When the whistle blew for the start of the second half, the Bologna players' eyes clearly changed. They no longer organized their attacks methodically like in the first half, but instead played with a ferocity born of being pushed to a corner; Italian players are still very passionate on the field. Oliver could feel that the opposing defenders were marking him much tighter; every time he got the ball, De Maio would stick to him, using his body to squeeze his space.
"Attention! They're bringing on Verdi! This is a signal they're strengthening their midfield!" Nagelsmann shouted from the sidelines, acutely noticing that the Bologna Coach was preparing a substitution in the warm-up area.
Sure enough, in the 60th minute, Bologna brought on their star attacking midfielder Verdi, attempting to strengthen their midfield control. Nagelsmann reacted immediately. He walked to the sideline, crossed his arms over his chest, and made a tightening gesture; this was the secret signal for a 5-4-1 formation change.
After seeing it, Hoffenheim's players, led by Captain Vogt, raised their arms to direct, and the formation on the field immediately tightened. The two defensive midfielders, Grillitsch and Rupp, dropped back deeper, protecting the edge of the box like two moving walls.
"Maintain a compact formation, don't give them space!" Nagelsmann's voice cut through the stadium's roar, and Oliver also dropped back deeper on the right wing, ready to assist in defense at any moment. But there are always surprises in football.
In the 75th minute, Bologna earned a corner kick, and Verdi's pass found the head of center-back Helander precisely; Kobel couldn't stop this corner, and the goal was a bit tricky.
2-1,
Bologna scored, and the score difference was narrowed. Nagelsmann fiercely kicked the turf, but quickly regained his composure.
"This goal wasn't a tactical error! Continue with the plan!" he shouted towards the field, simultaneously making a downward palm gesture, signaling the players to steady their minds. Oliver wiped his sweat and glanced at the electronic display on the sidelines; there were 15 minutes left. He noticed that Bologna's two full-backs began to push forward frequently, leaving large gaps in their own half, and Oliver started thinking about how to break the deadlock.
The opportunity came in the 80th minute. Goalkeeper Kobel launched a long goal kick, the ball soared over midfield, heading directly towards Oliver's right wing; Kobel intended to trust Oliver. Oliver judged the landing spot before the ball hit the ground; he gently cushioned it with his chest, and the ball obediently dropped half a meter in front of him. This was a wise move, as it both negated the impact of the long pass and bought time for his next action.
Bologna's De Maio immediately rushed forward, but Oliver lightly flicked the ball with the outside of his right foot, sending it through the opponent's legs, while he darted past from the outside, dribbling past the player and the ball! His ball control rarely made mistakes; the ball was like a toy at his feet, always going precisely where it needed to go.
"Kid, a stroke of genius!" Nagelsmann couldn't help but shout from the sidelines; his assistant Coach next to him had also stood up. Oliver continued to advance rapidly with the ball, and Nagy came over to defend from the side. A teammate nearby gestured to Oliver, indicating that if he couldn't handle the ball, he should pass it. Oliver looked left and right, judging that this situation was not suitable for a pass at all; he had dribbled quite deep, surrounded by players, and the only decision he could make was to continue to break through.
Just as Nagy and Oliver were about to make contact, Oliver suddenly stopped short, pulling the ball back with his right foot, and Nagy's sliding tackle missed. Before the opponent could get up, Oliver had already lightly poked the ball with the tip of his left foot, and it passed between Nagy's legs again!
"Does this kid know how to command the ball?" Demirbay couldn't help but exclaim, as his teammates on the field continued to block for Oliver, watching his performance.
"Oh my god... look at number 17!!" Suddenly, a gasp of surprise erupted from the Bologna fans in the stands.
Bologna's center-back Maietta had no choice but to abandon his position and rush over. Oliver caught a glimpse of his teammate's run out of the corner of his eye, and he made a bold decision. He feigned a pass with his right foot, but at the moment of contact, he twisted his ankle, and the ball strangely changed direction, rolling past the outside of Maietta's standing leg. At the same time, Oliver darted around from the other side, completing this stunning "nutmeg + dribble past" double move!
"My God! Is he going to explode again?" Nagelsmann's mouth hung open; he even forgot to give instructions, completely stunned by Oliver's performance. The last defender, Helander, was already flustered; he blindly went in for a tackle. Oliver lightly hopped, and at the same time, flicked the ball with the outside of his right foot, sending it obediently rolling into the penalty area. Facing the rushing goalkeeper, Oliver calmly chose to shoot low to the near post.
3-1!
Hoffenheim extends the lead!
"This kid is definitely a superstar in the making!" Nagelsmann turned and shouted to the bench, waving his arms excitedly, "Did you see that? That series of dribbles, he made a judgment!"
Oliver didn't celebrate wildly this time; he simply smiled and pointed to goalkeeper Kobel, who had provided the "assist" for him, and Kobel also gave Oliver a thumbs up. This gesture made Nagelsmann nod again; to still think of the team after such a brilliant individual performance, this young man not only had astonishing football IQ but also equally astonishing emotional intelligence. As the match entered stoppage time, the Bologna players' stamina clearly couldn't keep up. Kaderábek seized the opportunity to overlap on the right wing, and Oliver intuitively tucked in to create space for him.
The Czech full-back's cross flew into the box with strong spin. Normally, this ball should have been dealt with by a header. But Oliver made an unexpected decision; he turned his body to let the ball pass, and at the moment the ball was about to land, he gently chipped it with the instep of his right foot. Cavani's shooting technique was enough to make the ball arc beautifully, curving past the goalkeeper's fingertips and into the top right corner of the goal!
4-1!
Nagelsmann jumped up this time; he turned and made an "unbelievable" gesture to the stands, unable to hide the smile on his face.
"Coach, did this kid take something before the game today?" the assistant Coach joked.
"Don't say that; in a football match, even if you take something, it won't make you instantly better," Nagelsmann shook his head.
"Did you see his chipped shot choice just now? He clearly could have controlled the ball and then shot, but he saw the goalkeeper's center of gravity shift, which is why he chose the chip."
When the final whistle blew, Nagelsmann was the first to walk onto the field. He once again specifically sought out Oliver, put his arm around his shoulder, and said a few words; Oliver nodded, a tired but satisfied smile on his face.
"Oliver played great today, even better than last game..." Nagelsmann said at the post-match press conference; he rarely used the adjective "great" to describe Oliver, but the admiration in his eyes was clear to everyone.
"Every one of his goals involved thought; while flashes of brilliance are indeed needed on the field, more victories depend on a player's correct thinking and decision-making. We are very fortunate to have signed such a promising young man this season."
...
In the locker room after the game, teammates egged Oliver on to treat them.
"Oliver, you're the MVP again, you have to treat us this time. You scored two goals last game, and three this game, your efficiency is too high," Gnabry said, putting his arm around Oliver's shoulder.
"Of course, guys! I have an announcement: when we get back to Hoffenheim, I'm treating everyone to pork knuckle!!!" Oliver agreed with a smile, secretly glancing at Nagelsmann, who was drawing on the tactics board. The Coach seemed to sense his gaze, looked up, and winked at him; this small interaction made Oliver happier than any public praise. When everyone left the stadium, it was already dark, and the Hoffenheim players were preparing to return to Germany. Outside the stadium, several Italian young fans who had been waiting for a long time surrounded them for autographs. One little boy shyly asked, "Oliver, how did you think of dribbling like that on the field?"
Oliver squatted down, signing autographs as he spoke: "When you understand football well enough, your brain will tell you what to do. Remember the most crucial point: watch more games."
After saying this, Oliver himself laughed, because it sounded like something Nagelsmann would say. The day after the match, Hoffenheim's training base was unusually quiet. However, a traditional German restaurant near the base was bustling; today, the entire Hoffenheim team had booked the place.
"Cheers!"
The clinking of beer glasses echoed, as Hoffenheim's players sat around long tables, piled high with fragrant roasted pork knuckles and sausages. Oliver sat in the middle, with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice in front of him, raising his glass amidst the cheers of his teammates.
"Hey, why isn't our MVP drinking alcohol?" Uth laughed loudly, slapping the table.
"He's only 17, not an adult yet!" Gnabry came to Oliver's rescue, rubbing his hair casually, "Juice suits this kid better."
Oliver smiled sheepishly, raising his juice glass: "Then I'll toast you all with this, thank you for taking care of me on and off the field."
"You're too polite, kid," Captain Vogt led the applause, "But next time you score, your celebration needs to be cooler. Besides knee slides, you can also work on your core, so you can do a backflip celebration later."
The whole table erupted in good-natured laughter. Oliver scratched his head, remembering his slightly awkward celebration from yesterday, and laughed along. Amiri leaned over, poking the pork knuckle on Oliver's plate with a fork: "Eat more, Oliver, you're still a bit thin. Wingers need muscles too, otherwise how can you stand up to those defenders?"
"Exactly," Grillitsch chimed in, "Yesterday De Maio almost knocked you flying; if your technique wasn't so good..."
"Oh, speaking of technique," Gnabry suddenly put down his beer glass, his eyes lighting up, "That goal where you dribbled past four players, how did you think of that third dribble? I watched the replay ten times in the locker room and still couldn't figure it out."
Oliver was about to answer when a system prompt suddenly sounded in his mind: [Ding! Detected host's interaction with Gnabry has reached 100%, can replicate skill "Wing Solo Run", current match rate 81%]
He paused, then discreetly took a sip of juice to cover it up. After joining Hoffenheim, Oliver had the most daily interactions with Gnabry, including training, matches, and daily life, etc., so he unlocked Gnabry's skill first. This sudden good news made his heart race; Gnabry's wing breakthrough ability was among the best in the Bundesliga.
"Actually..." Oliver carefully chose his words, "I noticed his hips moved at that moment, and then I just felt he would defend that way, so I made my move in advance. It was a pre-judgment, I guess, but I was luckier than him; I judged correctly."
"You mean intuition?" Gnabry raised an eyebrow. "That's not a talent everyone has."
The dinner continued into the afternoon, and the atmosphere became increasingly relaxed. Oliver found that his teammates started interacting with him more casually; Rupp shared embarrassing stories from when he first started playing; Kaderábek even joked about teaching him Czech swear words to use on the field; even the usually serious Captain Vogt told amusing anecdotes from the locker room's past. As everyone was preparing to leave, Oliver gathered his courage and called out to Gnabry: "Serge, I have a request..."
"Hmm? Tell me," Gnabry turned around, his face still flushed with a slight tipsiness.
"I want to improve my speed and explosiveness for wing breakthroughs," Oliver looked directly into Gnabry's eyes, "Could I ask you to spare some time to help me with it? Like... guidance."
Gnabry blinked, then suddenly grinned: "Haha, finally asking? I was wondering when you would."
He put an arm around Oliver's shoulder, "Of course, see you at the training ground tomorrow morning. But fair warning, learning wing breakthroughs isn't easy at all; the training volume is quite high."
"Thank you so much, Serge," Oliver felt a warmth spread through his heart.
"No big deal, no big deal, we're teammates..." Gnabry waved his hand.
The system indicated that Gnabry's skill had an 81% match rate with him, which made Oliver look forward to tomorrow's training with great anticipation. On the way back to the apartment, Oliver's phone kept vibrating. His teammates were posting photos from today's dinner in the group chat: his awkward pose holding the juice glass, a candid shot of Grillitsch sneaking food from his plate, and a close-up of Gnabry ruffling his hair. Looking at these photos, Oliver genuinely felt that he was integrating into this team; although he was only 17, he was doing better than many adult players at other clubs.
As night fell, Oliver returned to his dorm and started searching online for Gnabry's videos to watch, which was also preparation for tomorrow's training. Because of the training content adjustment, he would also have to report it to the Coach tomorrow, but based on Oliver's recent performance, Nagelsmann would likely agree readily.
His phone vibrated again.
It was a message from Gnabry: [Oliver, 7 AM tomorrow.]😎
Oliver smiled and replied: [Will be on time, Serge.] 👍🏻