In the 32nd round of the Bundesliga, Borussia Dortmund returned to their formidable home ground, the Westfalenstadion, to face the challenge of VfL Wolfsburg.
Before the match, Wolfsburg's head coach Felix Magath had practically worn a groove into the away locker room floor with his pacing. His voice echoed off the walls as he hammered home his instructions.
"Pay attention to using your bodies more! Football is, above all, about the physical battle!"
"And especially that kid! He's not even sixteen years old, verdammt noch mal! Shouldn't grown, professional players be able to bully a teenager?"
"If you compete physically, you will absolutely dominate him! Don't embarrass me like last time, prancing around out there like models on a runway..."
"Are you runway models? No! You are warriors! Beasts! Wolves! Do you understand what wolves do? They pounce! They bite fiercely at the opponent's throat!"
The stocky man with the black-rimmed glasses gesticulated wildly, his face reddening with intensity. His ability to whip a room into a frenzy was almost theatrical—one might have thought he was delivering a revolutionary speech in a crowded hall rather than a team talk in a football locker room.
Every time Magath watched players like Jin Hayes wreak havoc in the Bundesliga, he found it genuinely difficult to process. The kid was still underage. Legally a minor. Yet here he was, toying with seasoned adult professionals on one of Europe's biggest stages. It defied conventional wisdom.
Why did football have age-group divisions in the first place? Why were Under-16 and Under-18 entirely different competitive worlds? Because in a league that emphasized physical duels, confrontation ability and stamina directly determined the balance of power between two sides. If tactical organization and technical quality were roughly equal, the team with even a slight physical edge would grind their opponents into dust.
So in Magath's mind, it was simply outrageous that a player who hadn't yet celebrated his sixteenth birthday could be so dominant in the Bundesliga. Was his technical ability truly so extraordinary that it could completely neutralize the disadvantage in physical development?
For nearly two weeks, Magath had been drilling Wolfsburg's squad on confrontation and physicality. He had specifically designed multiple defensive schemes for the left flank, where Jin Hayes typically operated. Trap rotations. Double-teams. Tactical fouls when necessary.
If that kid tried to dribble up the wing like he always did, Magath was determined to make sure he wouldn't make it back in one piece.
The powerful, penetrating chants echoing down from the Westfalenstadion terraces made Magath restless as he stood in the away locker room. His mind was flooded with the relentless rhythm: "Heja BVB! Heja BVB! Heja, Heja BVB!"
Just you wait, Magath thought, his jaw tightening. Today, I'll turn this place into a library.
….
As kickoff approached, the Heinrich family in the South Stand had already been singing alongside the rest of the Yellow Wall for a solid half hour. Their voices were growing hoarse, but the energy was infectious.
The Dortmund supporters had prepared an enormous home TIFO to welcome Wolfsburg's arrival. Three giant letters—"BVB"—each standing nearly thirty meters tall, rose from the terrace like a mountain range pressing down from above. From a distance, the display resembled Mount Fujiitself looming over the pitch, sending a soul-stirring shock through every away player who dared to glance upward. It was the kind of visual assault that generated genuine fear from the depths of the heart.
Beneath the leftmost "B" of the massive display, Anna Heinrich held a black acrylic board aloft with both hands. Her slender arms were already beginning to ache, trembling slightly with the effort.
"How much longer do I have to keep holding this up?" she complained, her voice nearly swallowed by the surrounding noise.
"Just a little longer," her brother Frank replied. "We can take it down once the opening ceremony finishes."
"No..." Anna groaned, shifting her grip.
Today, Frank—who normally worked with the club's medical team—had the day off. He stood among his family in the stands, ready to cheer for the home side like any ordinary supporter. Glancing sideways at his younger sister, he noticed something in her expression and tilted his head thoughtfully.
"What's wrong? Are you in a bad mood today?"
"No," Anna replied quickly, lowering her head so that her expression became unreadable.
"Oh! Jin is coming out!"
"Where?!"
Anna's head snapped toward the player tunnel with such speed that Frank burst out laughing, unable to contain himself.
"Vollidiot," Anna muttered, rolling her eyes dramatically. Idiot.
"Is this about Jin?" Frank pressed, a knowing smile still playing at his lips.
"What?" Perhaps the noise in the stands was simply too loud, because Anna seemed not to have heard clearly.
"These past few days, you've been—"
Frank was about to continue when the players from both sides emerged from the tunnel, and a deafening roar from eighty thousand voices swallowed his words entirely. Any thought of conversation was swept away. He just wanted to scream wildly, to pour every ounce of his energy into supporting the team.
The goal set by the club's management this season had been modest: secure a top-five finish and Europa League qualification. That was the official target.
But Frank knew better. He knew the players' private, unspoken ambition was the Champions League. And that meant every single remaining match was absolutely crucial. Today was a direct confrontation with Wolfsburg, who sat fifth in the table—a genuine six-point clash with massive implications for the European places.
Compared to his family, who were all cheering wildly and waving scarves as the teams took the pitch, Anna seemed strangely out of place. She just stood there quietly, still holding her section of the TIFO, her lips moving almost silently.
"Dussel," she murmured. Fool.
It was unclear whether she was complaining about herself or someone else entirely.
….
"Indeed, there's a noticeable boost!"
The talent exchange had taken effect immediately.
The enhancement to his physical attributes hadn't just raised his potential ceiling—it had also dramatically improved his training efficiency. The muscle definition Jin Hayes had managed to build over three months in the gym last year wasn't nearly as pronounced as the gains he'd made in just this past week alone.
Even Nuri Şahin and Mats Hummels had noticed the difference, their expressions betraying genuine surprise.
"How do you suddenly feel... stronger?" Şahin asked, poking at Jin's shoulder like a curious zoologist examining a new specimen.
"That's because I spent the time you were wasting at nightclubs actually working in the gym," Jin Hayes replied smoothly.
"Verdammt! So competitive!" Şahin cursed under his breath, shaking his head.
If Jin Hayes continued training at this rate, his physical intensity might actually surpass Hummels by next season. The thought was almost absurd. He was becoming a complete monster.
Out on the pitch, the effects were even more obvious.
Every time Jin Hayes received the ball and began his acceleration, the explosive power generated from pushing off the turf was more intense than he had ever experienced. Facing Felipe Santana on Wolfsburg's left flank, he might have previously needed to rely on elaborate skill moves—step-overs, feints, the elastico—to shake off his marker and create separation.
Now? Now it was simple.
Jin Hayes blew past winger Felipe Santana in a one-on-one duel on the flank within the very first minute of the match. In the opening fifteen minutes alone, he had already completed three consecutive breakthroughs. Felipe Santana looked increasingly overwhelmed, his body language betraying genuine nervousness whenever Jin Hayes approached. He kept dropping deeper, lowering his center of gravity, retreating while trying to delay.
In a flash, Jin Hayes suddenly dipped his shoulder to the left. The moment Felipe Santana tensed and stepped forward to engage, Jin Hayes flicked the ball with the outside of his boot and changed direction, accelerating into the space he had created.
His studs kicked up a spray of dirt and grass.
In Felipe Santana's panicked, widening eyes, the young Dortmund player had already swept past him like a gust of wind. Santana spun frantically, reaching out with his arm to grab a handful of jersey—anything to slow him down—but his fingers closed on empty air. He couldn't even make contact.
"Jin!!! Beautiful change of rhythm! Explosive acceleration to leave the defender in the dust!"
With his increased physical strength and more developed leg and core muscles, Jin Hayes's top-end speed still wasn't in the same stratosphere as players like a young Mbappé or Gareth Bale in full flight. But his instantaneous explosiveness—that first five-yard burst—was beginning to feel genuinely world-class.
Kaoru Mitoma would have been proud.
Wait. Who was Kaoru Mitoma?
It didn't matter.
Jin Hayes galloped across the green expanse, relishing the powerful surge of his enhanced physical functions. It felt like a supercar's V8 engine roaring beneath the hood—responsive, thrilling, and ready to unleash.
Wolfsburg's full-back Daniel Reiche had seared coach Magath's repeated instructions into his memory. Body. Body. And still more body.
As Jin Hayes approached, Reiche set himself like a rugby defensive back and slammed into the attacker with a textbook shoulder charge—a move that would have made any gridiron coach proud.
There was no way that slight frame could possibly withstand this kind of impact.
Or so Reiche thought.
In the past, Jin Hayes would have immediately slowed down, trying to evade physical contact and rely purely on technical skill to navigate around defenders. But that approach had its drawbacks—he would frequently get funneled into multi-player traps, expending far more stamina and mental energy to fight his way out of encirclement.
Now? Now it was simple.
Jin Hayes didn't dodge. He went head-to-head with the opposing defender.
Bang—
The two bodies collided with a sickening thud.
The violent impact sent Jin Hayes's trajectory veering sharply outward, and for a terrifying moment it seemed he might lose his balance entirely and tumble to the turf. But his newly enhanced physical foundation was more than sufficient to absorb and withstand the force.
Jin Hayes didn't fall. Instead, he used the momentum of the collision to create separation, nudged the ball forward, and accelerated on the outside, overtaking Reiche completely.
"Impossible!" Daniel Reiche's mind reeled. He hadn't even gone down? After that kind of hit? What happened to the fragile, lightweight kid the scouting report had described?
And this was supposed to be a player who wasn't even sixteen?
Reiche himself had nearly been knocked off balance by the force of his own challenge. He scrambled desperately, launching himself into a sliding tackle in a last-ditch attempt to recover.
But Jin Hayes had already anticipated the move. He planted his right foot and flicked the ball backward with his heel, changing direction in an instant.
"OHHHHH—"
"Beautiful!!!"
"Get past him!!!"
Amidst the roaring approval of the home fans, Jin Hayes executed a move reminiscent of Cristiano Ronaldo's signature heel-flick stop-and-go, elegantly evading the sliding tackle and gliding into the penalty area with the ball still glued to his feet.
With both physical assurance and technical mastery now at his disposal, Jin Hayes's dribbling had become simpler, more direct, and far more explosive than before.
"What the hell?! Fuck!!!"
Felix Magath's voice cracked as he screamed from the sideline. His meticulously designed defensive trap—the pocket coverage he had drilled into his players for two solid weeks—had been completely and utterly breached.
He could only watch helplessly as Jin Hayes wound up to shoot from inside the penalty area.
Magath's lone, desperate thought was that Jin Hayes was a notoriously poor finisher. Surely this ball wouldn't actually go in... right?
He hadn't even had time to exhale in relief before he nearly choked on his own breath.
Jin Hayes, having broken into the box, simply couldn't resist the temptation to pull the trigger. In a situation where he was momentarily free of pressure, only a divine being could have restrained themselves from shooting.
On pure impulse, without a second thought, Jin Hayes swung his right foot and unleashed a thunderous strike.
What if a miracle happens through sheer power?
He felt incredibly strong!
Boom—
Wolfsburg goalkeeper Simon Jentzsch was almost frightened out of his skin by the sheer violence of the shooting motion. He launched himself into a full-extension dive toward the far post, fully committed.
But halfway through his dive, he watched in dawning horror as the ball curved past the goal with a trajectory that defied all known laws of physics and football.
"What the f—!!"
He had been completely fooled.
Great power had not, in fact, produced a miracle. Jin Hayes's shooting remained as wildly erratic as ever.
The ball rocketed toward the sideline, nowhere near the goal frame. Marco Reus, positioned innocently on the far side of the pitch, hadn't yet registered the danger hurtling toward him.
But then, a dark shadow approached with terrifying speed, growing larger and larger in his peripheral vision—
"Oh no..."
Marco Reus's face crumpled as if he had just been struck by Mike Tyson's right hook. The ball smashed directly into his nose, and he toppled backward, blood already beginning to stream.
But the impact had changed the ball's trajectory entirely. It deflected at a sharp angle, arcing gracefully toward the goal, grazing the inside of the post, and nestling into the back of the net.
The Westfalenstadion fell into a stunned, breathless silence for one surreal moment.
Then it erupted like a volcano.
"Hoo hoo hoo hoo, unbelievable! That goal was absolutely absurd!"
"Jin Hayes's shot—or was it a pass?—assists Marco Reus, who scores the opening goal with his face!"
"Borussia Dortmund leads Wolfsburg by one goal!"
Marco Reus, lying flat on his back on the grass, blood still trickling from his nose, could never have imagined that his first Bundesliga start and his first Bundesliga goal would arrive like this.
It was like love, he thought dimly, as the medical staff rushed toward him.
Fierce. And utterly sudden.