In front of the sponsor-covered backdrop, Jin Hayes had grown accustomed to the ritual. The microphones, the flashing cameras, the eager faces of reporters waiting for a soundbite. His first time had been awkward, nerves getting the better of him. Now, after six substitute appearances and a growing reputation, he was comfortable.
"Jin! That final goal—the volley from the edge of the box. What made you decide to shoot?"
Jin didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted to the scoreboard still glowing in the distance.
Borussia Dortmund 4-3 Bayern Munich
Toni (27', 45')
Frei (68') – Jin Hayes (71')
Frei (79') – Jin Hayes (76')
Jin Hayes (87')
Two assists. Two goals. A comeback for the ages, orchestrated in front of 80,000 believers.
The reporter's question lingered.
What made him shoot?
Honestly, Jin couldn't fully explain it. Logic said pass. Frei was in position. Klimowicz was a target in the box. A simple ball in would have given a teammate a chance.
But in that moment, after evading Fürstner's challenge, something had taken over. Not a voice, exactly. More like an instinct, a certainty. Shoot.
It was the same feeling he got sometimes in training when a pass arrived at his feet and he knew, before anyone else moved, exactly where it needed to go. A warmth, a clarity. But this was different. This was explosive. Energy that demanded release through his right boot.
Maybe it was like the passing. A rhythm. A trigger. Something he was only beginning to understand.
"Bayern didn't close me down quickly enough," Jin said finally, meeting the reporter's gaze with a straight face. "It opened up, and I had a clear sight of goal. It was a good opportunity. I practice those shots in training. Effort pays off."
The reporters nodded approvingly, scribbling notes. Humble. Hardworking. Dedicated. They bought it completely. None of them knew that in training, Jin couldn't hit a barn door from ten yards without a defender scrambling his instincts. Practice, in that regard, was utterly useless.
"After beating Bayern, Dortmund are now in the top six. Has your target for the season changed?"
Jin shook his head. "No. The target is still to avoid relegation." A few eyebrows raised. "Beating Bayern is three points, nothing more. There's a long way to go in the second half of the season. Anything can happen. We need to keep working, keep fighting for points in every game."
The reporters exchanged disappointed glances. They'd hoped the fifteen-year-old might slip up, say something controversial, give them a headline. We're going for the title! Something juicy. Instead, he sounded like a veteran midfielder giving a captain's interview—polished, professional, impenetrable.
The press conference fizzled out. Reporters packed up their recorders and drifted away, hunting for easier prey.
Jin was about to join his teammates for the traditional lap of honour, thanking the fans who'd stayed, when a figure in a white away shirt stepped into his path.
"Jin? Can we... swap jerseys?"
The boy was blond, his hair slicked back, his smile shy. He looked even younger than Jin, though he was actually two years older. The white shirt he held was still clean, dry. He hadn't played today.
25 Kroos
Toni Kroos.
Jin studied him for a moment. There was something about this kid. Not a mystical premonition, just a sense—the way he held himself, the quiet confidence behind the shy smile. The way his eyes tracked movement, even now, even off the pitch. Football intelligence. The kind you couldn't coach.
"Of course." Jin pulled off his own soaked, grass-stained shirt and handed it over.
Kroos looked almost surprised, as if he'd braced for rejection. He clutched the jersey like it was a trophy. "You were incredible today. The way you moved, the way you saw space... I want to play like that."
Jin grinned. He was two years younger, but in this moment, he felt like the older brother. He reached out and patted Kroos on the shoulder. "You will. Trust me. You will."
They exchanged a few more words before parting—brief, friendly, the kind of meeting that might be forgotten or might be the start of something. Kroos walked back towards the tunnel, glancing once more at the name on the shirt he now held.
The lap of honour was a blur of noise and colour. The Westfalenstadion was still full, still buzzing, twenty minutes after the final whistle. Fans who'd been ready to leave at half-time now clung to every moment, unwilling to let the night end.
The South Stand, the famous Yellow Wall, roared as one when Jin approached. Banners had appeared, scrawled on cardboard, held aloft by hopeful hands:
"Jin! Stay with us!"
"Westfalen's Wunderkind!"
"Sign him permanently! We need you!"
Jin waved, acknowledging them, but his mind was elsewhere. The loan from Arsenal would end in the summer. Where he'd go after that—back to London, to fight for a place? Stay here, if Dortmund could make it happen? Somewhere else entirely? It was all unknown.
But in this moment, running his hand along the advertising boards, high-fiving outstretched arms, hearing his name sung by 80,000 voices... he understood why players fell in love with this club. This stadium. These people.
"JIN!! OVER HERE!!"
He spotted them in the third row. Hans, face flushed with beer and joy, waving both arms. Maria beside him, laughing, dabbing at her eyes. Old Fritz, on his feet for the first time all night, fist raised in triumph.
And Anna.
In the middle of the chaos—the screaming, the singing, the wild celebration—she stood perfectly still. A quiet island in a storm of emotion. Her eyes found his, and held.
Jin pulled off his glove. He raised his left hand, showing her the back of it, where her crooked Good Luck was still visible, smudged but legible.
She saw it. And then, slowly, like ice melting in spring, the corner of her mouth lifted.
Just a little. Just for him.
…
The Monday morning papers were a love letter to Jin Hayes.
*"From 0-3 to 4-3: Westfalen's Miracle Comeback!"*
"Two Assists, Two Goals: The Fifteen-Year-Old Who Conquered Bayern!"
"Dortmund's Wunderkind Stuns the League Leaders in Five Magical Minutes!"
Aunt Maria sat at the kitchen table, a fresh pot of coffee growing cold beside her as she worked her way through the stack. She'd always been a collector, clipping articles and stuffing them into scrapbooks. Lately, those scrapbooks had become almost entirely about one person.
She paused at the Bild column, scanning the byline. Lothar Matthäus. One of Germany's greatest ever. His words carried weight.
"What I witnessed on Saturday night wasn't just a victory. It was a statement. This fifteen-year-old, Jin Hayes, played with the kind of intelligence and courage that defines Borussia Dortmund's identity. He reminded me of the sides I played in—teams that feared no opponent, that fought for every ball, that believed until the final whistle.
His technical ability is already at a level that unsettles Bundesliga defences. Against Bayern, he drew so much attention that it effectively neutralised Ribéry's influence on the left wing. Defenders couldn't commit forward because they were too busy watching him.
But what impressed me most was his decision-making. He doesn't just dribble for the sake of it. He knows when to release the ball, when to hold it, when to shoot. Two assists show his vision. Two goals—one a poacher's finish, one a thunderous volley—show his composure in front of goal.
If Thomas Doll is watching, here's my advice: trust your young players. Give them minutes. Let them play. Because if Dortmund are to rise again, it will be built on a foundation of youth, energy, and fearlessness."
Maria set the paper down with a satisfied sigh. She glanced at the clock.
"We're going to be late!"
Jin appeared in the kitchen doorway, already in his school uniform, bag slung over one shoulder. Anna followed, looking immaculate as always, though she avoided eye contact with anyone.
Maria hurried over, fussing with Jin's collar, straightening it, smoothing a non-existent crease. Then she pulled him into a warm hug. "Off you go. Study hard."
Anna rolled her eyes. "I'm your daughter."
"I know, sweetheart. Go on."
The door closed behind them.
The Bundesliga winter break had arrived. After the Bayern match on December 15th, the squad had been given six weeks off. The next fixture wasn't until early February. For Jin, it meant something else: exams.
His training schedule had been relentless. He'd missed more classes than he'd attended. Anna had helped him keep up with the material, but credits were credits, and missed lessons meant catching up. If he wanted to graduate, he needed to pass his finals.
So on the first real day of his holiday, Jin Hayes became a full-time student again.
They walked in silence for a while, the December air sharp in their lungs. Jin was still recovering from the match—the physical toll, the emotional high, the crash afterwards. He was tired. He wanted to walk slowly, breathe, exist.
Anna, however, was walking fast.
"Hey. Slow down."
She didn't.
"You're walking like you're trying to break a record."
Still nothing.
Jin caught up, matching her pace. "What's wrong with you?"
"Nothing."
"Clearly something."
Anna's jaw tightened. "The whole family treats you like their own child. I'm starting to feel like the guest."
Jin frowned. "That's not true."
"Isn't it?"
They walked a few more steps in silence. Then Jin remembered.
"Oh. The club found me an apartment. Near the training ground. I've been thinking maybe I should move out. Stop bothering you all."
Anna stopped dead.
Jin, not expecting it, walked straight into her. He caught her shoulders to steady her—and himself. For a moment, they were close enough that he could see his own reflection in her blue eyes.
The air shifted.
"Why?" Her voice was quieter now.
Jin let go, stepping back. "Well... you complain about me every day. And your mum goes to so much trouble cooking extra, doing my laundry... It's a lot. You probably want your space back."
Anna looked away, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. A small, unconscious gesture.
"Right," she said flatly. "Yes. That's... probably a good idea. You moving out."
She turned and walked on, faster than before.
Jin stared after her, genuinely confused.
Kicker magazine had called him "a player who reads the game like a veteran, calm and cunning beyond his years." On the pitch, he could see passing lanes before they opened, anticipate defenders' movements, dissect a defence in seconds.
Off it, he was still fifteen. And girls made no sense at all.
…
The classroom buzzed when Jin walked in.
He spotted Anna immediately. She was at her desk, head down, arms folded, radiating a clear do not approach energy. The girls who usually sat near her had migrated to the other side of the room. The temperature around her felt noticeably lower.
She glanced up as Jin entered, met his eyes for a fraction of a second, then buried her face in her folded arms again.
Before Jin could go to her, he was swarmed.
"JIN! Sign my shirt!"
"That goal yesterday! My dad cried!"
"You're a legend! A actual legend!"
And then, cutting through the chaos:
"Jin! Can we go out sometime? I like you."
Silence.
Claudia. Blonde, tall, effortlessly fashionable. The kind of girl who usually existed in a different universe from the rest of the class. She stood there, arms crossed under her chest, chin lifted, waiting.
The boys in the room stared. If anyone else had confessed to the undisputed school goddess, there'd be outrage. But this was Jin. The boy who'd just destroyed Bayern. The hero of the hour. Even jealousy had its limits.
Somewhere behind him, Jin was vaguely aware of a head lifting from a desk, an ear tilting slightly in his direction.
He smiled at Claudia—friendly, warm, but nothing more.
"Thank you. That's very kind."
Claudia beamed, leaning forward slightly.
"But I'm sorry." Jin held up a hand, gently stopping her advance. "My heart's already taken."
Gasps. Whispers. A few boys exchanged did-he-just looks.
Claudia's smile flickered, but she recovered quickly. "Oh? Can I ask... who?"
She bit her lip, eyes wide, playing the part of the heartbroken beauty perfectly.
Jin's smile widened.
"Football, of course."
For a second, no one moved. Then the room erupted—laughter, groans, a few thrown pencil cases. Claudia blinked, then laughed too, shaking her head.
"You're impossible."
"I know."
Jin slipped through the crowd and took his seat. He didn't look back, but he didn't need to. From the desk in front of him, just slightly, he caught the curve of a smile reflected in the window glass.