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

Time flies, and the scorching sun in early August almost melts the Iberian Peninsula.

The Borussia Dortmund team's chartered plane landed at Lisbon Airport in Portugal. There was no roaring crowd of fans to greet them, nor a media frenzy with cameras and microphones.

Everywhere you looked, people were completely covered in white protective suits. Local medical staff carried heavy sprayers and sprayed the passageways, the undercarriages of buses, and even everyone's suitcases.

The pungent smell of disinfectant hit my nasal cavity, making my throat feel dry and itchy.

The Champions League quarter-final format has been significantly compressed. It's now a single-elimination tournament, held in a centralized venue, and under strict closed management.

Once on the team bus, the atmosphere was deathly still. The young players' initial excitement for the Champions League knockout stage was instantly extinguished by the oppressive tension.

Haaland tugged at his collar in frustration, his massive frame shifting in the cramped seat. He pressed his face against the window, staring at the deserted streets outside, and muttered irritably.

"Damn it, this job was absolutely awful! I was expecting tens of thousands of hot girls in jerseys to be lining up outside chanting our names. What is this? Are they treating us like monkeys in a cage? This damn air, every breath feels like my lungs are on fire!"

Sancho, sitting in the front row, scrolled through his phone and chimed in with a disgruntled tone.

"Exactly! Lisbon's awful weather is supposed to be a holiday paradise, but those UEFA bigwigs won't even let us out of the hotel lobby. It's like being locked up, at best a paid jail sentence!"

Sun Yang was sitting in the back of the bus, resting with his eyes closed. Hearing the increasingly absurd talk from the person in front of him, he opened his eyes, stood up, and slapped the back of the seat in front of him.

A crisp "snap" sound.

Although the captain wasn't wearing his armband today, his repeated, unreasonable, and desperate plays on the field had already subdued these troublemakers. The carriage fell silent.

"Keep your mouths shut, all of you." Sun Yang's voice wasn't loud, but it carried weight in the quiet carriage. "Complaining won't help you score against those mad dogs in Atlanta. Listen, we're playing an open game now, no home or away games. No fans means even if you miscontrol the ball three meters away, tens of thousands won't boo you. But conversely, if the opponent coughs on the sidelines or gives a tactical instruction, you all need to hear it perfectly!"

He took two steps forward, his gaze sweeping coldly over Haaland and Sancho.

"I suffered like this when I played in the Asian Cup. The rules are simple: stay inside, finish the chicken breast on your plate, and close your eyes and go to sleep when it's time. Don't mess with those people in white."

Head coach Favre, sitting at the front, not only didn't stop them, but instead shrank back in his seat and nodded in satisfaction.

This young squad, fresh off their Bundesliga title, is too inexperienced; they desperately need a locker room leader who can keep them in check.

……

The following afternoon, the team took a bus to the Stadium of Light to familiarize themselves with the venue.

This five-star stadium, belonging to the Portuguese powerhouse Benfica, can accommodate more than 65,000 enthusiastic fans when fully booked.

But now, as the players stepped onto the smooth grass, they were met with a terrifying sense of emptiness. The densely packed red seats were completely empty. Thump! The sound of a simple long pass echoed clearly under the massive canopy.

But the upper part of the stands was by no means completely silent.

Outside the VIP boxes on the top floor, a dozen or so masked figures were scattered like ghosts. They maintained social distancing, each carrying a high-powered pair of binoculars, a tablet, and a thick notebook on their lap.

The cameras, long lenses and short lenses, were fixed on the few Dortmund training kits on the field from every angle.

Those who can secure the necessary permits at this crucial juncture are all top scouts sent by Europe's elite clubs. In this upcoming transfer window, Borussia Dortmund's youthful storm is the biggest easy target in all of Europe.

Especially those three tireless prodigies in the frontcourt: Haaland's goal conversion rate, Sancho's explosive runs down the wing, and... Sun Yang's freakish vision and physicality, as if he had opened his eyes to the heavens.

"Keep an eye on that number 29, Manchester needs him." Manchester City's chief scout zoomed in on the half-field running heatmap on his tablet, lowered his voice and whispered to his assistant, "Pep has practically worn out the tapes of his second half in the tactics room, praising him as a genius three times. Not only can he catch the ball under pressure, but that outside-of-the-foot curve is practically a manual tailor-made for breaking down a tight defense."

The assistant's pen flew across the paper as he shook his head repeatedly: "It's tough, boss. Dortmund is too confident right now. And everyone in the industry is saying that his mother is a ruthless negotiator who'll eat you alive. Plus, Puma is betting everything on him to tap into the Asian market, so the transfer fee will definitely be astronomical."

A few seats away, Barcelona's South American scout watched Sun Yang's passing route through binoculars and grimaced in disappointment.

"The through ball route does have a bit of Xavi's style, but this style of play is too straightforward. The first reaction upon receiving the ball is to find the opponent's weak point, or even just unleash a shot. This doesn't sound like an organizing core; it's more like an unreasonable winger in midfield. However... if Messi really falls out with the management next year, this kid's speed could be a lifesaver."

The Bayern scout sitting in the front row overheard the discussions behind him and couldn't help but sneer. The arrogance of the Bundesliga powerhouse was ingrained in their very bones.

"Stop arguing, he'll be a Bayern player on Säbener Straße sooner or later. The entire Bundesliga is Bayern's youth academy, Dortmund can't keep its superstars. As long as we offer big enough wages and promise a key position, no Bundesliga player can refuse the Bavarian giants. His powerful shot perfectly filled the gap in our midfield."

While these seasoned football veterans were engaged in some undercurrents, a middle-aged male scout in a black jacket with the Arsenal crest on his chest sat silently in the corner, his face dark.

The other scouts glanced at him, immediately exchanged a mocking look, and started a verbal sparring match right in front of him.

"Save your breath, Arsenal folks," the Manchester City scout said bluntly, adding insult to injury. "All of Europe knows how your Gunners management treated this precious kid like a jinx back then. What's the use of regretting it now? If you're lucky enough to face Dortmund in the semi-finals, I bet this kid will absolutely blow your goal apart."

The Arsenal scout's lips twitched; he had no way to refute it. Gritting his teeth, he could only adjust the focus of his binoculars to the maximum, painfully watching the energetic number 29 on the field, continuing his frustrating task of transmitting the most accurate data back to London.