(A/n: Sorry for the late chapter, guys. Lots of sh!t going on in life. Can't fking catch a breath. Here is a 5k words chap since I will post on Saturday next as network is shit in these mountains.
Oh, how I hope to slowly bleed out somewhere quiet place in snowy mountains. I recently climbed one and it looked like a 11/10 bleeding spot. Short term peace without any thing to worry about is best feeling in the world.
Here is the pic. That's me.)
Olympia Clinic.
Outside the hospital emergency access. With everyone's help, Oliver was transferred from the ambulance to a wheeled medical bed. Zidane immediately found the emergency room head on duty, and with a serious expression, quickly explained in Spanish:
"Sir, please arrange the most comprehensive examination immediately! Nerves, bones, muscles, ligaments, especially the head and right leg! He is Hoffenheim's most important player. Use the best equipment, and the fastest speed! Report the examination results to me immediately!"
Real Madrid club officials quickly confirmed the procedures and issued the necessary authorization documents. Soon, Oliver was pushed into the examination area. Jules, Shuwen, Nagelsmann, Wenger, and Zidane could only be blocked in the pristine white corridor outside the consultation room.
Shuwen leaned on her husband's shoulder, her hands clasped, her eyes closed, silently praying, tears occasionally sliding from her tightly shut eyes. Jules sat upright, his face solemn, one hand tightly gripping his wife's hand, the knuckles of his other hand white from exertion, his nails digging deeply into his palm. His gaze was fixed on the closed examination room door, as if he wanted to penetrate it and see his son inside.
Nagelsmann leaned against the wall, his head slightly bowed, his hair disheveled. His eyes were red and swollen, and he stared blankly at the clean floor tiles, enveloped in immense regret and exhaustion, seeming as if he could collapse at any moment. Zidane stood a little further away, arms crossed, his gaze deeply fixed on the examination room, his expression solemn and focused, occasionally exchanging low words with the Real Madrid officials beside him, confirming the procedural arrangements.
Professor Wenger sat at the other end of the bench, his hands resting on his iconic cane, his back straight, his brows furrowed, the look behind his glasses revealing deep concern and contemplation, occasionally glancing at Oliver's nervous parents, and then at the dejected Nagelsmann.
An hour of waiting felt as long as a century. Every slight sound from the examination room door made everyone's heart leap to their throats. Finally, the examination room door opened. A middle-aged doctor wearing glasses and a white coat walked out, holding several examination reports. Everyone's gaze immediately focused on him. The doctor's face showed a clear expression of relief.
To ensure everyone understood, he looked around at the anxious crowd and spoke in clear, slow English:
"Good news, Mr. Thorne's vital signs are stable. The comprehensive examination results are very clear:
Firstly, the reason this child lost consciousness is not related to a concussion. Combining the course of the match and the ECG monitoring data, we confirm it was syncope due to extreme physical exhaustion caused by strenuous exercise, coupled with intense mental stress and a small amount of blood loss during the match."
"Secondly," the doctor continued, pointing to the images on the report, "Regarding the impact injury everyone is most concerned about, the outer side of the right thigh, it is a mild contusion and strain of the muscle tissue, with relatively obvious subcutaneous hemorrhage and edema, which is why it looks so alarmingly swollen and bruised. However, key areas such as the femur, hip joint, and knee joint structures are all normal, and there are no signs of ligament injury whatsoever. Overall, he sustained a sports injury with a relatively short recovery period. With ice packs, compression bandages, and subsequent physical therapy, it is completely reversible and will not leave any sequelae.
Once the inflammation and swelling subside, the pain will significantly decrease. Given the extent of this injury and the young man's strong recovery ability, if all goes well, he should regain consciousness within the next few hours."
"Really?! Doctor!" Jules suddenly stood up, his voice trembling with urgency, "Are you sure?"
"Doctor, my apprentice… his head, and his leg…" Nagelsmann also stepped forward, his voice trembling with urgency, "Could you please check again carefully… could anything have been missed? He was…"
Nagelsmann still couldn't feel at ease about his beloved apprentice.
The doctor understood their concerns and nodded very affirmatively, his tone steady and professional:
"Mr. Thorne, Mr. Nagelsmann, please rest assured. We used the most advanced imaging equipment, and the best experts have consulted on it. I can guarantee that his brain shows no abnormal signals. The problem with his leg is a mild muscular injury and subcutaneous bleeding, it has not affected the fundamental structure. I must say, this is the young player with the best physique I have seen in all my years of practice."
Shuwen finally couldn't hold back, collapsing onto her husband's shoulder and sobbing, but her cries were no longer despairing wails, but a release after an immense burden had been lifted.
Jules hugged Shuwen tightly, his eyes also red, and he repeatedly said to the doctor: "Thank you! Thank you, Doctor!"
Nagelsmann exhaled a long, long breath, as if expelling a huge stone that had been weighing on his chest. His body swayed, and he had to lean on the wall to steady himself. Zidane and Professor Wenger exchanged glances, both seeing the relief and satisfaction in each other's eyes.
Zidane solemnly said to the doctor: "Thank you very much. Please arrange subsequent observation and recovery according to the best standards."
Soon, Oliver was transferred to a quiet and comfortable senior single-room VIP ward. He lay quietly on the pristine white bed. The wound on his forehead had been carefully re-cleaned, disinfected, and properly stitched and bandaged. His right thigh was also wrapped in a firm elastic bandage, with an ice pack placed underneath for physical cooling and swelling reduction.
An IV drip supplementing glucose and electrolytes was attached to his arm. Although his complexion was still pale, his breathing was steady and long. Only Oliver's parents, Nagelsmann, and the accompanying Real Madrid club representative remained in the ward. Zidane and Wenger stated they would wait until Oliver woke up before leaving.
About two hours later, on the hospital bed, Oliver's fingers suddenly twitched slightly, then his eyelashes fluttered, and he slowly, with difficulty, opened his eyes. Oliver's vision was a bit blurry, and his consciousness seemed to still be lingering on the fiercely contested turf. When he clearly saw the pristine white ceiling and the faces of his loved ones by the bed, it seemed to take him a moment to truly understand where he was.
His gaze first fell on Nagelsmann, who looked worried and had red, swollen eyes. Nagelsmann was sitting on his right side.
"...Coach..." His voice was hoarse and weak, almost just a mouth shape, but his eyes were exceptionally clear, filled with deep self-reproach, "I'm sorry... I'm... sorry... I couldn't... win... the match..."
He seemed to have used all his strength to utter that complete sentence. After speaking, he tiredly closed his eyes again, his brows slightly furrowed. These words, like a heavy hammer, struck hard at the newly healed crack in Nagelsmann's heart. He watched his disciple's first concern upon waking not be his own injury, but to apologize for the defeat. Tears could no longer be held back, gushing down like broken strings of pearls.
Oliver's soft words delivered a critical blow.
Nagelsmann suddenly leaned over, almost pressing against Oliver's ear, his voice choked beyond coherence, yet filled with the most sincere emotion: "Silly child... what nonsense are you saying! Sorry for what?! A broken cup! What is a broken Champions League trophy?! In my heart, a hundred, a thousand championship trophies combined cannot bring back a healthy and unharmed you! You are priceless! You are my... and Hoffenheim's greatest pride!"
He was incoherently excited, reaching out to touch his disciple's head, but fearing he might touch the wound, he ultimately only dared to gently, carefully place his hand on Oliver's right hand, where the IV needle was.
"Thank you... Coach..."
Then, Oliver's gaze painstakingly shifted to his parents, and then to Wenger and Zidane not far from the bed, his eyes filled with apology: "Dad... Mom... Professor Wenger... Mr. Zidane... I'm... sorry... for making you worry..."
"You brat, what nonsense are you talking about at a time like this!" Jules immediately interrupted him loudly, forcing a relaxed tone, though his eyes quickly reddened, "Your being okay is the greatest good news! Nothing else matters! Do you understand? Don't scare your mom like that again next time!"
He scolded him verbally, but his tone was full of heartache.
Shuwen was already sobbing uncontrollably, leaning over the bed, holding and repeatedly caressing her son's hand: "Son... my son... you scared Mom to death... Promise Mom, don't ever push yourself so hard again... Mom can't take it..."
Zidane walked to the bedside, looking at the boy's eyes, which held a maturity beyond his years and his current weakness, filled with admiration and a touch of emotion. A gentle smile played on his lips. He glanced at Professor Wenger beside him and deliberately said with a teasing tone: "The one who should be most worried now isn't us, it's Professor Wenger of Arsenal."
Zidane turned to Wenger, his gaze sharp and sincere, his words unhurried but clear: "Mr. Wenger, this child..."
He pointed to Oliver on the hospital bed and said, "Oliver possesses all the qualities that belong to Real Madrid: incredibly powerful talent, the soul of a warrior who erupts in the direst situations, the desire to burn everything for victory... and a sense of responsibility beyond his age. He is born for the glory of the Bernabéu. You'd better keep a close eye on him."
It seemed Real Madrid intended to compete with Arsenal in the summer transfer window.
Professor Wenger also showed a refined smile, meeting Zidane's gaze without showing weakness, and gently pushed up his glasses: "Zidane, the future of football belongs to the young, and the choice is also in the hands of the young. You can certainly admire, but I have more patience and time. When the summer transfer window opens next season, let's wait and see which jersey this child will ultimately wear?"
His gaze towards Oliver held the expectation of an elder for an outstanding junior, and an appreciation that implied he was determined to get him. The atmosphere in the ward lightened slightly due to this subtly sharp yet appreciative banter between the two legendary Coaches. It was getting late. After confirming that Oliver was conscious, able to communicate without difficulty, and his vital signs were completely stable, Zidane and Professor Wenger prepared to depart.
Both walked to the bedside and solemnly bade farewell to Oliver.
"Child, rest well, recovering your body is the most important thing. This season, you gave everyone a huge surprise, and I look forward to your future path." Professor Wenger said gently, lightly patting Oliver's shoulder.
"Oliver," Zidane leaned down, his eyes like a deep ocean, filled with heartfelt approval, "Your performance at the Bernabéu tonight was one of the greatest battles I've seen this season. Rest well and recover. I look forward to your speedy recovery. Real Madrid club will continue to monitor your recovery progress and provide all possible assistance."
He shook Oliver's hand, conveying the greatest recognition and respect of a grandmaster for a rising star. After the two legends left, only the closest people remained in the ward. Parents and his beloved Coach. Although Oliver was extremely weak, he could clearly see that the Coach had cried; his eyes were red and swollen like walnuts, and his usually neatly styled hair was disheveled.
Nagelsmann pulled a chair and sat by the bed, his gaze fixed on him, filled with an overwhelming tenderness, guilt, and immense relief from having him back. A warm current surged in Oliver's heart. He tried to move the hand that the Coach was gently holding, and with a very slight yet incredibly clear gesture, he squeezed back.
His eyes looked clearly at his beloved Coach, with no trace of blame, only a sense of peace and reassurance that said, "Please rest assured, I am truly fine."
Nagelsmann understood that look, his nose stung, and he quickly turned his face away, blinking hard before turning back. He tried to force a smile for his disciple, but it looked worse than crying. Just like that, his parents stayed by the bed, and Nagelsmann also stayed up all night with them.
The lights of Madrid flowed quietly outside the window, and in the ward, there was only the faint beeping of instruments and the warm breathing of loved ones. His exhausted body needed deep sleep to recover, but Oliver slept relatively soundly with the help of medication. The morning sun of the second day streamed into the ward through the blinds.
When Oliver woke up again, he felt as if his body had been reassembled. Most of that feeling of collapse-like exhaustion had disappeared; although intense fatigue still lingered, his mind was much clearer. After a night of rest and cold compresses, the swelling and stinging sensation of the wound on his forehead had significantly reduced. The most obvious change was in his right thigh; the bruising and swelling were still alarming, but the pain when moving had clearly turned into a dull ache, and his joint movement was not significantly impaired.
As the doctor said, it was only a superficial injury to the skin and muscles.
After the doctor's rounds, he performed another simple examination and evaluation, a satisfied smile appearing on his face:
"Excellent! The recovery speed is astonishing; youth is your greatest asset. You can now get out of bed and do very light adaptive activities, but you cannot leave the hospital building immediately. You must ensure your physical strength is fully recovered and imaging re-examination confirms that the muscle inflammation has subsided before considering long-distance flights. Remember, no strenuous activity within two weeks! Rehabilitation training needs to be gradual; I will give you a detailed plan."
After completing all discharge procedures, the Real Madrid official vehicle arranged by Zidane was already waiting downstairs. They drove Oliver and Nagelsmann directly to Madrid International Airport; Jules and Shuwen also accompanied them.
In the bustling departure hall of the international airport, the time for farewell arrived. Jules patted his son's shoulder hard, his voice loud but with an unconcealable nasal tone: "You brat, you've really improved this time, and you've brought honor to your old man! But if you play so recklessly again, watch out, I'll fly to Germany and spank your butt! Go home and get some good rest! Listen to your Mom!"
Shuwen hugged her son, unwilling to let go, tears welling in her eyes: "Son, promise me, listen carefully to the doctor and Coach, and never be reckless again… Your Coach is a good Coach… You also need to take good care of yourself, eat more… Mom and Dad will go back to Birmingham first, and when your games are over, you'll come home, and Mom will make you your favorite food…"
Oliver nodded seriously, patting his mother's back:
"Dad, Mom, don't worry, I promise to be good. You two also take good care of yourselves."
On the other side, Nagelsmann also solemnly bid farewell to Oliver's parents: "Mr. Thorne, Mrs. Li, thank you very much for your trust and understanding. Please rest assured, I will definitely take good care of Oliver and ensure his complete recovery."
Finally, Nagelsmann and Oliver stood together, waving goodbye to Jules and Shuwen. Watching his parents walk hand in hand into the security check channel, Oliver took a deep breath. He turned his head, his gaze falling on the Coach beside him. After a day of rest and sleep after letting go of the huge stone in his heart, Nagelsmann's complexion was much better, but the slightly red eyes and the deep tired bloodshot eyes could not be completely hidden.
The sunlight streamed through the airport's huge floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating everything with crystal clarity. Oliver saw it very clearly.
"Coach, I'm fine, really. Thank you… Everything is good, don't worry anymore."
He forced a relaxed smile.
Nagelsmann looked at the peace and silent comfort in his beloved disciple's clear eyes, and all his worries, heartache, and heavy sense of responsibility surged into his heart once again. He nodded gently, wanting to say something, but in the end, it only turned into a complex sigh, his gaze falling more gently on his disciple's profile. At this moment, Nagelsmann felt it was a pity. How great it would be if this child had German nationality.
If Oliver was German, he would not hesitate to accept Bayern's invitation. He would also not hesitate to persuade Oliver to go to Bayern with him and play for the German war machine in the future. He would even Coach more desperately, become the Coach of the German team, and let this child continue to shine under him. He was sure that Oliver would also have a great career in the German team.
But there are no ifs.
Thinking of this, Nagelsmann showed a tired smile and led Oliver towards the boarding gate.
"Let's go home, kid."
…
Upon returning to the club,
His teammates had already gathered around.
"Oliver! How do you feel? Does your leg still hurt?" Maguire was the first to pat his shoulder, his eyes full of concern.
"Ollie, you scared us to death! That night at Bernabéu…" Gnabry's face still showed lingering fear.
"Hey, Terminator, don't self destruct like that next time, my heart can't take it!" Amiri said jokingly, but couldn't hide his genuine concern.
De Jong just squeezed his hand hard, his gaze calm and strong.
As the Captain, Vogt walked up to him and hugged him tightly, his voice low but full of power: "Kid, it's good to have you back! The entire Hoffenheim is proud of you! In that battle, the respect you earned for us is heavier than any trophy!"
Oliver looked at the familiar faces full of concern, a warm current flowing through his heart.
He forced a smile, with a hint of a big boy's shyness, and waved his hand: "Guys, I'm fine, really! The doctor even said my recovery power is like an ox. See," he lifted his still slightly sore right leg, "It just looks scary, just a little superficial injury and overexertion. But you guys, the League isn't over yet, don't let those Bayern guys secretly gloat!"
With a relaxed and humorous tone, he shifted everyone's attention from his injuries back to the remaining matches. His calmness and optimism infected his teammates, and the worried atmosphere was quickly replaced by the familiar clamor of the training ground.
Although he couldn't immediately participate in high-intensity joint training, Oliver still seriously observed his teammates' tactical drills from the sidelines. A few days later, the final news came from Italy: Bayern Munich swept Roma 3-0 on aggregate, keeping a clean sheet both home and away, and proudly advanced to the Champions League final, where they would meet Real Madrid in Kyiv.
This meant that Hoffenheim's miraculous Champions League journey this season ultimately ended in the European top four.
Late at night.
After finishing all his recovery activities for the day, Oliver returned to his dormitory. The fatigue in his body and the lingering soreness from his injuries had largely subsided, and even the bruises on his leg had faded significantly.
During the day, his laughter and lightness with his teammates faded, and the faint regret deep in his heart, for not being able to help the team go further and not being able to win the Champions League trophy for his respected mentor, resurfaced once again.
Just as Oliver was lost in thought, the familiar, cold electronic voice that only he could perceive suddenly sounded in his mind:
"Detected that the Host Oliver's team, Hoffenheim, has completed all European Champions League matches for the 2017-2018 season."
"Final performance evaluation: Top four (Third place)."
"Analyzing the Host's behavior, changes in team role, mental fortitude, and overall influence on the team during the Champions League knockout stage (especially in the two-leg match against Real Madrid)…"
"Analyzing and comparing database…"
"Evaluation complete."
Oliver's spirits lifted, and he immediately held his breath, his consciousness sinking into the system interface.
"Final Evaluation Conclusion Report:"
"Based on the qualities displayed by the Host during the knockout stage, especially when facing a top powerhouse (Real Madrid) whose strength far exceeded their own:"
"Core Leadership Beyond Tactical Position: At critical moments, taking on the responsibilities of offensive core, organizational hub, and spiritual leader, especially when multiple core players were under high-intensity pressure, actively seeking solutions."
"Iron-like Fighting Will and Spirit of Sacrifice: Fighting while injured, boosting team morale through immense personal sacrifice, maintaining the integrity of the team's defensive line and counter-attack threat."
"Overall Awareness and Sense of Responsibility: Refusing to celebrate after scoring to urge time-saving, stabilizing morale and encouraging teammates in adversity, demonstrating maturity and leadership qualities far beyond his age; his actions have exceeded the scope of an ordinary core player, approaching the comprehensive embodiment of an on-field captain and spiritual pillar."
"The above traits perfectly align with the system's ultimate judgment criteria for 'Top Leader Quality,' far exceeding the system's basic requirement of 'contributing core strength in top-tier competitions.'"
"System Ruling:"
"In this Champions League journey, the leadership, willpower, and sense of responsibility displayed by the Host, their value has surpassed the superficial data of the final ranking."
"Therefore, the system determines: The Host has successfully activated and perfectly achieved the 'Heart of a Champion' achievement."
"Reward Terms:
The Host will receive 100% basic points reward for the Champions League journey, without any proportional deduction."
A bolded line of data flashed below the dialogue box:
"Final Settlement: Full Champions League points acquired, total: 20000 points"
(This value is accumulated based on previous Champions League specific performances, assuming a total value)
"Additional Note: The Host's current total account balance will be uniformly settled and displayed after all seasonal matches (German Cup, Bundesliga) are concluded, combined with the 'Champion Coefficient.'"
"Ah????"
Oliver sat on the edge of the bed, his body suddenly stiffening, his brain seemingly clearing instantly!
He looked at the text in disbelief, even forgetting to consciously confirm the points change.
100%? Full settlement? 20,000 points?!
His original psychological expectation was that with the team stopping at the semifinals, according to the system rules, getting half or two-thirds of the Champions League points would already be an excellent result.
After all, the basic champion reward was the main part, and a good process could only be considered an added value.
But now… the system directly gave him a "full amount"?!
Not only was not a single point deducted, but because he persevered despite injury and took on responsibilities beyond his duty, he was given the greatest praise instead?!
A huge surprise like a tsunami drowned the tiny bit of regret in his heart.
After the ecstasy, a strong thought followed:
"System!" Oliver urgently asked in his mind, his voice trembling.
"Then… if I, I mean hypothetically… if I lead the team to win the Champions League next year, and also give my all in the final, showing the 'Top Leader Quality' you mentioned, like this time, will I get more than 20,000 basic Champions League points? Will there be an extra bonus?"
The system's clear response quickly sounded:
"Question logic judgment…"
"Core question: Does the Host's hypothesis of stacking the 'Core Pillar: Heart of a Champion' achievement on top of winning the Champions League exceed the points cap?"
"Clear answer: No, the maximum basic reward for the final champion of the European Champions League is: 20,000 points, this is an unbreakable value."
"Note: The 'Heart of a Champion' achievement reward only affects the points settlement ratio (its purpose is to ensure full points), it cannot increase the points cap.
The additional value of this achievement is already reflected in the full settlement, there is no additional points bonus."
The system's explanation was straightforward and clear.
20,000 was the ceiling.
He didn't win the championship this time, but because of his excellent performance, he received the theoretical "maximum value."
Even if he wins the title next year and displays the same quality again, he will at most receive the full 20,000 base points, and no more.
The brief regret lasted only a moment. A wave of ecstasy swept over him again!
20,000 points!
The ultimate goal, worth 100,000 points – the passive skill [Steel Body on the Green Field], which would protect his entire career like a miracle!
Oliver felt a hot current surge from his feet throughout his entire body!
He looked at the bruised area on his right leg, which was still an ugly purplish-blue but where the pain had noticeably lessened.
Then he touched the scabbed scar on his forehead.
"It was worth it…" Oliver murmured softly, his voice clearly audible in the quiet room.
"The injuries I sustained at Bernabéu… they were truly worth it."
No wasted sweat and blood, no endured pain for nothing. Next, Oliver thought of a new question, and he asked the System.
"System," Oliver asked seriously in his mind, "What do you think is the biggest difference between me now and truly top players like Cristiano Ronaldo, Messi, and Ronaldinho, apart from football skills, vision, and awareness?"
The System was silent for a moment, seemingly analyzing a massive amount of data and observation records.
Then, a clear and calm voice sounded:
[Core Difference: Maturity]
"Maturity?" Oliver questioned the System.
This answer surprised him a little; he had expected the System's answer to be the number of championships, or goals, or certain skill attributes.
The System continued to answer:
[Host Current Age: 18 years and 36 days.]
[The Host's past experiences do not lack effort, diligence, or responsibility, but they lack maturity.]
[Detailed Explanation:
1. Maturity ≠ Strength: The Host's tenacious will displayed at Bernabéu was moving, but this was more "strength" supported by youthful spirit and talent, rather than a "mature" decision based on a full understanding of his own limits, the consequences of risks, and the overall interests of the team.
2. Maturity = Responsibility: True maturity means taking a deeper level of responsibility for yourself, for those who care about you, and for the team.
[For Yourself: Protecting one's body is the core responsibility of a professional player. Knowing that the body is on the verge of collapse (such as severe blood loss, severe muscle contusion, mental exhaustion) yet refusing to leave the field is a risky behavior that disregards the long-term development of one's professional career, essentially a lack of responsibility towards oneself.]
[For Those Who Care About You: Your parents, Coach, teammates, and fans—they worry for you, pray for you, and endure immense psychological pressure. Your "strong" choice objectively causes great emotional consumption and torment for them.
A mature player will understand and cherish this care, and make a more stable, more reassuring choice at critical moments.]
[For the Team: In extreme circumstances (such as leaving the field due to serious injury), your forced persistence might lead to the team playing with one less player in subsequent critical time, or becoming a defensive vulnerability due to your declining state, thereby harming the team's overall interests.
A mature player understands that sometimes a temporary concession (such as accepting treatment, rotating rest) is for the sake of contributing greater strength to the team in a better state at more important moments.]
The System's final voice seemed to carry a rare, almost human-like tone.
[Reminder to Host:
The brilliance of a football career is not only defined by the number of goals, assists, or championship trophies, but also by how you treat your body and how you respond to the concerns of those who place their hopes and emotions in you.
Please, Host, remember that being responsible for those who love you is a more important achievement than any championship. True strength lies not only in how much pain you can endure, but also in understanding and cherishing those who endure pain for you.
At the same time, please, Host, remember to sincerely apologize to your Coach, Julian Nagelsmann. He bore immense psychological pressure and self-blame for you.]
"Boom—!"
Every word from the System was like a scalpel, precisely dissecting the self-righteous hard shell within Oliver's heart, wrapped in "fighting spirit", "sense of responsibility", and "unwillingness."
It starkly exposed the truths that Oliver subconsciously did not want to face, or even deliberately ignored. What Oliver originally thought was responsibility was fighting until the last moment, shedding the last drop of blood. The System told him that true responsibility is knowing how to protect oneself, and knowing when to retreat for the sake of a longer battle. What Oliver thought was strength was refusing to leave the field, gritting his teeth and enduring.
The System told him that it might be a misjudgment of his own limits, and an irresponsibility towards those who cared for him. He thought his persistence was heroism. The System told him that it might be a childish stubbornness, or even selfishness. The scenes from the Bernabéu night uncontrollably flashed back in Oliver's mind:
[His resolute, unquestionable wave of rejection when Nagelsmann first held up the substitution board]
[The despair, pain, and helplessness that instantly surged in the Coach's eyes when he struggled to stand up after being tackled by Casemiro a second time, yelling "Don't substitute!" towards the coaching bench]
[At the hospital bed, the Coach holding his hand, crying like a child, repeatedly saying "I'm sorry," his eyes swollen like walnuts]
[His parents' fear and heartache, which they tried to suppress but could not hide]
[Zidane's and Wenger's eyes, full of concern yet with a hint of reproach]
…
Oliver was immersed only in his tragic sense of "giving his all for the team," only thinking about the match, about scoring, about victory. He had never truly stood in the Coach's shoes to experience that heavy responsibility and agonizing worry. He had never thought that his "strength" would become a sharp blade hanging over his parents' hearts.
He had never thought that his "responsibility," at that moment, was precisely the greatest "irresponsibility" towards everyone who cared about him.
"I… I… what have I done…"
Oliver's throat felt as if something was blocking it, unable to make any sound. A strong wave of bitterness and regret instantly broke through all his psychological defenses. His self-righteous "heroic act" turned out to be so childish, reckless, and even… cruel in the eyes of others. He had let down the Coach's trust, his parents' love, and everyone who worried for him.
Finally, Oliver's tears, without warning, gushed out, blurring his vision instantly like a breached dam. It wasn't just a drop or two, but a flood that instantly blurred his vision. He abruptly lowered his head, covering his face tightly with both hands, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably, and suppressed sobs and sniffles escaped. That night, he finally cried, crying like a lost child.
Oliver's tears had nothing to do with losing the game, nor with physical pain.
Rather, they were about his hatred for his own immaturity, deep guilt towards the Coach, and apology to his parents. And even more, a huge shock and bewilderment from being mercilessly awakened by the System, facing his truest self.
The young Oliver only now understood, he had hurt the people who loved him most. He thought he was mature enough to carry the team alone. He thought he was strong enough to ignore physical pain. He thought he was responsible enough to fight to the end. Only now did he remember how childish he was that night.
True maturity is learning to respect the body's limits, learning to trust the team's arrangements, and understanding that one is not an isolated island, but a vessel carrying the hopes and emotions of countless people.
True responsibility is not just the desire for victory, but also the cherishing of one's own health, the response to others' efforts, and the guarding of that trust.
In the quiet room, only Oliver's sobs echoed.
Under the dim light, the figure curled up on the bed, shoulders trembling violently, was no longer the dominant No. 17 genius on the field, no longer the warrior fighting in blood. He was just an 18-year-old boy who had just been harshly taught a lesson by cruel reality and was experiencing a spiritual agony.
After crying for an unknown period, Oliver's tears gradually stopped. He slowly raised his head, his face covered in tear stains, his eyes red and swollen, but his gaze was no longer bewildered; instead, it held a never-before-seen, heavy quality.
Oliver looked out at the deep night sky, where there was no starlight, only a tranquil darkness. He took a deep breath, as if to inhale all the regret, guilt, and understanding into his lungs. Then, in a very faint but incredibly clear voice, he solemnly spoke to the night sky, and to his own heart:
"Coach… I will definitely go to you… to apologize."
His words were like a ritual, and also like a coming-of-age ceremony, announcing the end of an old chapter and the beginning of a new one. Before tonight, he was the talented, spirited, but also typically reckless No. 17 Oliver of a young man. After tonight, he was still that No. 17, but something within him had quietly transformed. But in this small dormitory, a seed of maturity, watered by tears and profound remorse, finally broke through the soil in Oliver's heart.
The once omnipotent No. 17 Oliver, after experiencing the failure of the Champions League, the baptism of pain, and the interrogation of his soul, truly welcomed his 18th birthday on this quiet night.
...
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