Wolfsburg Training Ground. Scrimmage: Team A vs. Team B.
On the touchline, Dieter Hecking's eyes—hidden behind thick, black-framed glasses—lit up with a sharp, sudden intensity. In the world of elite sports, an expert doesn't need ninety minutes to judge a player; they only need one touch. The rhythm of a stride and the deceptive cadence of a dribble tell a story that data sheets cannot.
"Now, that is something," Hecking muttered, his previous contempt for the "marketing mascot" vanishing. He straightened his back, shifting from a bored observer to a hungry tactician.
On the pitch, Qin Ming was a blur of green. He had carried the ball more than ten meters in seconds, eating up the space left by Team B's overconfidence. But the window was closing. A defender was finally stepping up to meet him: SebastianJung.
The right-back, a multi-million euro summer signing from Frankfurt, saw the "Chinese kid" and didn't see a threat—he saw a "soft persimmon" ripe for the squeezing. Jung dropped his center of gravity, preparing a neat, handsome tackle to end the hype.
But as he committed, his pupils shrank. Qin Ming's feet were a blur of high-frequency touches. With a violent feint, he sold the move to the right, only to snap the ball back to the left in a heartbeat. It was a simple, devastating escape that left Jung blinded, staring at the grass where a player had been a second ago.
"Don't just stand there! Close him down!"
The roar came from Team B's goalkeeper, directed at the giant in Qin Ming's path: TimmKlose. Standing at 193cm, Klose was a mountain of a man—an "aircraft carrier" in a bathtub. He was king of the air, but agonizingly slow to turn.
Qin Ming didn't slow down. He recycled the same trick, driving hard toward the baseline. Klose, desperate not to be beaten for pace, shifted his massive weight to cover the wing. Got you. As Klose's center of gravity swayed, Qin Ming used his core strength to pivot mid-stride, carving out a yard of shooting space. Before the keeper could react, Qin Ming let fly.
Bang! The ball hissed into the side netting.
The silence that followed was broken only by the bitter murmurs of the other trialists. "Where did this kid come from?" a Dortmund reserve player whispered, realizing his own trial was likely over. Even Scott from Darmstadt, who hoped it was "just luck," was met with sneers from the other pros. Everyone knew: that rhythm wasn't an accident.
Dieter Hecking turned to his assistant, his voice low and urgent. "Give me his test data. Now."
Hecking knew his history. In Bild's list of coaches who loved youth, he ranked third—ahead of Klopp and Wenger. He identified talent for a living. As for why Bayern let this boy go? He didn't care. As long as the paperwork was legal, he was ready to pounce.
On the pitch, Qin Ming didn't celebrate. He jogged back to Kevin De Bruyne and flashed a bright smile. "Kevin, thank you. That was a world-class pass."
"You handled it yourself," De Bruyne replied with his trademark stubbornness. "Anyone could have made that pass."
Qin Ming's smile widened. He admired the "Golden Retriever." In his past life, he felt sympathy for De Bruyne's personal betrayals; now, he felt awe at his strength. Playing with KDB meant he wouldn't just be scoring; he'd be feasting.
As the game resumed, the "invisible wall" around Qin Ming crumbled. His teammates began to seek him out. However, the pressure of the professional circle began to creep in. As the saying goes: Pressure deforms the man. Most players perform at only 30% under this heat.
Qin Ming felt it, but he made a choice. He reached back to his childhood. How did I play then? The answer: I enjoyed it.
De Bruyne noticed the change immediately. The stiffness left Qin Ming's shoulders, replaced by a fluid, rhythmic aura. As the half wound down, Luiz Gustavo won a header, nodding it toward Qin Ming. Sebastian Jung lunged forward, pressing tight, desperate to reclaim his dignity before the whistle.
Thwack! A crisp sound of contact echoed. Instead of shielding the ball, Qin Ming used a delicate heel-flick to send the ball looping cleanly over the Swiss defender's head. The "Samba Elf" was no longer just playing a trial; he was putting on a show.