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

It was late at night, in a detached villa in the southern suburbs of Cologne.

Sun Yang took a cold shower, lay on the big bed in the bedroom, closed his eyes, and directly accessed the system space.

The virtual Boca Juniors home stadium, La Bombonera, was filled with deafening noise.

Diego Maradona, dressed in a loose tracksuit with the Argentine flag on it, stood with a yellowed old ball under his feet, staring at Sun Yang with disdain.

"Kid, you think you're pretty good at playing in those German logging camps?" Maradona sneered, flicking the ball with his right foot, making it bounce up and down as if it were glued to his knee.

"Your touches of the ball today were as rough as an uncivilized gorilla. It was only because that big oaf named Haaland is fast that you made so many mistakes."

Sun Yang took a deep breath and assumed a defensive stance. In his dreams these past few days, he had been outmaneuvered by this Argentinian fat man thousands of times. Those subtle, millimeter-level changes of direction were sheer torture.

"Stop talking nonsense. Teach me how to get the ball out when you're surrounded by three people." Sun Yang stared intently at the ball at Maradona's feet.

"Keep your eyes peeled. Defense isn't about charging at people like an idiot; football is an art." Maradona lightly touched the ball with his toe, and it traced a strange arc.

"Defense and dribbling are based on the same logic. Master the rhythm. Use your ankle to feel the texture of the ball. In the half-second that your opponent kicks, change the ball's center of gravity."

The moment the words were spoken, the Maradona started up.

That seemingly obese body unleashed a terrifying burst of power. Sun Yang lunged forward and stretched out his leg to intercept.

Maradona didn't even look at him. He pulled the ball back with the sole of his foot, then gently flicked it across the turf with the outside of his foot. The ball rolled past Sun Yang's studs. Man past, ball past.

Sun Yang, having missed his target, crashed heavily onto the grass.

"Get up! Open your eyes and look!" Maradona roared as he retreated to the center circle.

The scene changes, taking us directly to the 1986 World Cup match between Argentina and England.

This time, five virtual defenders wearing England jerseys lit up on the field, and there was even a goalkeeper standing in front of the goal.

Maradona received the ball in the center circle and charged forward past five defenders. He dribbled the ball at breakneck speed the entire time, as if it were an extension of his feet.

The distance between his feet never exceeded half a meter. The first touch shook off the midfielder, and the second change of pace left the defender behind.

Fifty-five meters, in just seven seconds! Eleven touches!

Maradona dribbled past five defenders like a whirlwind, and finally, in the gap left by the goalkeeper's save, he flicked his left foot and easily pushed the ball into the empty net.

Sun Yang stood on the sidelines, panting heavily, his eyes wide open.

"See? That's the instinct to survive in chaos!" Maradona turned around, pointing to his head. "Don't focus on the ball! Watch my shoulder, watch my ankle! Make that street-fighting instinct ingrained in your bones!"

The entire night was filled with hellish drills.

Sun Yang fell five thousand times on the grass, feeling like his bones were about to break. But finally, under Maradona's guidance, he dribbled past five defenders and put the ball into the net.

"Remember this muscle memory." Maradona plopped down on the ball, catching his breath.

The system notification sounded in Sun Yang's mind.

[Congratulations, host, for mastering the essence of the King of Football! New skill added: Maradona's god-level dribbling skills. Current proficiency: 2/100.]

Three days later, on March 8th, the 25th round of the Bundesliga kicked off.

Borussia Dortmund travels to Borussia Mönchengladbach to face a tough opponent.

The team was plagued by injuries due to a series of high-intensity back-to-back games. Head coach Favre gritted his teeth and made extensive rotations, directly benching key players such as Sancho and Hummels.

Sun Yang and Haaland were also sitting on the bench wearing coats.

Borussia Mönchengladbach played extremely tough at home. The score was tied 1-1 after 60 minutes in the second half.

Favre waved his hand, and Sun Yang and Haaland took to the field.

Only fifteen minutes had passed.

As Borussia Mönchengladbach's midfield maestro Zakaria attempted to receive the ball and turn, Sun Yang, like a heavy bulldozer, rolled right up to him from the side and behind. In a straightforward, hard-hitting, close-quarters battle, Zakaria screamed and fell to the ground, ball and all.

Sun Yang, who had won possession of the ball, made no adjustments, looked up at the front, and then flicked his right foot.

A precise long pass over the top swept past the entire defense. Haaland stormed into the penalty area like a Scandinavian tank, one-on-one with the goalkeeper, and unleashed a powerful shot that shattered the net.

2-1. Borussia Dortmund narrowly secured three points away from home.

On the team bus back to Dortmund.

The carriage was quiet; everyone was taking the opportunity to close their eyes and sleep. Sun Yang sat in the back row by the window, wearing noise-canceling headphones, the latest Bundesliga standings lit up on his tablet screen.

Bayern Munich, 57 points. Ranked first.

Borussia Dortmund, 53 points. Ranked second.

RB Leipzig, currently in third place, is a full eight points behind, a commanding lead. The final championship will be decided between the Bavarian giants and Borussia Dortmund. Dortmund is holding on tight, while Bayern Munich is feeling immense pressure.

But now, the Bundesliga's mission has come to a temporary end.

The real storm is about to break.

Haaland leaned over and snatched one of Sun Yang's earphones.

"Sun, the French newspapers are spewing nonsense again." Harland handed over his phone screen.

The screen displays the front page of the latest issue of the French newspaper L'Équipe. It features a composite image of the Borussia Dortmund crest being crushed. An interview with Paris Saint-Germain coach Thomas Tuchel occupies the entire page.

"When we get to the Parc des Princes, I'll show those Germans what a true powerhouse is! Their crude technique will get them thrashed in Paris."

Thiago Silva, the defensive linchpin of Paris Saint-Germain, was even more arrogant on Twitter.

"That Asian kid who's getting all excited in the Bundesliga? Once he steps onto the pitch in Paris, I'll teach him a lesson. He's just a lucky country bumpkin; I'll make sure he leaves France on his back."

The tweet was met with hundreds of thousands of disgusting taunts and insults from Paris Saint-Germain fans.

Sun Yang expressionlessly pushed the phone back to Haaland and turned to look at the highway lights blurred by the rain outside the window.

"Mr. Favre said the whole team will have half a day off tomorrow to recover." Haaland clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking. "Screw the day off! I really want to fly over there right now and punch those Frenchmen!"

No holiday.

Sun Yang turned off the tablet screen directly. The sound wasn't loud, but it clearly echoed throughout the entire carriage.

Hummels, sitting in the front row, turned around. Piszczek, who had been resting with his eyes closed, also opened them, both looking at the young acting captain.

"Meet in the tactics room tomorrow morning to review PSG's match videos. In the afternoon, we'll practice corner kicks and free kicks." Sun Yang looked at his group of tired older brothers.

The bus slowly pulled into the parking lot of the Dortmund training ground.

Sun Yang stood up and pulled an armband from his sports backpack. It had Dortmund's team logo printed on it, and the edges were still stained with dark red blood from the day Reus was injured.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder and glanced around at the people in the car.

"Brothers, let's put the league standings behind us for now; it's a long marathon." Sun Yang waved the armband in his hand, his eyes filled with fighting spirit.

"But it's time to settle the score with Paris."

Sun Yang walked to the car door and patted the cold metal of the car body hard.

"Go home and get a good night's sleep tonight. Pack your bags and gear. We're flying straight to Paris the day after tomorrow afternoon." He enunciated each word carefully. "We're going to the Parc des Princes stadium and tear their turf upside down."

Head coach Favre, sitting in the front row, did not move an inch and made no attempt to stop Sun Yang's overstepping of his authority.

The white-haired Swiss coach silently buttoned up his trench coat, a fire burning in his eyes.

The time for the final battle has come.

The torrential rain in France is about to come down.