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

The more than 60-day shutdown not only rusted the players' bones, but also plunged German football as a whole into a huge financial quagmire.

The estimated loss of 750 million euros is like a death knell hanging over the head of the German Football Association.

With broadcasting fees completely cut off, if the season is abruptly terminated, as many as thirteen professional clubs will have to go bankrupt and be liquidated, including four long-established Bundesliga teams.

Without money, the club will die.

Under immense pressure to survive, German football, like a rusty machine, had no choice but to keep running. On May 16th, the Bundesliga officially resumed, becoming the first of Europe's top five leagues to return to the public eye. Meanwhile, neighboring Ligue 1 had already surrendered and declared its end, while the Premier League, La Liga, and Serie A were still observing.

The iron gates of the Blakel training ground were reopened.

Early in the morning, Sun Wu drove his black Mercedes and parked it steadily in front of the cordon outside the base.

Security at the base was at full capacity. Several medical personnel in white protective suits and goggles were carrying sprayers, thoroughly disinfecting each entering vehicle. The air was thick with the pungent smell of alcohol and disinfectant.

"Son, you've been resting for so long, so be careful with your kicks on the first day of training together." Sun Wu turned around and instructed while holding the steering wheel, "Don't take advantage of the stable chassis to make reckless moves. You haven't been in contact with anything for too long, and you're prone to muscle strains."

"Don't worry, Dad, I know what I'm doing." Sun Yang pushed open the car door and picked up his red backpack.

Sun Wu didn't say anything more, turned the steering wheel, and drove away.

Sun Yang walked to the testing point. The fully equipped team doctor took out an electronic thermometer and placed it on his forehead. After a beep, he was handed a long throat swab. Only after going through the tedious testing process was he allowed into the changing room area.

Pushing open the door, I found the place already in an uproar.

After more than two months apart, these professional players, their hormones raging, were like wild beasts unleashed. Sancho sat in front of a cabinet, boasting to Reyna about how many games he'd played during quarantine. Hummels and Witsel, along with other veterans, were exchanging tips on home strength training.

Sun Yang had just changed into his training clothes when the locker room door was pushed open again.

A tall, muscular figure squeezed in with his head down.

The locker room was silent for two seconds, then burst into laughter.

"My God! Erling, are you some kind of savage who's come out of the mountains?" Sancho laughed, clutching his stomach and slapping his thigh, pointing at Haaland at the door and teasing him.

Haaland walked to his seat with a sullen face. Having gone over two months without a haircut, the once neat short hair of this Nordic monster had grown to shoulder length, cascading messily down his back. Combined with his rather aggressive face, he looked like an enraged golden lion king.

"Shut up, Jaden!" Harland slammed his backpack on the bench in a fit of rage. "All the barbershops are closed. Am I supposed to take a kitchen knife and shave myself? This bastard hair is blocking my eyes. I really want to singe it all off with a lighter."

He reached up and forcefully brushed aside the golden bangs that were hanging down his forehead, his face full of annoyance.

Sun Yang's eyes lit up when he looked at Haaland in front of him.

Blonde hair, fair skin, long legs, and explosive muscle definition. Isn't this the "complete form" of Haaland, who would later dominate the Premier League and score goals like crazy? It's just missing that final finishing touch.

Sun Yang turned around, unzipped his bag, pulled out a high-elasticity black rubber band, and quickly walked behind Haaland.

"Sit up straight and don't move around."

"What are you doing, Yang?" Harland muttered, but his body betrayed him by sitting up straight.

Sun Yang gathered his messy long hair with both hands, pulling it up from his temples to the back of his head, where all the blond hair was concentrated. He quickly wrapped the hair tie around his head three times, creating a tight and neat bun.

"Alright, try shaking your head." Sun Yang took two steps back, admiring his masterpiece.

Haaland shook his head, and his forehead was no longer obscured by stray hairs. His bun was firmly held at the back of his head, giving him an exceptionally wide field of vision and exuding a fierce and wild aura.

"Feels great!" Haaland stood up, walked to the full-length mirror, looked at himself, and flashed his signature laugh. "Dude, this look is so cool. I feel like a Viking berserker."

"Get ready to devour people on the field, Viking warrior." Sun Yang patted his broad shoulder.

Twenty minutes later, the entire Dortmund team stepped onto the number one pitch.

The long-awaited scent of fresh grass made everyone eager to try. Head coach Favre stood on the sidelines wearing a blue medical mask, while assistant coach Terčić held a tactical board and whistle.

"Warm up for fifteen minutes, then go straight to eleven-on-eleven full-court scrimmages. Get the rhythm back on track. You can be big, but stay disciplined. I don't want to see anyone in the medical room before the second round!" Terčić shouted the order.

The competition then began.

Sun Yang donned the yellow vest symbolizing the starting lineup, partnering with Witsel in the double defensive midfield. Ahead of them were Sancho, Hazard, and Haaland leading the attack.

The opposing team's substitutes, with Delaney and Dahoud anchoring the midfield, attempted to bolster the strength of their starting lineup.

Shortly after the kickoff, Sun Yang sensed a huge disconnect between reality and systematic training. Accustomed to the suffocating pressure of peak Ronaldo and Pirlo in All-Star games, Delaney's pressing now felt like slow motion to him.

The rewards for working tirelessly through the night during quarantine are beginning to show their true colors.

Dahoud quickly closed in from the side and behind, ready to tackle the ball.

Sun Yang didn't even turn his head. His mind automatically switched to Pirlo's God's-eye view, the entire turf being divided into precise grids in his consciousness. Three meters behind him was Dahoud, five meters to his left was Sancho on the wing, and forty meters ahead, Haaland was roaming between the two center-backs.

"Here!" Witsel reached out for the ball on the right, the safest route for the transition.

But Sun Yang didn't pass the ball.

Dahud's studs were almost touching the ball.

Sun Yang's left foot sank heavily into the turf, using the reaction force to twist his waist sharply. The absolute balance brought by his Peking Opera stance training perfectly supported the Mo Di's outward foot strike. He stabilized his base, his right knee turned outward, and his lower leg lashed out like a long whip.

The ball was precisely sliced ​​into the bottom right corner by the lowest joint of the outside of the right foot.

boom.

A muffled thud echoed across the empty training ground.

The ball skimmed the grass, spinning sharply counter-clockwise as it hurtled out. It was a powerful outside-of-the-foot pass.

The ball was extremely fast, flying directly over Delaney's outstretched right leg and heading towards the left sideline.

The substitute center-back, Akanji, immediately moved to the left to block the shot. Just when he thought the ball was going to fly directly out of bounds, it spun wildly at high speed and made a strange S-shaped curve on the grass, bypassing Akanji's defensive range and cutting directly into the right flank.

There was no one there originally.

But at the very second the pass was made, the Norwegian behemoth with its blond hair in a bun had already started its run.

Haaland unleashed his long legs, sprinting past another center-back like a 100-meter dash. His eyes were fixed on that incredible arc, his steps requiring no adjustment. The ball seemed to be equipped with a precision-guided radar, bypassing all obstacles and comfortably feeding him onto his sprint path.

He stopped briefly, then swept past, making a smooth, effortless motion.

Facing the onrushing goalkeeper, Haaland unleashed a powerful left-footed shot that slammed into the corner of the net.

1:0.

From Sun Yang's pass to the goal, the entire process took less than seven seconds. An unstoppable, lightning-fast counter-attack.

Favre, standing on the sidelines, pulled down his mask, his eyes wide with amazement. The vision and arc of that outside-of-the-foot pass were nothing short of a work of art.

After scoring, Haaland turned around, running back while pointing to his bun and yelling at Sun Yang, "Bro! That pass was absolutely perfect! I didn't even need to change my breathing to shoot!"

Sun Yang ran over and gave him a high five: "See that, Erling? All your power is hidden in your hair. That bun is your antenna, directly receiving my pass signals. From now on, if anyone dares to tell you to cut your hair, just kick their ass."

Haaland stroked the back of his thick head of hair, unwavering in his conviction: "Nobody can touch a hair on my head! Not even the FA president could point a gun at me!"

In the subsequent training session, the substitute team's defense was completely destroyed by this duo.

Sun Yang seemed to have activated a cheat code. No matter how cornered he was forced into, he could always use all sorts of unbelievable moves, even backheel strikes, to precisely deliver the ball to Haaland's running path. The legendary skills dissected in the holographic video had become perfect muscle memory in his body.

In a scrimmage, Haaland scored four goals. After each goal, he made sure to touch his bun hairstyle.

Three o'clock in the afternoon, in the tactical analysis room.

After showering and changing into dry clothes, the players, each wearing masks, sat apart to maintain social distancing. The atmosphere inside quickly shifted from the fervor of the training ground to a tense and somber one.

Favre stood in front of the tactical whiteboard, holding a red pen in his hand.

In the very center of the whiteboard, Schalke 04 was clearly written.

This is Dortmund's first opponent after the Bundesliga restart. There was no warm-up or transition period; it was straight into one of the most intense and brutal clashes in all of Germany: the Ruhr derby.

"Guys, I know you're all going stir-crazy." Favre's serious voice came through his mask, sounding somewhat muffled. "On May 16th, we're going to host our most hated neighbors under this damn control."

Favre drew a heavy circle around Schalke 04's name with his pen.

"This match has one fatal flaw: it's played in an empty stadium."

The meeting room was extremely quiet.

"What does this mean? It means that when you walk out of the players' tunnel, there won't be 80,000 fans cheering for you. The South Stand will be empty, no yellow and black flags, no team anthem. There will be no oppressive feeling that can make the enemy's legs go weak." Favre placed his hands on the table and scanned everyone.

"All you could hear was the sound of the ball hitting the turf, the shouts from the sidelines, and even the opponents' panting. In that deserted stadium, like a morgue, the home advantage was completely diminished. It was a pure physical battle."

Favre turned around and quickly drew Schalke 04's formation.

"Their defense has been very tough this season, especially their tendency to pressure in midfield. Without the pressure of boos from the fans, Schalke's players would definitely play even more recklessly, frequently tackling and cutting off passes. Tactically, I've asked the midfielders to speed up their ball movement and reduce unnecessary dribbling."

Favre looked at Sun Yang in the back row: "Yang, you have the heaviest burden. You are the key player, and Schalke will definitely send someone to keep a close eye on you."

Sun Yang sat in the chair, his eyes calm, and the corners of his mouth slightly turned up.

"Coach, regardless of whether there are people in the stands, the size of the goal hasn't changed, and the color of the opponent's jerseys hasn't changed either." Sun Yang's voice was exceptionally clear in the empty analysis room. "Does Schalke 04 think they can escape unscathed in Westphalia without the roar from the South Stand?"

Sun Yang glanced at Haaland beside him; a fierce glint had already appeared in the Norwegian's eyes.

"We'll fill that empty stadium with the roar of our goals. No matter how many players they pack in the penalty area, I'll feed the ball directly behind Schalke's defenders." Sun Yang stood up, his hands gripping the edge of the table, his tone exuding a chilling arrogance.

"The first match of the semifinals is perfect for using our arch-rivals as a sacrificial lamb."

As soon as the words were spoken, the air in the conference room seemed to ignite instantly, and all the Dortmund players began to breathe heavily.

The Ruhr derby, played without spectators, has begun.