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

Two thousand people shouted with the momentum of twenty thousand. The enormous roar echoed through the Parc des Princes stadium, making the French fans who had not yet left feel their scalps tingle.

Many Dortmund fans who had traveled from afar had tears in their eyes when they saw the number 11 jersey. Fat Karl, completely unconcerned about his image, wiped tears from his face with the back of his hand while hoarsely chanting the names of Reus and Sun Yang.

Sun Yang raised his hands and led the applause towards the stands, thanking the tireless twelfth man.

The closing ceremony concluded with a deafening battle song.

The players walked in twos and threes, arms around each other, down the player tunnel toward the away team's locker room.

Along the way, the Paris Saint-Germain club staff they encountered all moved closer to the wall, making way for the victors. Their eyes held undisguised awe as they looked at Sun Yang.

Sancho couldn't wait any longer. He somehow got hold of an extra-large bottle of champagne, pressed his thumb against the neck of the bottle, and shook it vigorously a few times.

As soon as Sun Yang stepped into the locker room, Sang Qiao released his thumb, and a stream of white liquor sprayed all over Sun Yang's head and face like a water gun.

"Cheer for our great Half-Court Assassin!" Sancho roared with laughter.

The locker room turned into a sea of ​​laughter. Someone had connected their phone to a high-powered Bluetooth speaker and turned the volume up to the maximum.

The high-energy heavy metal rock music made the lampshades on the roof vibrate.

Haaland was so excited he completely lost control. The 6'6" Norwegian giant took off his shirt and jumped shirtless onto the round table in the middle of the locker room. He started swaying his hips and performing a strange, self-invented dance.

The teammates below clapped and laughed heartily.

Veteran Mats Hummels sat in front of his locker, a can of ice-cold beer in his hand, which he gulped down. He turned and yelled at Witsel beside him.

"Axel! Did you see Neymar tearing his jersey just now? That guy is about to be driven crazy by Sun Yang!" Hummels laughed so hard he almost fell over.

Witsel rubbed his afro and leaned close to Hummels' ear. "To be honest, Mats, when Sun Yang dribbled past six players, I was right behind him. I swear, my jaw almost dropped to the grass. That's not something an earthling could do!"

"That kid is a monster. He makes us 30-something old guys look like old men taking a walk in the park." Hummels took another sip of beer, his eyes full of admiration for Sun Yang.

Sun Yang walked to his seat and sat down. He grabbed a clean white towel and vigorously wiped the champagne off his face.

Only then did he feel a throbbing pain in his legs. That frantic sprint of over fifty meters had completely exhausted his muscle strength. Although his lungs, like a perpetual motion machine, could provide unlimited cardiovascular energy, muscle fatigue was still very real under such high-intensity exertion.

He pulled his phone out of his backpack, and the screen lit up with several unread messages.

The first message was from my uncle Henry.

"You little rascal, you did a great job! Your mom cried so much in front of the TV her makeup was ruined. You have no idea, the entire European media is going crazy for you tonight. Get some rest, see you in Dortmund."

Sun Yang curled his lips upwards and replied with a smiley face emoji.

"Hey, Sun!" Haaland jumped off the table and plopped down next to Sun Yang. He was covered in a mixture of sweat and champagne. "Who do you think we'll draw in the quarterfinals? I really hope we run into Manchester City. I've been wanting to give Guardiola's defense a good time."

"No matter who we draw, we'll keep fighting, Erling." Sun Yang patted Harland's thick thigh. "But right now, you need to wash off that smell. You smell like a fermenting barrel."

The atmosphere in the locker room was incredibly enthusiastic. Everyone was dreaming about how they would dominate the Champions League stage.

Just at this time.

The wooden door to the locker room was suddenly slammed open.

Borussia Dortmund's press officer, Hunter, burst in, panting. He had run so fast that large beads of sweat covered his forehead.

Hunter ignored the sprayed champagne and the dancing players. He clutched a tablet tightly in his hand and ran straight toward Favre, who was drinking water in the corner.

Hunter's face was extremely pale, with a hint of ashen.

He grabbed Favre's arm, leaned close to the old general's ear, and spoke a long string of words at lightning speed.

The rock music in the locker room was so loud that no one could hear what Hunter was saying.

But Sun Yang keenly sensed that something was wrong.

He saw the smile on Favre's face vanish completely in a second. The old man, who had weathered countless storms, widened his eyes instantly, and the muscles at the corners of his eyes twitched uncontrollably.

Favre snatched the tablet from Hunter's hand and roughly swiped the screen.

After only a dozen seconds, the tablet slipped from Lao Shuai's hands and fell to the ground with a thud.

Favre turned his head and met Hunter's gaze. Hunter closed his eyes in despair and nodded heavily.

"Turn off that damn music! Right now!" Favre suddenly roared at the center of the locker room like an enraged lion.

The shout was extremely loud, piercing through the interference of heavy metal music.

Everyone was startled. Sancho rushed over and frantically turned off the Bluetooth speaker.

The loud music suddenly stopped.

The locker room suddenly became extremely quiet. The only sounds were the dripping water from the showers and the players' heavy breathing.

Everyone looked at each other in bewilderment. No one knew what had happened to make their usually mild-mannered head coach so angry.

Haaland scratched his head somewhat awkwardly: "What's wrong, Coach? Is it because I was dancing on the table? I'm sorry, I'll get a towel and wipe it clean right away."

Favre did not respond to Haaland. He bent down, picked up the tablet computer that had fallen to the ground, and wiped the screen with his sleeve.

The veteran coach slowly walked to the center of the locker room, his steps unusually heavy.

Favre raised his head, his gaze sweeping across the faces of each player. From veteran Hummels to striker Haaland, his eyes finally rested on acting captain Sun Yang.

He let out a long sigh.

"Boys, we have just won a great battle. I am incredibly proud of the courage and skill you showed away from home. Tonight will definitely be a part of Borussia Dortmund's history."

Favre's opening remarks sounded like a concluding speech. But this did not dispel the doubts of the crowd.

Because the old general's tone was too somber. It was as if he were announcing some kind of verdict.

Sun Yang involuntarily sat up straight, a strong sense of unease welling up in his heart.

Favre paused. He stretched out his calloused fingers and pressed them hard against his temples, as if searching for the right words.

"However, I have to announce some very bad news at your happiest moment."

Favre took a deep breath and held up the tablet computer in his hand.

"Just now, Hunt received an urgent international call from Borussia Dortmund's top management. At the same time, international news channels have also issued a red alert."

Everyone held their breath. Hummels placed his half-finished beer on the stool. Sancho didn't even bother to pick up the towel that had fallen to the ground.

"The world is currently facing a very serious public health crisis. An unknown, rapidly spreading novel virus is spreading across Europe and the world. The healthcare systems of many countries are on the verge of collapse."

Favre's voice echoed in the empty locker room, carrying an overwhelming sense of powerlessness.

"To ensure the safety of all players, club staff, and tens of thousands of fans. This is no longer a football issue, it's a matter of survival."

"UEFA held an emergency meeting just five minutes ago."

Favre gritted his teeth and forced the last sentence out of his throat.

"They have issued the final official ruling."

"Starting at midnight tonight, all major sporting events in Europe will be forcibly suspended."

Favre threw the tablet on the table.

"In other words, no matter how good our form is, no matter how great a game we just won, the Champions League, and the Bundesliga..."

"All postponed indefinitely! The league has been completely suspended!"