"Herr Jin, what are your thoughts on Borussia Dortmund's recent four-game winning streak across all competitions? Did your excellent form after returning from injury directly influence the team's results?"
"How do you view Head Coach Thomas Doll's departure?"
"Borussia Dortmund have now climbed to sixth place in the Bundesliga, seven points behind the top three Champions League qualification spots. What are your goals and ambitions for the remainder of the season?"
"The Dortmund fans all hope you'll stay with the club. Will you be returning to Arsenal when your loan spell ends this summer?"
The questions came thick and fast.
Since his return in Matchday 24 against Hamburg, Jin Hayes had once again become the beacon of hope for Dortmund's supporters.
Trailing 1-0 that evening, he'd equalised in the 88th minute with a breathtaking solo run, dribbling past three defenders and the goalkeeper before rolling the ball into an empty net.
In injury time, he'd done it again—breaking clear on the wing, drawing a foul from Vincent Kompany inside the box. Penalty.
Captain Kehl had offered him the ball, wanted him to take it. Jin Hayes had shaken his head firmly.
"No, no. Someone else."
The squad had been full of admiration. Such humility from their youngest player.
Alexander Frei had stepped up and converted. Dortmund had won 2-1.
Matchday 25. Dortmund 1-0 Karlsruher SC.
For eighty minutes, the team had battered against a compact, organised defence. Nothing worked.
Jin Hayes came on in the 81st minute.
One minute later, he received the ball on the right wing, drove forward, and triggered his "Perfect Pass" instinct. A vicious, curling cross from a tight angle—Frei needed only to apply his forehead.
1-0. Another last-gasp victory.
With that goal, Frei had overtaken Luca Toni at the top of the scoring charts. After the match, he'd been emotional in his interview.
"I never imagined I'd be leading the scorers' list. It's all down to Jin Hayes feeding me chances."
Frei knew his own limitations. He was a solid upper-mid-table striker, decent instincts, decent finishing. Nothing special.
But since Jin Hayes had joined, his job had become absurdly simple. Just get into the box. The ball would find him.
He was genuinely grateful to the quiet teenager who had become the team's creative heartbeat.
Matchday 26. VfL Bochum 2-3 Borussia Dortmund.
Jin Hayes started. Played the full ninety minutes. Contributed another hat-trick of assists.
Sixteen for the season now. Leading the assist charts by a distance. Man of the Match, again. On course to become the youngest assist king in Bundesliga history.
No wonder the press corps were so eager.
"Regarding the head coach, that's a matter for the management. I just follow the tactics and do my job."
"My individual performance isn't important. Victory belongs to the whole team."
"Our target for the season remains the same: avoid relegation."
"As for next season…"
The earlier questions had been met with careful, measured responses. The reporters knew Jin Hayes by now. They'd switched from English to German months ago.
He looked like an easy target—a fifteen-year-old kid, open and honest. In reality, he was as polished as any veteran, giving them nothing sensational to work with.
Follow the tactics?
No one believed that. He was the least tactically obedient player on the pitch.
Avoid relegation?
Also nonsense. Watzke himself had confirmed European qualification was the target.
Then came the final question. And for the first time, Jin Hayes answered from the heart.
He paused, considering his words carefully. When he spoke, his eyes were sincere.
"I hope… I can stay here. In Westfalen."
He meant it.
When that question had landed, his mind hadn't flashed to Arsenal. Not to Wenger. Not to his teammates in London. Not to the grey skies or the bland food.
Instead, he'd seen:
Aunt Maria's Schweinshaxe, crispy and golden.
Uncle Hans, beaming over a beer as he watched the match.
Old Fritz, standing in the Südtribüne, leading the fans in song.
The neighbours who waved whenever he passed.
Eighty thousand voices, roaring his name.
The fans on the forums, posting memes and arguments and passionate defences of their team.
His teammates, in black and yellow, fighting alongside him.
And…
A blonde girl, curled up on the sofa in the afternoon sun, fair feet tucked beneath her, nose deep in a book, pretending not to notice him.
If the choice came—Arsenal or Dortmund—right now, at this moment, Jin Hayes knew where his heart lay.
He wanted to stay.
>>>
"THIS IS A SIX-POINT MATCH!! Every single one of you needs to be one hundred and twenty thousand percent focused! Don't you dare let me down!"
In the away dressing room, Thomas Doll—still very much at the centre of the storm—was practically frothing at the mouth.
The speculation about his future had reached fever pitch. Yes, they were winning. But every victory was a nerve-shredding, ugly escape act.
If it weren't for Jin Hayes single-handedly conjuring moments of magic on the wing, Thomas Doll would have been cleaning out his office weeks ago.
He watched every game now with his heart in his mouth. He'd been to the hospital twice in the last month. Chest pains. Stress.
The table didn't lie. Dortmund, Leverkusen, Stuttgart, Hamburg—all separated by a handful of points, jostling between fourth and seventh.
Seven points behind Schalke in third.
Eight games remaining. Every team in the chasing pack still harboured dreams of Champions League football next season.
And every team was terrified of dropping out of the European places entirely.
The pressure was immense.
Only Bayern, cruising at the top with fifty-seven points, ten clear of Werder Bremen, could afford to relax. They'd wrap up the title in a few weeks, probably.
As the Bayern fans liked to say on the forums: They're all just playing for second place. Why bother fighting?
For Dortmund, every point was a war. Every match a final.
This clash with Bayer Leverkusen had drawn attention far beyond Germany.
As Jin Hayes's reputation grew, so did his following. Former Bayern supporters, a smattering of Dortmund fans, neutrals who just appreciated good football, even some Arsenal fans wondering what they'd let go—all found themselves tuning in to watch the teenager.
Online fan culture in 2008 was a different beast.
There were no dedicated football apps. No slick social media campaigns. Hupu was still primarily an NBA forum; football discussions were niche. Douban's club groups existed but remained small.
The heart of Chinese football fandom still beat in Baidu Tieba.
Li Yang, a Chinese student at the Free University of Berlin, had originally been a Bayern fan. Then he'd heard about the fifteen-year-old tearing up the Bundesliga in black and yellow. He'd taken a three-hour train to Dortmund to watch a live match.
He'd never looked back.
He'd created the Baidu Jin Hayes Bar himself, becoming its first administrator. Now, every match day, he travelled across Germany, camera in hand, documenting Jin Hayes's games for the fans back home.
In two months, membership had exploded to over sixty thousand. The forum buzzed daily with activity.
"Is he starting today?"
"Of course. Blaszczykowski's been off form. Jin guarantees at least one flank is a threat."
"Brilliant! Lord Jin!"
"His stamina still isn't there for ninety minutes, though."
"Don't worry. Game might be over before sixty."
"You never know. Leverkusen's new striker could have a day out."
The words had barely been typed when Li Yang heard a roar from the pitch.
He looked up.
Bayer Leverkusen players were celebrating.
"Scheisse."
>>>
Back in China, in living rooms and internet cafes across the country, fans watching low-quality streams heard the familiar voice of commentator Duan Xuan.
"OH!! HAHAHA! Did that go in?!"
"A counter-attack from Bayer Leverkusen! Just two minutes on the clock! The young striker, number eleven, Stefan Kießling, rises highest to head home!"
"The away side take the lead! Dortmund are behind! 1-0!"
Around Li Yang in the stadium, Dortmund fans groaned, clutching their heads in despair.
Li Yang looked towards the pitch. Jin Hayes stood among his teammates, gesturing calmly, offering reassurance. He looked composed. Focused.
Why do we always concede first?
A small smile played across Li Yang's face.
Time for Lord Jin to work his magic again.