Training that morning was accompanied by a soundtrack.
From beyond the fence, faint but unmistakable, came the chants. Not supportive. Not encouraging.
"Thomas raus! Thomas raus!"
Thomas out.
The fence didn't block much. Through the gaps, Jin could see the fans gathered outside—banners raised, faces angry. The messages varied in wording but not in meaning.
Doll Must Go.
Enough is Enough.
We Want Football, Not Excuses.
>>>
On the pitch, the players tried to focus. Drills continued. Balls were passed. But the noise was everywhere, impossible to ignore.
In the CEO's office, the noise was different. Just silence, heavy and suffocating.
Hans-Joachim Watzke stood behind his desk, hands flat on the surface, eyes fixed on the two men in front of him.
Thomas Doll.
Dick Fuhren.
Neither spoke.
Watzke's jaw tightened.
When he finally broke the silence, his voice was quiet—which made it worse.
"We are tenth."
Doll opened his mouth. Watzke held up a hand.
"Tenth. After the first half of the season, we were sixth. We had momentum. We had a platform. Now we're tenth, and if this continues, we'll be fighting relegation again."
Doll tried again. "Mr. Watzke, the team's form—"
"I can see the team's form. Everyone can see the team's form. The question is why you refuse to change it."
Doll's jaw set. "I have a plan. I know what this squad needs."
Fuhren closed his eyes. Here we go.
"A plan." Watzke's voice rose. "Your plan has produced three straight losses. Your plan has us dropping four places in the table. Your plan has fans outside the ground demanding your head."
He slammed a hand on the desk. Coffee sloshed over the rim of his cup. He didn't wipe it.
"Do you know what our share price has done this week? Nearly ten percent. Ten percent, Thomas. In one week. Because investors see a club in chaos and a coach who won't adapt."
Doll stood rigid, saying nothing.
Watzke pointed a finger at him. "I don't care how you do it. I don't care who you play. But you will win the next match."
The Revierderby.
Schalke.
At home.
"If you don't—" Watzke let the sentence hang. He didn't need to finish.
Doll turned and walked out.
Fuhren caught up with him in the corridor. "Why do you keep doing this? Everything was working. The kids were playing well. The fans were happy. Why dig in now?"
Doll didn't slow down. "I know what I'm doing."
"Do you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're trying to prove a point that doesn't need proving."
Doll stopped. For a moment, something flickered in his expression—uncertainty, maybe. Doubt. Then it was gone, and he walked on.
Fuhren watched him go, then headed back to the training ground. There was no point arguing with a wall.
>>>
The squad list went up after lunch.
Nuri Şahin had given up checking. "Doesn't matter anyway. I'm not on it."
"You say that every time," Jin said, "and then you check and act surprised."
"I'm not checking today."
"You're literally walking towards the board."
"I'm just—" Nuri saw his name. "I'M ON IT!"
Jin already had his phone out, camera ready. The photo would be useful later.
Nuri grabbed his arm, practically vibrating. "Jin! You're on it too!"
Jin glanced at the list. Substitute, probably. Like always. He'd spent enough winter afternoons on that bench, shivering in a thick tracksuit, watching games he couldn't influence.
At least the weather was warming up. February was almost over. His gloves—Anna's gloves—kept his hands warm, even if nothing else did.
Mats Hummels appeared beside them, grinning. "Starting centre-back. Finally."
"Show-off," Nuri muttered, but he was smiling.
"Have you seen the news?" Hummels lowered his voice. "Watzke tore into Doll this morning. The fans have been all over social media. Stock's dropped. Doll has to play us now."
Nuri nodded eagerly. "Especially you, Jin. You're the most popular player in the squad right now."
Jin blinked. "Me?"
"Fan polls. You're top. By a lot."
"But I'm on loan. I've barely started a game."
"Doesn't matter." Hummels shrugged. "You show up, you make things happen. Fans remember that. Especially that Bayern match."
Nuri grinned. "My cousin keeps asking about you, you know. She's nineteen. Very pretty."
Jin stared at him. "What?"
"I could introduce you."
"Introduce her to me!" Hummels perked up. "Got a photo?"
"She doesn't like 'rugged' types."
"I'm not rugged." Hummels examined his reflection in a window, genuinely offended.
Their voices faded as Jin's attention drifted. Through the window, he caught a glimpse of Thomas Doll walking towards the car park alone.
Without thinking, Jin moved.
>>>
Thomas Doll sat in his car, engine off, hands on the wheel. The training ground was empty now. Players gone. Staff gone. Just him and the quiet.
The pressure had been building for weeks. Watzke's threats. The fans' chants. The media circling like vultures. Three losses in a row. Three games without a goal from open play. And everywhere he looked, the same question: Why isn't Jin playing?
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He looked up.
Jin Hayes stood outside the driver's window, breath visible in the cold air.
Doll hesitated, then rolled down the window. "What?"
"Coach. I need to understand."
"Understand what?"
"Why I'm not playing."
Doll's grip tightened on the wheel. "The coaching staff has its reasons. You train hard. You'll get your chance."
"No." Jin's voice was calm. Steady. "That's not true. Something changed after the winter break. I want to know what."
Something snapped.
"Fine!" Doll's voice rose, filling the car. "You want to know? Here it is: Is a football match about one player or the whole team? When we score four, you get all the credit. When we concede three, I get all the blame. That's how it works!"
He was breathing hard now, years of frustration spilling out.
"You think you're special? You think you're the only one who can win games? Then go ahead! Lead the team against Schalke! See how far that gets you!"
Silence.
Jin didn't flinch. Didn't argue. He just stood there, watching, as if observing something from a distance. A fifteen-year-old looking at a forty-something man losing control.
Doll's anger drained as quickly as it had come. He looked away, ashamed.
"I'm sorry. That was... I shouldn't have—"
"It's fine." Jin's voice was still calm. "I just want you to know one thing."
Doll looked at him.
"When I'm on the pitch, I'm there to win. I don't care about tactics or formations or who gets the credit. I just want to put the ball in the net. That's it."
He paused.
"Next time the team needs a goal, I hope you'll consider me. Not because of my age, or where I'm from, or what the papers say. Just because I can do it."
Their eyes met.
"I have that ability."
Doll said nothing. Jin turned and walked away.
Two hours before kick-off at the Revierderby, the team sheet went live.
The media scanned it, expecting the usual. Kehl. Tinga. The familiar names.
Then they saw it.
Starting XI:
...
24 — Jin Hayes