Social media platforms like Weibo, Tieba, and Hupu were utterly besieged by National Team content. The "Dragon" had finally awakened, and the digital landscape reflected a frenzy not seen in a decade.
The Shenzhen Post: "In the past, we had to look to the Big Five European leagues, the Euros, or the World Cup to experience the magic of football. Now, we can finally experience that same magic through our own team. Jiayou, China! Jiayou, David Qin!"
Observer News: "This young Chinese squad, with five wins and only one loss, has reclaimed the hearts of the fans with a third-place finish!"
All Football: "Rome wasn't built in a day, and a powerhouse isn't forged in a night. The Asian Cup journey is over, but greater challenges lie ahead. Let's hope Chinese football stays on this correct path."
Chinese fans could finally walk with their heads held high. For years, mocking the national team had become a social reflex—largely due to the players' lack of spine, but the toxic media environment played its part.
"Why are you closing the curtains? To watch the National Team?"
"No, to watch porn! It's less embarrassing!"
That old viral joke finally felt like a relic of a darker age.
@NeighborVibes1s: David Qin's family lives in the building next to mine. I actually held him when he was a baby!
@TacticalGnome1: I don't believe you. Prove it. Send me a signed jersey and a personalized video message from him, or it didn't happen!
@GoalieeeWatcher: If we keep this momentum for four more years, David will be 21—entering his prime. Do we actually have a shot at winning the next Asian Cup?
@OldGuardFan: We've been runners-up twice. I just want to know what a trophy feels like.
@Ligue1Dreamer: I saw Wu Lei's post-match interview; he wants to move abroad. Can he make it to a top-five league by next winter?
@SippyCupFinisher: He needs to go to the Bundesliga just to learn how to finish. Did you see that 1v1? He shot it straight at the keeper. If David hadn't bailed him out with the brace, the fans would have eaten him alive.
The midday Australian sun was scorching, causing the air to shimmer with a hazy distortion.
"Phew..."
David Qin blinked his eyes open, groggily extending his limbs in a satisfying stretch. He had slept for nearly sixteen hours. Naturally, his first instinct was to check the system interface. At the bottom of his attribute list, a new notification blinked.
Injury Detection & Treatment Module:Minor fluid accumulation in left knee; medial inflammation of the right gastrocnemius; localized muscle strain in the right shoulder. Treatment cost: 23 Points.
David finally understood the true utility of the points. It was a recovery currency. Seeing his balance at 71 points—earned through the league-style 3-1-0 system—he didn't hesitate.
"Treat."
A sudden warmth surged through him, as if several pounds of leaden fatigue had been lifted from his frame.
"System, you really are a lifesaver," David hummed, whistling a tune as he headed to the bathroom to freshen up. After packing his bags and sharing a few final laughs with his teammates, the hour of departure arrived.
"I'm going to miss you, man!" Gao Lin said, getting uncharacteristically sentimental.
"Don't miss me too much. Just spend that time practicing your shooting," David quipped.
On the way to the airport, he chatted with Alain Perrin. The Frenchman spent a good portion of the trip acting as a secret agent for Arsenal, singing the praises of the Gunners. With the Asian Cup over, David's stock had skyrocketed. Nine goals, each more clinical than the last, combined with a flair that left fans breathless.
Arsène Wenger, the patron saint of "Beautiful Football," was naturally infatuated. But with the winter window slamming shut and The Wolves issuing a "not for sale" decree, Arsenal was forced to look toward the summer. Wenger was already eyeing Mesut Özil—perhaps a high-value sale of the German playmaker could fund the move for David? But Özil was his creative fulcrum. Wenger's dilemma was pushed aside for now, however, as the North London Derby loomed. Crushing Spurs was always the priority.
After a grueling twenty-four-hour journey from Australia through Singapore, David finally touched down at Hannover Airport. He stepped into the crisp German air, sliding on his sunglasses.
"David! The boys are all in Frankfurt for the match, so I drew the short straw to pick you up," said Stephen, a club staffer, as he took the luggage.
"Fill me in. What's been happening at the club?" David asked. He'd kept up with the group chat, but digital chatter often missed the nuances.
"We signed a few new faces, but nothing earth-shattering. We chased Danilo from Porto, but he's got his heart set on Real Madrid," Stephen said with a shrug.
The market for right-backs was actually decent—Darmian at Torino, Clyne at Southampton, Vidal at Sevilla—but none were keen on a mid-season move to Lower Saxony. The winter window was always a gamble.
"So, who did we end up with?"
"I think it's Šime Vrsaljko from Sassuolo? A Croatian lad. Solid, but not a headline-grabber."
David nodded. Even with the Volkswagen millions, Wolfsburg lacked the prestige to lure established superstars away from Champions League regulars.
Returning to the VFL training center, David dropped his gear and headed to the media room to catch the end of the match against Eintracht Frankfurt.
"The Wolves look sluggish after the winter break!" the German commentator, Wolff-Christoph Fuss, observed. "Perhaps the holiday spirit lasted a bit too long in the dressing room?"
"Goal! 60th minute! Takashi Inui whips it in from the wing, and Aigner rises above Knoche to head it home! Frankfurt leads!"
David's brow furrowed. His teammates looked off the pace. Frankfurt's tactics were surgical: a low block combined with Makoto Hasebe effectively shadowing Kevin De Bruyne. The Japanese veteran had been mediocre in the Asian Cup, but back in the Bundesliga, he looked transformed. Without David's vertical threat, Perišić and Caligiuri struggled to break down the disciplined Frankfurt defense.
It took an 88th-minute equalizer from the veteran Ivica Olić, whose intelligent movement dragged the defense out of position, to give De Bruyne the pocket of space he needed to smash home a clinical strike.
1-1. A point apiece.
David checked the table. Fortunately, Schalke 04 had held Bayern Munich to a draw as well. Everyone seemed to have "winter legs." As long as the gap didn't widen, they were in the hunt. With Guardiola's tensions rising at Bayern and Dortmund inexplicably flirting with the relegation zone, David felt a golden opportunity emerging. He wasn't the only one—Dieter Hecking and the rest of the squad felt the scent of blood in the water.
The next day at the training center was a riot.
"David! Long time no see! We missed you, kid!"
The "Big Brothers" of the squad lined up to embrace him. David was the youngest, the most talented, and possessed the kind of easy-going charisma that made him impossible to hate.
"Ivan! What was with that performance yesterday?" David teased Perišić. "You looked like you were playing in slow motion. Thinking about baby number two already?"
"Shut it! I've been playing on the right so long that moving back to the left felt like wearing my shoes on the wrong feet," Perišić shot back with a grin. "Actually, I blame you. This draw is on your head for being halfway across the world!"
"Blaming the guy who wasn't even there? I'm more persecuted than Karim Benzema!" David joked. The squad looked at him with blank stares—the "Benzema's Fault" meme wouldn't peak for another few years.
"David, your medical report is in," said assistant coach Ton Lokhoff, staring at a tablet with a bewildered expression. "Are you sure you played an entire international tournament? You're cleaner than a whistle."
"I visited a temple before I left," David improvised. "Divine intervention, Coach."
"Take me next time," Junior Malanda chimed in. "Maybe I'll win the Ballon d'Or."
The laughter died down instantly as Dieter Hecking walked onto the pitch.
"Let's talk about yesterday," Hecking said, his face like thunder. "Frankfurt is a mid-table side. We are second. Based on that performance, you don't deserve that spot. Seventeen shots, only six on target? One goal? Your passing accuracy and tackle success rates were abysmal compared to the first half of the season."
He didn't stop there. "I told you the post-winter matches would decide if we can push Bayern. Clearly, you weren't listening. All leaves for the next three weeks are canceled. Training starts an hour early."
The squad stood in somber silence. Hecking's word was law.
"David, how are you feeling? I want you in the intra-squad scrimmage this afternoon," Hecking's voice softened slightly.
"Ready, Boss."
In the 8v8 drill, David went up against Ricardo Rodriguez. He immediately felt the jump in intensity. The Asian Cup didn't have 25-million-euro fullbacks. However, with his improved template integration and heightened proficiency, David found he wasn't just keeping up—he was dictating.
"The next match is in four days against Hoffenheim," Hecking noted after the session. "That should be enough time to find your rhythm. You're starting."
David's eyes lit up. Hoffenheim's starting left-back was an old acquaintance: Jin-su Kim. The memories of that "accidental" stamp in the Asian Cup were still fresh. David was a professional, but he was also a man who remembered his debts. The Asian Cup had been a appetizer; the Bundesliga would be the main course.
As David grinded in Wolfsburg, the AFC official awards were announced: Massimo Luongo took MVP, Matthew Ryan took Best Goalkeeper, and David Qin claimed the Golden Boot with his nine-goal haul.
That night, Kevin De Bruyne walked into the lounge, handing David a bowl of pasta. "David, I'm meeting Michele today. She's bringing a friend, and from the photos, she's quite the looker."
"The Boss said no days off, Kevin," David warned.
"It's just a coffee. They're heading to England in a few days. I promised you'd meet her, didn't I?" De Bruyne smiled. He wanted his best friend to meet the woman he was falling for.
David shrugged. He knew Michele Lacroix was De Bruyne's future wife; they were a perfect match. As a "wingman," David figured he should help speed things along. He didn't realize Kevin had the exact same idea: to help David end his bachelor streak.
At a quiet cafe near the training center, David met them. Michele was charming, but De Bruyne's eyes never left her. Total lovebird, David thought.
Michele smiled at David. "So, you're the famous David. Kevin talks about you constantly. He says in his entire career, you're the one person he respects the most on the pitch."
David glanced at Kevin, who was turning a light shade of pink. Now that, David thought, is how you play the game.
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