"Damn it!" Sebastian Jung hissed under his breath. He spun in a panicked circle, desperate to reclaim the ball and his dignity. He lunged recklessly, but before he could make contact, the ball was flicked upward by a clinical black boot.
It was a "double rainbow." Qin Ming had lofted the ball over Jung's head not once, but twice in a single sequence.
Leaving the defender frozen in his wake, Qin Ming didn't spare him a second glance. He had carved out a pocket of pure space on the left wing. He looked up and whipped a low, fizzing cross into the box. Kevin De Bruyne, arriving with the timing of a Swiss watch, shouldered Junior Malanda aside and redirected the ball with a deceptive ground pass.
MaximilianArnold, the pride of Wolfsburg's youth academy, ghosted onto the end of it. Bang. The ball nestled into the near corner.
2-1.
Arnold let out a roar, turning to hug De Bruyne. Playing with the Belgian was a dream; the passes always arrived with the perfect weight, the perfect lead, and the perfect intent. But Arnold didn't forget the architect of the play. He turned to Qin Ming and extended a hand.
"That was a hell of a performance just now," Arnold said, his eyes showing genuine respect.
"I think so too," Qin Ming replied. He didn't bother with fake modesty; he shrugged and flashed a confident grin.
"Hey! Is that how you play football?"
An angry, trembling voice shattered the moment. Sebastian Jung marched forward, his face flushed. To the onlookers, Qin Ming's skill was magic. To Jung, it was a humiliating joke at his expense.
"If you aren't capable enough, then work on it," Arnold stepped in before Qin Ming could even open his mouth. As a five-year veteran and a product of the club's youth system, Arnold's word carried massive weight. "Don't take your frustration out on others. No one here owes you a thing."
Jung went silent, his sanity returning as quickly as it had left. Causing a scene as a new signing was a fast track to the bench. He turned and walked away in a brooding silence.
"Thank you," Qin Ming said seriously. As a trialist in a foreign land, speaking up would have only made him look arrogant. Having a local leader like Arnold back him up was a massive stroke of luck.
"It's fine. I was like that when I was young," Arnold patted his shoulder vigorously. "Don't take it to heart. We'll be teammates soon."
Even the introverted De Bruyne managed to mutter a few words as they walked back. "You handled the ball well."
De Bruyne knew what it was like to be the outsider, bullied and misunderstood at a club like Chelsea. Having been caught in the rain himself, he now wanted to hold the umbrella for someone else.
"Kevin," Qin Ming asked suddenly, suppressing a laugh. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a good person?"
De Bruyne froze. The memory of Caroline—the woman who had betrayed him—flickered in his mind like a ghost. He rubbed his face vigorously. "Don't talk nonsense. I'm not a good person."
"Okay, you're not a good person. I'm the good person," Qin Ming chuckled. The two jokes did more to bridge the gap between them than an hour of drills ever could.
The first half ended there. When the second half began, Dieter Hecking pulled Qin Ming aside. It wasn't a coaching session; it was an interview.
"Why did you come here for a tryout?" Hecking asked, finding a quiet spot by the bench.
"I have a conflict with the head coach of Bayern's second team," Qin Ming said bluntly. "He wanted me to move to the Chinese Super League for the transfer fee. I wanted to stay in Europe."
Hecking nodded. He had seen enough "Teng Hai" style bullying in his career to know the truth when he heard it. "Well, you've passed the trial. Your talent is undeniable."
Hecking paused, his expression turning serious. "But your transfer is complicated. Volkswagen still wants to use you to boost sales in China. There will be marketing activities. Press conferences. You'll be a 'mascot' for a while. Can you handle that?"
"I know," Qin Ming replied. He wasn't bothered. The more the Volkswagen Group promoted him, the more eyes would be on him when he finally performed. It was an "additional force" he intended to use to his advantage.
"Good. As for Bayern, we will handle the negotiations. And don't worry about the salary—the club won't be stingy."
August 1, 2014. Volkswagen Arena.
The transfer moved with lightning speed. Wolfsburg launched a Chinese version of their website, signed a deal with a Chinese tire giant, and called a massive press conference.
The room was packed with reporters from Xinhua, Kicker, and Bild. In the center of it all, sitting beneath a banner that read "Ni Hao, Ming Qin!", sat the young man himself.
"Mr. Allofs," a reporter from Kicker asked sharply, "is Qin Ming a sporting asset, or just a clever marketing gimmick?"
Klaus Allofs, the Sporting Director, smiled smoothly. "This isn't a gimmick. We signed Qin after serious scouting. He is a rare talent, and we believe he will shock the Bundesliga."
In the crowd, Zhang Wei from Xinhua watched with a skeptical eye. He had watched Qin Ming at Bayern II for years and remembered him as "ordinary." He was convinced this was a purely commercial move.
He didn't know that the boy sitting in front of the cameras was no longer the "ordinary" player he remembered. The "Samba Elf" was officially a Wolf, and the Bundesliga was about to find out exactly what that meant.