools to break down.
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The final whistle confirmed a hard-fought home victory and three crucial points. However, the labored nature of the win left many fans uneasy. Two matches remained before the winter break: a heavyweight clash with Borussia Dortmund and a final fixture against FC Köln.
"Dortmund... they just lost to Hertha Berlin, didn't they?" David asked the next day, poking at his lunch in the club canteen.
"Yeah. I don't know what's going on with them," Kevin De Bruyne replied, looking equally puzzled. "It's like they've put all their eggs in the Champions League basket and abandoned the domestic front entirely."
As the first half of the Bundesliga season drew to a close, Dortmund had shockingly tumbled into the relegation zone, sitting second from bottom. It was an unthinkable collapse for a team that had been runners-up just the previous season. Yet, in Europe, they were rampant, topping their group to set up a mouth-watering tie against Juventus.
"Speaking of European draws, did the Europa League fixtures come out last night?" David asked, suddenly remembering the ceremony in Nyon.
"You haven't seen?" Perišić asked, surprised.
"I had a bit of a fever yesterday. I slept right through until now. Finally starting to feel human again," David said, reaching for a tissue.
"Take care of yourself, kid. My first winter in Germany was nothing but sniffles," Perišić said, before his expression soured. "Since we topped the group, we drew one of the second-place teams. It's Tottenham Hotspur."
"Spurs?" David whistled. Talk about bad luck. Of all the possible opponents, they had managed to draw one of the heavy hitters of the Premier League.
Under Mauricio Pochettino, Spurs were undergoing a transformation, embracing a high-intensity pressing philosophy. While they were still inconsistent—suffering heavy defeats like a 4-1 thrashing by Manchester City—the potential was obvious.
The Premier League landscape was fascinating: Chelsea led the pack, followed by a surprising Southampton in second, City in third, and Arsenal... well, Arsenal were in fourth. Some things never change. Liverpool sat seventh, Spurs ninth, while Louis van Gaal's Manchester United languished in tenth.
David pulled out his phone to check the Spurs roster. "Harry Kane, Eriksen, Paulinho, Kyle Walker... that's a serious squad."
Harry Kane, in particular, was on fire, sitting second in the Golden Boot race behind Sergio Agüero. Then there was Kyle Walker. Even before David's "reincarnation," he knew Walker as the man with the recovery pace to keep up with Mbappé.
"That's a lot of pressure on my side of the pitch," David noted, though his eyes weren't filled with worry, but anticipation. He wanted to see how his technical wizardry would fare against Walker's raw athletic power. He didn't rely on speed to beat men; he used his feet.
"Forget February for now," Captain Benaglio interrupted, bringing the table back to reality. "We need to figure out how we're handling Dortmund first."
The day before the Dortmund clash, Hecking gathered the squad for a tactical briefing.
"With Lewandowski gone this summer, Klopp has shifted to a 4-4-2 based on his current personnel," Hecking explained, pointing to the board. "Up top, they use Immobile as a target man to pin the defense, while Aubameyang uses his pace to exploit the gaps. We must protect our depth. Do not leave space behind the line. We need our offside traps to be perfectly synchronized."
He turned the focus to the attack. "Dortmund is low on confidence, especially in goal. Roman Weidenfeller's save percentage is down to 65% this season. You know what that means."
"Long shots," De Bruyne muttered.
"Exactly. Increase the frequency of shots from distance and win those set-pieces. Furthermore, their backline is frequently becoming detached from their midfield—a byproduct of Reus being out. Shinji Kagawa isn't bridging that gap effectively. David, this is your cue. Once you bypass their midfield line, you'll have time. Dribble, pass, create—the space will be there."
Hecking glanced at David. The fever had given him a scare, but the medical team had given the boy a clean bill of health yesterday. He had considered resting him, but with Caligiuri still out with a shoulder strain, he needed David for one more shift.
"Got it, Boss," David nodded.
December 18, 2014.
Snow drifted lazily through the air in North Rhine-Westphalia. The Wolfsburg team bus, emblazoned with the green wolf crest, rolled slowly toward the towering architecture of the Westfalenstadion.
It was the most famous "Cauldron" in world football, capable of holding over 80,000 fans. Its attendance figures were consistently among the highest in Europe. With the legendary "Yellow Wall" at its back, it was a living nightmare for visiting teams.
"Every time you step into this stadium, you feel reborn," Jürgen Klopp once said. "When you walk out of that tunnel, you feel like the world is about to explode."
Even from inside the bus, David could hear the deafening roar of the songs. The fans lining the streets were a literal sea of yellow and black, an endless wave of passion that seemed to stretch on forever.
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