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

The air in the locker room froze completely.

The tablet computer Favre had tossed on the table was still lit, its striking red, bold headline piercing everyone's nerves. "Indefinite suspension"—these five words were far more terrifying for professional players than a season-ending injury.

Haaland kicked the metal door of the locker room with a loud thud.

"Damn it! What do you mean by indefinite postponement? We just crushed those billion-dollar PSGs! The Champions League quarterfinals are just around the corner, and we're only a few points behind Bayern in the Bundesliga. And now you're saying we're not playing?" Haaland complained at the top of his lungs.

Sancho, frustrated, clutched his head in his hands and slumped onto the bench. Hummels shook his head repeatedly and threw the half-empty can of beer into the trash can.

No one cared about this historic victory anymore. The sudden turn of events had slammed the players from their zenith into the mud.

Favre spread his hands, speaking rapidly: "This is not a discussion, this is an order. Everyone pack your bags immediately, we're leaving Paris right now. Flights across Europe are being canceled en masse, and the club's management went to great lengths to keep our chartered flight. Take your personal belongings; the buses will meet at the entrance in ten minutes."

The entire Dortmund team didn't even have time to shower. The players casually threw on their sportswear, stuffed their gear haphazardly into their backpacks, put on the thick masks provided by the team doctor, and hurriedly boarded the bus.

Panic was already evident on the streets of Paris. Shops along the way closed early, and the usually congested streets were now deserted, with only a few ambulances occasionally speeding by with sirens blaring.

The bus drove all the way to the tarmac at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Three hours later, Dortmund's special plane landed in Germany.

It was already late at night when we arrived at the training base.

Club general manager Watzke and sporting director Zorc stood grim-faced at the entrance of the training base building. Watzke issued his final instructions in the most concise language imaginable.

"Everyone, the training base will be completely closed and disinfected starting tomorrow morning. The first team will be disbanded immediately. Everyone must stay home and is not allowed to leave the city without permission. The coaching staff will update the physical training plan daily in the group chat. Remember, this is home quarantine. Anyone who goes to nightclubs or crowded places at this time will be immediately dismissed by the club. Do you understand?"

"Understood," the players responded sparsely.

Sun Yang walked to the parking lot and opened the door of the Audi RS7. He threw his bag on the passenger seat, started the engine, and sped out of the training base.

At 1:30 a.m., Sun Yang's car stopped in the yard of his villa in the southern suburbs of Cologne.

All the lights in the room were on.

As soon as Sun Yang pushed open the villa's door, a tall figure rushed towards him. Catherine was wearing loose loungewear, her long blonde hair casually tied in a ponytail. She held a forehead thermometer in her hand and pressed it against Sun Yang's forehead without saying a word.

"36.5 degrees Celsius. Normal temperature. No cough, right?" Catherine checked the data sheet, her blue eyes filled with anxiety.

Sun Yang changed his shoes and took off his jacket, which smelled of disinfectant: "I didn't cough. But if I were to be suffocated by Haaland's sweaty odor for another two hours, I think I would have vomited."

Hearing that Sun Yang could still joke, the others in the room finally relaxed.

Mother Diana strode out of the kitchen, carrying a bowl of steaming Chinese chicken soup. This was a recipe she had learned from Sun Wu.

"Hurry up and drink this soup to warm yourself up. Paris must be in complete chaos right now, right? I saw the news reports and I'm really worried you won't be able to come back." Diana placed the chicken soup on the table, still wearing her apron.

Father Sun Wu and Uncle Henry sat on the sofa. Henry held a financial statement in his hand and tapped on the calculator with a worried look on his face.

"Damn virus. Sun, do you know what's in high demand in London right now? It's not gold, it's toilet paper! All the idiots in Britain are scrambling for toilet paper in supermarkets. I just got three calls from business sponsors, all asking to postpone signing contracts. The market is absolutely terrible right now."

Sun Yang walked to the dining table, picked up the chicken soup, and drank it all in one gulp.

"Stop complaining, Uncle. The most important thing now is for everyone to stay home and not go out unnecessarily. The club has been suspended indefinitely, and all matches have been suspended."

"Shut down? Good heavens, you're on fire." Henry put down his tablet.

Catherine didn't join in Henry's complaints. She went over and took the empty bowl from Sun Yang's hand, then pointed upstairs.

"The competition is over, but your body is still working overtime. That long run you did today really strained your thigh muscles. Take a hot shower, then go to the physiotherapy room and lie down. I need to get rid of all your lactic acid, otherwise you won't even be able to get out of bed tomorrow morning."

Catherine's words carried the irresistible weight of a professional.

Sun Yang obediently went upstairs to take a shower, and then walked into the specially converted physiotherapy room on the second floor.

He lay shirtless on the physiotherapy bed. Catherine applied professional massage oil to her hands and pressed her thumbs precisely on Sun Yang's soleus muscle in his calf.

The force was immense; with each press, Sun Yang gasped in shock.

"Scream if it hurts. You've pushed yourself too hard today. Even though your cardiovascular system is like a monster, and you're tireless on the field, that doesn't mean your muscle fibers won't tear." Catherine's technique was expert. She combined the scientific sports rehabilitation techniques she learned at the British Sports Rehabilitation Center with the traditional Chinese medicine meridian acupressure techniques she later learned from a Chinese doctor, which gradually relaxed Sun Yang's tense muscles.

The treatment lasted a full hour. Only when Sun Yang felt all the pores on his body open up did Catherine use a hot towel to dry the essential oil off him.

"Alright, go back to your room and get some sleep. Starting tomorrow, I'll be supervising your home training. The competitions may be suspended, but your fundamentals can't stop." Catherine picked up the tray and walked out.

Goodnight, Catherine.

Sun Yang returned to his bedroom, locked the door, and lay down on the soft bed, closing his eyes.

The real-world competition has stopped, but his personal journey of climbing has just begun.

As his mind sank, after a familiar dizzying sensation subsided, Sun Yang found himself in the space of the Football Hall of Fame system.

The surroundings were no longer that monotonous virtual green field, but a pure white hall with a huge floating screen.

On the big screen, the Champions League match results were flashing. This was the highlight of the evening.

[Champions League Round of 16, second leg: Borussia Dortmund vs. Paris Saint-Germain.]

The match results have been settled.

[The host performed exceptionally well, scoring a superb goal by dribbling past six players and providing a Beckham-esque curved assist. The team was led to victory against a strong opponent and advancement.]

[Overall post-match rating: SSS tier.]

[Rewards are being distributed.]

[Gained 5 free attribute point.]

[Perfectly executed Beckham's curved cross during the match, triggering a critical hit on skill proficiency. Skill [Beckham's Curve/Crescent Moon Slash] increased by 3 points, current proficiency 20/100.]

[The player perfectly replicated and utilized Maradona's signature move, "Overcoming Five Obstacles and Defeating Six Generals," in the match, showcasing exceptional dribbling and deceptive weight distribution. Current proficiency level increased by 10 points, reaching 12/100.]

[Given the host's finishing ability when scoring, the shooting attribute is additionally increased by 5 points. Current [Shooting: 75 -> 80] (You are already a sufficiently lethal finisher in the penalty area).]

[He frequently used Zidane's signature move during the match, increasing his skill [Zidane Marseille Turn] by 2 points. Current proficiency: 15/100.]

A long string of notification sounds exploded in my mind.

Sun Yang clenched his fist, feeling the power surging within him. His shooting accuracy had jumped to the 80 mark, meaning he no longer needed to rely excessively on those god-like skills that depended on his form and position. Under normal circumstances, his shooting was at the level of a professional striker.

As for the 5 free attribute points, Sun Yang directly added them to dribbling, bringing his dribbling skill to 70. With the skill bonuses from Maradona and Zidane, he won't easily lose possession on the field.

Settlement complete. The large screen vanished, turning into twinkling starlight.

The pure white space ahead began to distort, and the smell of grass spread.

A short, stocky man with a full head of black curly hair, wearing a retro Argentina number 10 jersey, swaggered out of the darkness.

Maradona, still chewing gum, walked up to Sun Yang and looked him up and down.

"Kid, you did a great job today." Maradona poked Sun Yang's chest with his thick finger. "That series of changes of direction and nutmegs, it's a bit like when I taught the English a lesson back in Mexico. You managed to make those overpriced PSG stars, who only know how to style their hair with hairspray, lose their bearings. Alright, you can go out and say you're my disciple from now on."

Sun Yang smiled and said, "It's all thanks to your excellent teaching. But mentor, shouldn't we continue our training program?"

Sun Yang thought that Maradona would disappear into light after saying those polite words, just like his previous mentors. But this time was different.

Old Ma didn't leave at all. He turned around and blew a loud, rascal-like whistle.

"Come out, guys, stop hiding in the back. We've managed to get this kid through the first phase of basic training."