"You have no idea how much Kevin was looking forward to meeting you. I think he just phrased it poorly—you're clearly the most important person here."
David Qin delivered the high-EQ response with practiced ease. Dammit, Kevin, I've laid the groundwork for you—don't just stand there like a statue!
With a silent sigh of resignation, David finally turned his gaze toward the woman standing beside Michele. He was instantly struck. She looked to be about eighteen or nineteen, possessing a striking physique, refined features, and a sun-kissed complexion that made her the natural center of attention. What piqued David's interest most, however, was her cascading mane of blonde waves.
"This is Alex Bright, a friend from my studio," Michele introduced with a smile. "She helps me manage my Instagram and our fashion brand." She shot Bright a meaningful look, her tone thick with insinuation. "And she happens to be a massive fan of yours, David. Make sure you give her an autograph later."
"Nice to meet you," David said, extending his hand with poise. Having played in front of tens of thousands of screaming fans—many of whom had greeted him with middle fingers and curses—he wasn't about to lose his cool just because a beautiful woman was standing in front of him.
"It's an honor!" Bright replied, her voice tinged with nerves. Born in Kaiserslautern in 1998—the same year the local club famously won the Bundesliga as a promoted side—she had been raised in the cathedral of German football culture.
German women are a fascinating study; they treat precision as a lifestyle and independence as a fundamental skill, yet they view beauty as a natural, effortless extension of life. As a pursuer of aesthetics, Bright loved "Beautiful Football," but few German players ever truly stirred her soul. That changed last September. Watching the highlights of Wolfsburg against Hoffenheim, she saw David Qin. His dribbling and flair weren't just athletic; they were artistic. It was a style of play that transcended the sport itself, and in that instant, she had become utterly infatuated. Now, standing before her idol, her heart hammered against her ribs.
Playing the perfect wingman to give De Bruyne some alone time with Michele. "Why don't we take a walk and chat?"
"I'd love to!" Bright's face lit up. she snatched her coat off the bench instantly, as if terrified David might change his mind. Michele watched them go, her expression mirroring David's from moments ago. Great. Another one caught in the love-struck clouds.
David tossed a "you owe me" look back at De Bruyne before leading Bright toward the training ground. With nothing else to do in the immediate vicinity, a private tour of the base seemed like the best way to entertain a fan.
"David, there's a tweet that's gone viral," Bright said, stealing a glance at his profile. "A young Hoffenheim fan says that when you played there last time, you told him dragons exist, but he could only see them if you scored. He found out you were joking and had a massive meltdown about going to school. His mom filmed it—everyone's talking about it."
"Joking? In my culture, we have the twelve zodiac signs. You've seen rabbits, tigers, and sheep, right?" David began his defense.
"Yes, of course. What's your point?" Bright asked, confused.
"The dragon is one of those signs. So, you tell me—does the dragon exist or not?"
"Well... when you put it that way... but why haven't I ever seen one?" Her head was spinning now.
"That sounds like a personal problem," David laughed, pointing toward the facility. "Shall we?"
"Can I really go in? Don't I need a pass?" Bright felt like today was her lucky day. Meeting her favorite rising star was one thing, but a tour of the Wolfsburg inner sanctum was quite another.
"This face is my pass," David said. He shared a quick greeting with the elderly security guard and sauntered through the gates.
Unbeknownst to him, a group of Wolfsburg players had gathered behind a thick line of hedges. Diego Benaglio was the first to whisper, "Has our boy finally grown up?"
"Please! He used to tell me he didn't need women because he had football," Junior Malanda grumbled, clearly feeling the sting of a brother's success. "Now look at him with a girl like that."
Ivan Perišić fanned the air near his nose, chuckling. "Junior, don't be bitter. David's a good-looking lad and a world-class talent. It's only natural that the girls are swarming." Malanda checked his reflection in his phone, admiring his fresh Mohawk and thick lips. How am I any different from David?
"How long until he introduces her to us?" Ricardo Rodriguez asked. "I bet two months. Pure-hearted kids are all the same—they want to keep it a secret until it's 'real.'"
"Two months? Look at the way she looks at him," Luiz Gustavo laughed, his afro bouncing. "I give it two weeks before she's taken him down."
David led Bright onto the pitch, pulling a ball toward him and showing off a few touches. Despite his cool exterior, he was secretly relishing her look of pure adoration. Usually, his technique was reserved for beating defenders; he hadn't realized it worked just as well for impressing girls.
"Training's about to start, so I should head back," David said, flicking the ball up with his heel and catching it before handing it to the starry-eyed Bright. "Keep it."
"Can you sign it? And maybe this?" Bright pulled a Wolfsburg jersey from her bag. David obliged, scrawling his signature with a flourish.
When he returned to the cafe to find De Bruyne, the Belgian's face was noticeably flushed. David knew the talk hadn't been about football.
"Kevin! Don't forget the goal: the Bundesliga title!"
"Don't worry," De Bruyne said firmly. "I've been doing extra sessions. You'll see when the whistle blows." He understood the stakes. Football was his life's mission, his way of proving himself to everyone who had ever doubted him. But a little bit of romance wasn't going to hurt his game—especially since Michele provided emotional support that his ex, Caroline, never had.
Five minutes later, however, David's professional cool shattered.
"What? Fifty euros for a ball? Is it made of solid gold?" David barked at the equipment manager. "I was rewarding a loyal fan! That's a club PR move!"
"Sign the form, David. It comes out of your wages," Scott, the manager, said flatly. David groaned but signed.
February 4, 2015: Volkswagen Arena
The thirty-thousand-seat stadium was a sea of green and white. The recent draw against Frankfurt had left the fans frustrated, but the consensus was clear: with David Qin back, things would be different. People didn't just come to watch a win; they came to see David's flair.
In the dressing room, Dieter Hecking was finalizing the strategy. "Hoffenheim has shifted to a 4-4-2, focusing heavily on the wings. We need to stay disciplined at the back and increase our efficiency. No more wasted chances. Bayern won't wait for us." He turned to David. "I saw what you did in the Asian Cup. Today, I want you on the ball. Draw the defenders in, find the gaps, or take them on yourself. Luiz will cover your back."
David grinned. This was it—the elevation of his tactical status. More trust meant more of the ball.
In the tunnel, David spotted a familiar face: Jin-su Kim. The defender who had been so arrogant before was now avoiding eye contact. David didn't bother with trash talk; he simply looked away. Kim felt a wave of relief. The last time David had caught him, he'd been in bed for five days. Even now, he felt a phantom pain in his ribs when he breathed too deeply.
Under a thunderous roar, "The Wolves" took to the pitch. The mascot, Wölfi, grabbed David's hand and hoisted it high. The applause was deafening. David soaked it in, hugging the mascot before waving to the stands.
"And we are underway!" Wolff-Christoph Fuss's voice boomed over the airwaves.
"Hoffenheim in a balanced 4-4-2 with Firmino and Volland up top. As for Wolfsburg, they didn't break the bank in the winter window for Schürrle—and why would they? With David Qin back in the fold, they have all the firepower they need on that left flank!"
Wolfsburg started like a house on fire. Unlike the sluggish performance against Frankfurt, the presence of Qin, De Bruyne, and Perišić behind Bas Dost created an suffocating atmospheric pressure.
"The movement is sharper, the passing more incisive! It's night and day!"
In the heart of the action, De Bruyne leaned into a pass, his right foot sweeping the ball into a wicked, curling arc that bypassed the midfield entirely. David sliced inside from the wing, timing his run to perfection. The crowd rose to its feet. David took the ball in his stride, charging toward the box. Strobl, the defender, stood his ground, watching David's every twitch.
The moment Strobl saw David's weight shift for a cross, he committed his foot.
Snap. A high-frequency double-touch. David left Strobl grasping at shadows.
"Have a go!" a fan screamed.
David took a breath, his right foot wrapping around the ball with violent friction. The ball soared, cutting a jagged arc through the air toward the top-right corner. Oliver Baumann flew across the goal, managing to get a hand to it. The ball parried away, landing in the right side of the six-yard box.
Bas Dost didn't even have to think. His body reacted on instinct. A lightning-fast poke sent the ball across the line before Baumann could recover.
"GOAL!!" The Arena erupted.
The contrast was staggering. Before David's return, the attack felt congested and hesitant. Now? It was a deluge.
Dost dragged David over and mimed shining his boot—a gesture David accepted with a cheeky grin. "I didn't exactly slack off in Australia," David boasted to his teammates. "I feel faster, smoother."
"Stop showing off," Perišić teased, nodding toward Jin-su Kim across the pitch. "I remember what you did to that lad in the Asian Cup."
"That was just a bit of honest retaliation," David whispered, his voice dropping. "Help me out later? That guy nearly snapped my leg in half. My shin guard actually cracked."
Perišić's smile vanished, replaced by a cold, Croatian grit. "Is that so? Don't worry, little brother. I'll make sure the boy finishes the match in tears."
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