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

For the first time ever, the Dortmund locker room during halftime was filled with a relaxed, vacation-like atmosphere.

Terčić put down his tactical pen, walked straight to Sun Yang's locker, and vigorously ruffled his hair: "Listen, Sun, you can just watch the show from the bench in the second half. Let those kids kill time during the rest of the garbage time."

Sun Yang wiped the sweat from his face and nodded with a smile. He quickly took off his sweat-soaked No. 10 jersey, changed into a loose long-sleeved training uniform, huddled in a down jacket on the bench, and watched the entire second half with great interest.

After the break, Haaland, the man-eating monster Buu, scored with a powerful header from a corner kick, easily completing his hat-trick.

The final score was a bloody 4-0.

Borussia Dortmund easily defeated Freiburg, securing their third consecutive league victory.

Following the massacre, major European leagues officially entered a ten-day break for national team matches.

Haaland packed his bags overnight and flew back to his hometown of Norway, while English stars Sancho and Bellingham eagerly reported to the England national team training camp. Meanwhile, national team matches in the Asian region were indefinitely postponed due to the impact of the public health event. This meant that Sun Yang, who had no national team duties, enjoyed a ten-day golden holiday.

A luxury detached villa area on the banks of the Rhine River in the southern suburbs of Cologne.

"My God, darling, your current muscle elasticity and bone feedback data are like something out of an alien monster."

In the professional physiotherapy room on the second floor, Sun Yang's girlfriend, Catherine, dressed in a white rehabilitation therapist uniform, was massaging his calf muscles with both hands. She stared at the monitoring report on the tablet next to her, her face showing a look of utter disbelief.

"That stubborn Professor Karen bombarded me with private emails the day before yesterday, begging me to take a vial of your blood and send it to Wellington Hospital in London no matter what. The old man strongly suspects that your body is undergoing some kind of abnormal evolution that modern medicine cannot explain."

Sun Yang lay sprawled on the soft physiotherapy bed, enjoying the professional muscle relaxation, and muttered without turning his head, "Reply to that old fogey Karen for me, and tell her I won't be a guinea pig in the lab. This is just the foundation I built up from my dad's painstaking training in Peking Opera, plus the tens of thousands of muscle memory exercises I did every day without fail."

"Don't try to flatter me!"

No sooner had he finished speaking than his father, Sun Wu, strode in carrying a bowl of dark, strangely steaming Chinese herbal medicine and casually slammed the bowl onto a metal tray beside him.

"Your Peking Opera skills are indeed something I trained with a stick since you were little, but those old-fashioned methods can't develop the explosive leg power you have now," Sun Wu glared, pointing at the tray and urging, "Don't dawdle, drink it while it's hot. This is from that foreigner Henry, who, taking advantage of your exhaustion from these two games, insisted on mixing some high-tech plant extracts into my traditional Chinese medicine. It's a complete mess, and it even smells pungent!"

At his desk by the window, Uncle Henry was typing away like a hacker, his fingers leaving blurry trails on the keyboard. On two top-of-the-line curved screens, densely packed data models of the new season from major European clubs scrolled across the screens.

"Hey buddy, listen up, I've got some outrageous data here." Henry spun around, chair and all, looking at his nephew through his glasses, his tone tinged with excitement and fervor.

"In those two tough matches against Bayern and Freiburg, you were fouled the most times in all of Europe! Those Bundesliga coaches no longer see you as a rising star; they're using you as a tactical weapon to crush you at the highest level."

Henry sneered: "Besides, those Premier League nouveau riche are getting impatient. The scouting directors from PSG and Chelsea bombarded my personal phone like mad dogs last night, trying to test the limits of your release clause. But I didn't give those upstarts a friendly look and hung up on them directly."

Sun Yang sat up decisively, picked up the bowl of rich medicinal soup, tilted his head back and drank it all in one gulp, then casually grabbed a towel to wipe the dregs from the corner of his mouth.

"Well done, Uncle." Sun Yang casually tossed the empty bowl back onto the tray. "Let's tell all the media across Europe, tell those guys trying to curry favor with me with their checkbooks, I'm not going anywhere this season. I'm staying in Dortmund and taking home every trophy I can see!"

As night fell, the wealthy neighborhood of Cologne fell into silence.

Sun Yang lay sprawled on the large Simmons mattress, slowing his breathing and closing his eyes. The next second, his consciousness sank rapidly, as if diving underwater.

Football Hall of Fame System, activated!

The darkness before my eyes shattered with a roar, replaced by an endless green field.

But the moment my toes touched the grass, a string of glaring red warning characters popped up in mid-air.

The system version has been upgraded.

[Due to the latest version of the balance rules, the start time for the third stage of the All-Star Challenge has been forcibly adjusted: it can only be activated during the winter and summer transfer windows of major European leagues each year.]

[Current status: Cooldown locked.]

Sun Yang stared at the line of red text and clicked his tongue.

This means that during the long and intense season, he can no longer grind for All-Star points as he used to. The system has ruthlessly blocked his shortcut of profiting from veteran players mid-season.

However, this minor setback was clearly not enough to break his spirit. Although the combat channel was temporarily closed, he still had top-quality holographic video data of several All-Star games, and with the Dream Training Camp having no stamina bar limit, he could still train until he was exhausted.

Sun Yang swipes through the air to access the system's data control panel and pulls up the recording of his peak performance against an All-Star lineup.

"System, switch to the part where I'm marking Rijkaard in midfield and making a defensive interception. Maximize the God's-eye view grid 3D perspective mode." Sun Yang issued the command in a cold voice.

Swish!

The surrounding light sources seemed to be swallowed by a black hole, and the lush green grass of the field instantly reconstructed into a transparent, eerie blue grid with high-precision coordinate data. The players running on the field were stripped of their flesh and blood, transforming into transparent, modeled dummies marked with muscle exertion trajectories and skeletal biomechanical data.

The silent holographic movie begins to play.

Sun Yang, like a demanding film director, stood on the sidelines, staring at "himself" on the field from a godlike perspective. He wanted to see clearly how, deep within his mind, he had forcibly combined Makelele's ingrained sense of position with Rijkaard's ruthless spatial cutting techniques.

He raised his right hand, pressing it down in mid-air, instantly slowing down the video playback to its absolute minimum. His attention was like a microscope, scrutinizing the landing point and contact angle of "himself" with each shift of his center of gravity.

Once.

Twice.

Until the holographic image looped for the third time, just as it was about to finish playing!

Sun Yang's eyes sharpened, and his right hand shot out like lightning, slamming down the floating pause button.

Cut! The video abruptly stopped.

The enormous holographic image froze in mid-air, capturing the moment he leaped from the ground and violently intercepted Rijkaard's long pass from midfield.

At that moment, the system-generated glaring red danger warning flashed right at that joint.

Exhaling a long breath, Sun Yang finally uncovered the time bomb hidden beneath his perfect defensive facade—an irreversible physical flaw caused by his greedy stitching together of multiple god-level defensive skills.

The truth is cruel. Because he relied too heavily on the explosive power of the "Kantian Perpetual Motion Machine's Lungs" and the beast-like core power of "Caniggia, the Son of the Wind." This led to a fatal chain reaction:

In the 0.5 seconds before he senses the ball's landing point and jumps with force based on Makelele's anticipation mechanism, the enormous kinetic energy of his body causes his center of gravity to tilt slightly to the right, but he can't recover from it.

This fatal physical imbalance, when used to dominate weaker teams in the Bundesliga, or even against a metronome like Rijkaard who prefers to play with his brain, allows him to completely compensate with his absolute speed advantage and brute force, overwhelming the opponent completely.

But this is the pinnacle of European football!

Once you step onto the Champions League final stage, what if you're facing Gareth Bale at his peak, or Kylian Mbappé who can tear apart the defense?

Let alone 0.5 seconds, against a wingman with nuclear-level change of direction, this mere 0.5 seconds of shift in balance is enough for the opponent to use their abnormal rhythm difference to pass him cleanly like a wooden stake, without even getting a whiff of his exhaust fumes!