"Full-time at the Volkswagen Arena! It's finished 4-3 to Wolfsburg in a Matchday 32 thriller!" Derek Rae voice crackled through the speakers of every radio. "The Wolves have done the impossible. They jump three points clear of the giants, ascending to the summit of the Bundesliga!"
"But don't go engraving the trophy just yet," Derek Rae cautioned. "Thirty-three and thirty-four are still on the horizon. Wolfsburg must keep their heads. They are two games away from a miracle that will be spoken of for generations."
Across the stadium, green flares ignited in the North Stand, bathing the pitch in an emerald haze. The home fans were a sea of chaotic, rhythmic movement—pogoing in the aisles, weeping in the front rows. This was their moment.
Conversely, the away end was a graveyard of ambition. The Bayern faithful, who had arrived with the arrogant confidence of back-to-back champions, stared blankly at the pitch. Some, in a fit of bitter spite, pulled the pins on smoke canisters to spoil the party.
HISS.
The smoke billowed out—bright, vibrant green.
"Even the street vendors cheated us!" a fan screamed, throwing his hands up in despair. "Is there anything in this city that isn't green and white? I want a refund!"
As the Bayern supporters trickled out of the stadium, the atmosphere became purely celebratory. On the pitch, the Bayern players looked like ghosts. Thomas Müller tried to find words of encouragement, but they died in his throat. Even he didn't believe them. With the momentum Wolfsburg had, they wouldn't just beat Dortmund; they would roll over them.
Jérôme Boateng lay flat on his back, staring at the rainy sky. Philipp Lahm stood still, his expression a fractured mask of professional stoicism. He looked at the corner flag where David Qin had danced, then at the scoreboard. 4-3.
For the first time in his ironclad career, Lahm let the grief bleed through. If the world was looking for a scapegoat, he was the prime candidate. The "World's Best Full-back" had spent ninety minutes as a teenager's personal highlight reel. He massaged his aching right ankle, remembering David Beckham's famous quote: 'I knew it was time to retire when Messi ran past me.'
Lahm felt a ghost of that same feeling. He hadn't just lost a game; he had lost his aura of invincibility to David Qin's dazzling sorcery.
"Ole! Ole! Ole!"
David Qin felt like he'd downed a liter of high-proof spirits. His teammates had tossed him into the air so many times his equilibrium was shot. When he finally hit the grass, he stayed there, letting the cool rain wash away the grime.
"We actually did it," Kevin De Bruyne said, collapsing beside him.
"I told you, Kevin," David panted, a manic grin stretching his face. "Give me the ball, and then start planning the victory parade!"
"You were the guy today," De Bruyne admitted. He wasn't a man of many words, but when he spoke, he meant it.
David sat up suddenly, his eyes sharp. "Kevin, help me get the Europa League all-time scoring record. I won't catch the Bundesliga Golden Boot this year, but I want to make history. I don't want any 'what-ifs' when I look back at my debut season."
"You have my word," De Bruyne replied.
"Will you two stop the bromance and get over here?" Ivan Perišić yelled, gesturing toward the club photographers. "The 'Wolfsburg Championship Road' documentary needs its lead actors!"
As David joined the dance, the lens zoomed in on the number 13 shirt. He was the sun around which the Wolfsburg revolved. Meanwhile, near the tunnel, Pep Guardiola took one last look at the "Twin Stars" before disappearing into the dark.
At the post-match press conference, the air was thick with the click of shutters.
"I have no excuses," Guardiola said, leaning into the microphone. "Wolfsburg are a formidable side. They deserve to be top. But the league isn't over until the final whistle of Matchday 34. We will win our remaining games and wait for a slip."
"Who was the standout today?" asked a journalist from Sina Sports.
"David Qin," Pep answered without hesitation. "I saw shadows of Ronaldinho in him—that rare, ethereal gift where the ball is an extension of the soul. His successful take-ons and chances created must be the highest of the season. I am fascinated to see where his ceiling is."
But the talk quickly turned to rumors of a sack and a move to Manchester City. Pep brushed them off, but the reporters didn't buy it. In Munich, the board didn't tolerate losing the domestic crown while trailing 3-0 in a Champions League semi-final.
Across the hall, Dieter Hecking was glowing. "Is David the Man of the Match? If he isn't, the DFB has lost its mind. He's the heart of this miracle."
While the players celebrated at Aqua, a three-star Michelin restaurant (where David lamented his wallet being emptied by twenty hungry teammates), the internet was exploding.
@TacticalGnome1: Watching David Qin is a spiritual experience. Does the boy even have a spine? He bends like a reed in the wind!
@BundesligaxBanter: Bayern fans are so mad they bought green smoke by mistake. Peak comedy. 10/10, no notes.
@ManCityFan4Life: 180 million for Qin and KDB. Take the money, Wolfsburg. We have FFP to worry about, but Abu Dhabi will find a way.
Sky Sports (Gary Neville): "United need a player like David Qin. Get Pogba out and get this kid in!"
L'Equipe: "Nasser Al-Khelaifi confirms interest. PSG wants David Qin at the Parc des Princes to lead a Champions League charge."
The Sun: "Former Bayern coach Erik ten Hag spotted at the match! Chased into a broom closet by angry Bayern fans. Exclusive details inside!"
Kicker: "Waterloo at the Volkswagen Arena. The Giants are facing a trophyless season."
As the night deepened, David's match-winning strike hit 10 million views on YouTube.