Football: He suffered a broken leg at the start of the game, but partnered with Haaland!

The referee Mateu's whistle was sharp and piercing. The red and yellow cards were extremely conspicuous in the night sky.

Verratti walked toward the players' tunnel with his head down.

The 75,000 Borussia Dortmund fans in the stadium erupted in a deafening roar of curses. Beer mugs and crumpled pieces of paper rained down from the stands, hitting the rain shelter above the players' tunnel.

But these angry voices quickly subsided.

Because an ambulance with a red cross on it had driven directly onto the pitch of the Westfalen Stadium.

Dortmund's chief team doctor, Schmidt, knelt on the ground, sweating profusely. He took a pair of medical scissors from his first-aid kit and cut open Reus's shorts.

The groin area, exposed to the cold air, was visibly swollen. There was a very conspicuous bruise there.

Reus lay on his back on the grass, his hands tightly covering his cheeks.

Tears kept slipping through my fingers.

He knew this excruciating pain all too well. Every time he exerted too much force or was hit by a collision, that fragile ligament would snap mercilessly.

That was a nightmare that would haunt him throughout his entire career.

Schmidt moved swiftly, securing Reuss's right thigh with a heavy plaster cast, then called for the stretcher bearers behind him to come quickly.

Several strong men carefully lifted the Dortmund team legend onto a stretcher and pushed him into the ambulance.

Favre walked quickly to the car door.

"How is Marco doing?" The usually mild-mannered Swiss coach's voice was extremely hoarse at this moment.

Schmidt shook his head with a sullen face.

"He suffered a severe tear in his groin muscles, which has aggravated an old wound in his soleus muscle. Coach, you need to be prepared for him to be out for the entire season."

These words struck Favre like a heavy blow.

The veteran coach swayed violently and leaned back against the windshield of the substitutes' bench.

Sun Yang stood by the sideline, his eyes completely red.

He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving. He had already ripped off the two large ice packs strapped to his legs and thrown them onto the edge of the grass.

He wished he were still on the field. If he were, he vowed to completely dismantle PSG's defense in the next few minutes.

The fourth official on the sidelines finally raised the substitution sign.

Red number 17, green number 23.

Haaland ran off the field.

This man of strong emotions ignored the towel offered to him by the coaching staff. He high-fived Emre Can and Hazard, who were about to enter the field, then ran into the players' tunnel without looking back, watching the ambulance leave the stadium with its red and blue flashing lights trailing behind it.

The game has restarted.

There are only three minutes left in stoppage time.

Paris Saint-Germain coach Thomas Tuchel stood at the edge of the command area, loosened his tie, and waved his hand.

All forces must be deployed!

Apart from center-back Marquinhos trailing behind, even the two full-backs had pushed past the halfway line.

Tuchel knew very well that without Verratti, PSG's midfield had no interception ability whatsoever, and their only option was to fight tooth and nail to secure a valuable away goal in Westphalia.

Mbappe received a through pass from Kurzawa on the left flank.

The French star pulled the ball back with his right foot, and then used his left foot to dribble past veteran Piszczek, who had just come on as a substitute.

But the Dortmund players were completely enraged.

Emre Can slid down and tackled from the side and behind.

The German midfielder's kick wasn't aimed at the ball at all; it swept Mbappe and the ball out of bounds. Mbappe rolled three or four times on the ground before coming to a stop.

Referee Mateu immediately blew his whistle and ran over to show a yellow card to Emre Can, who had just come on.

Emre Can ignored them completely, got up from the ground, and yelled at Hummels and Zagadou on the field:

"Kick those Frenchmen back! Hold the penalty area!"

Paris Saint-Germain is awarded a free kick on the left side of the attacking third.

Di Maria took the penalty. Instead of using a tactical combination, he lobbed the ball high into the center of the penalty area.

Standing at 1.88 meters tall, Cavani leaped high into the air amidst the crowd and unleashed a powerful header at the goal as the ball came hurtling down.

The ball was headed with great force and weight, heading straight for the top right corner of the goal.

Dortmund goalkeeper Bürki displayed extreme focus. He pushed off the ground with both legs, fully extending his body in the air, and barely managed to tip the seemingly certain goal over the crossbar with one hand.

Corner kick!

This was also the last attacking opportunity of the game.

Even PSG goalkeeper Navas abandoned his goal and ran directly into Dortmund's penalty area to contest the header.

The penalty area was packed with more than twenty people. Players from both sides were pushing and shoving each other, jerseys were torn and deformed, and all sorts of profanities were flying. Mateu had to repeatedly blow his whistle to warn both teams to control their tempers.

Di Maria took the ball again from the corner flag area.

The ball, with a large inward spin, fell towards the penalty spot.

Dortmund's defensive linchpin, Hummels, had already positioned himself amidst the chaos. The experienced veteran used his strong back to push past Navas and unleashed a powerful header to clear the ball.

The ball flew high out of the center circle.

Mateu glanced at his watch and immediately put the whistle in his mouth.

beep!beep!beep!

Two short shots and one long shot! The game is over!

The electronic scoreboard above the pitch showed 2-0. Borussia Dortmund had decisively defeated French champions Paris Saint-Germain at home in the first leg of their Champions League Round of 16 tie.

The stadium in Westfalen did not erupt in the usual deafening cheers.

The fans in the stands stood quietly. Many die-hard fans had tears in their eyes. They were all praying for their captain, who had suffered repeated setbacks.

The Dortmund players on the field were exhausted and collapsed onto the grass. Hummels went over and helped Bürki up.

The team had no intention of celebrating the victory.

Sun Yang stood up from the bench. He walked over to the Dortmund press officer.

"Go to Marco's locker and get me his spare jersey." Sun Yang's words left no room for negotiation.

The press officer paused for a moment, then immediately turned and ran back to the players' tunnel.

A minute later, a yellow home jersey with the number 11 in black and Reus's name printed on it was handed to Sun Yang.

The entire Dortmund team gathered at the center circle.

In the past, when celebrating a victory, Reus would always lead the way, guiding everyone towards the south stand for a friendly interaction.

Today, Sun Yang was at the forefront.

He gripped the hem of his shirt with both hands, held the number 11 jersey high, and spread it out in front of him.

Haaland, Sancho, Brandt, and veteran Hummels, along with the club staff, all silently followed behind Sun Yang.

A group of twenty-odd men dressed in yellow and black jerseys walked side by side toward the most famous stand in all of Europe.

The fan leader, Fat Karl, stood behind the railing. He held a megaphone but didn't shout any victory celebrations.

Carl raised his thick arm.

Seventy-five thousand people simultaneously raised their scarves.

"Marco!" Karl roared.

"Royce!" Seventy-five thousand people responded in unison.

The shouts echoed through the heavens. At that moment, the entire city of Westvallon became an impregnable fortress.

Sun Yang held his jersey high above his head, facing the group of die-hard fans, and bowed deeply.

This precious two-goal victory was won by the captain with his own two legs.

When leaving through the mixed interview area.

A large number of sports reporters from various European countries had already surrounded the narrow passageway.

As the Dortmund players approached, countless cameras and microphones were pointed directly at Sun Yang, who was walking at the front, over the shoulders of the security personnel.

A female reporter from the French newspaper L'Équipe was the first to hand over the recording pen.

"Son! You scored a stunning goal today that will go down in Champions League history! Many pundits say your current market value is definitely over 100 million euros, and you've already entered the ranks of the world's top midfielders. How are you feeling right now? With a two-goal lead, isn't Dortmund practically halfway into the quarterfinals?"

This question carries a strong sense of both flattery and probing.

But Sun Yang did not become arrogant because of these praises. He stopped and turned to stare at the camera flashing red light in front of him.

"I don't care what other people call me a top midfielder. Football is a game where you only win when the referee blows the whistle at the end of the 90 minutes."

Sun Yang paused for a moment, his tone turning extremely cold.

"Right now, I'm only concerned about Marco's MRI results. Tonight's victory was earned by our captain through sheer grit."

He took a step forward, looking at the French journalist with an extremely imposing gaze.

"PSG has a super attacking line worth hundreds of millions. But if they think they can steal the victory from us by resorting to dirty fouls, they are sorely mistaken."

"Next leg, we're playing away in Paris. I'll show them just how venomous the Hornets' sting really is."

After uttering this powerful statement, Sun Yang pushed aside the various microphones blocking his way and headed straight for the locker room.