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

The field of vision in the front suddenly opened up.

At the edge of the offside line, Haaland, like a heavy armored vehicle, smelled blood. He kicked off the grass with his long legs, shifted into top gear, and started sprinting.

As he advanced at high speed, Sun Yang's left index finger pointed directly at the right side of the penalty area, like a king pointing his generals.

The ability to hit exactly where you point it is completely unleashed.

With a seemingly casual flick of his right ankle, the ball, like a scalpel slicing across the grass, forcefully passed between the legs of Schalke's last center-back, Sané.

This was an unreasonable low through ball.

The ball, with its uncanny sidespin and lead, perfectly mirrored Haaland's descent like a tiger, creating a despairingly perfect synergy.

No need to adjust the step points, and no need to reduce the speed.

Haaland smoothly took a touch with his left foot, tearing open a one-on-one opportunity and charging into the penalty area.

Schalke goalkeeper Raunho, his eyes bloodshot, roared as he rushed out of his goal, desperately spreading his arms to cover more of his defensive area. But before such absolute brute force, all skill was futile.

Haaland didn't even bother with a feint; he simply swung his left foot in a wide arc and unleashed a brutal shot.

The ball, accompanied by a heart-stopping whistling sound, almost grazed Launo's scalp before crashing through the net.

Two to zero.

"My God! Did that ball have GPS navigation?!" The commentator in the broadcast booth excitedly ripped off his tie, clutched his head, and roared, "Son's right foot is practically equipped with an eight-times zoom lens! He used a god-like perspective to pierce through Schalke's defense!"

After scoring, Haaland sprinted to the corner flag, sat down with a thud, and crossed his legs in his signature meditation celebration.

With a smile on his face, Sun Yang jogged over and gave Haaland a big high-five as he stood up.

"Hey bro! Your footwork was amazing! That pass was practically shoved right into my stomach!" Haaland put his arm around Sun Yang's shoulder, grinning like a triumphant savage. "Because of your passes, I won't even need to think when I'm making forward runs anymore!"

Trailing by two goals, Schalke 04 players completely lost their composure, and their footwork became increasingly dirty.

The match reached the 71st minute. Schalke immediately adopted a relentless high press, attempting to use their superior physicality to strangle Dortmund's midfield.

As soon as Sun Yang received the ball in the center circle, three burly men in blue jerseys with red eyes immediately surrounded him.

"Want to engage in hand-to-hand combat? Fine, I'll grant your wish!"

At only twenty years old, Sun Yang showed no stage fright whatsoever; instead, his eyes blazed with fervent excitement. As the team captain, he was no longer just a passing machine, but was determined to demonstrate true dominance on the court.

"Jaden! Open up space on the wing! Don't squeeze into the middle!"

"Erling, take half a step back to provide support! Tear their formation apart!"

The crisp commands echoed throughout the midfield. Sun Yang's "perpetual motion machine lungs" began to roar. He didn't rely on sprinting speed to force his way through, but instead relied purely on his abnormal, tireless stamina, dribbling the ball and weaving back and forth within the three-man encirclement.

Stop, flick, then flash.

Whenever a Schalke player is about to tackle the ball, he always manages to pass it to Brandt or Dahoud, who have made a run into space, just 0.5 seconds before he can make another full-speed run forward to receive the pass.

The classic "kiting" tactic has reappeared.

Sun Yang was like an emotionless metronome, tirelessly running and touching the ball with his feet, forcing the Schalke players to run back and forth all over the field.

In just five minutes, the three Schalke players who were double-teamed were panting heavily, gasping for air with their mouths wide open, their legs feeling as heavy as lead.

Seeing that a huge gap had finally been created in the encirclement, Sun Yang made a stylish, non-stop outside-of-the-foot pass while running, directly flicking the ball to Brandt who had made a run down the wing.

Brandt dribbled the ball all the way down the wing and delivered a powerful cutback cross, winning a corner kick on the right side for his team.

In the 78th minute, Sun Yang walked towards the corner flag area again.

After a grueling half-match of play and the humiliating tactical maneuvering just now, Schalke's players were completely exhausted. Their marking in the penalty area was so loose it resembled a leaky, tattered net.

Sun Yang's sharp gaze swept across the restricted area, and his left hand subtly made a downward gesture to his side.

A tactical variation: this time, target the back post.

Take a deep breath and step back two paces. Beckham's arc once again shone brightly throughout the arena.

This time, however, he changed the point of contact with the ball, striking the bottom of the ball hard with the inside of his right foot, creating a powerful and heavy flat, curved shot.

Instead of a bizarre trajectory of falling from the sky, the ball, with terrifying initial speed, skimmed through the air, forcefully bypassing all the stunned defenders at the near post, and flew straight towards the far post.

Dortmund defender Akanji appeared like a ghost, silently appearing at the unsuspecting far post.

Facing the incredibly fast ball, Akanji dove headed it with a diving header.

"Whoosh."

The ball cleanly and neatly slammed into the empty net.

Three to zero.

This highly anticipated Ruhr derby was completely turned into a one-sided massacre.

The 15,000 die-hard Dortmund fans in the stands went into a frenzy, waving their yellow and black scarves wildly above their heads. The roar almost lifted the roof of Signal Iduna Park and trampled the last vestiges of dignity of the Schalke players into the mud.

The remaining ten minutes or so became utterly wasted time.

Sun Yang moved through the midfield like a classical master strolling leisurely; every silky touch and every playful pull drew thunderous cheers from the home fans. Schalke players could only drag their trembling legs, exhaustedly running behind and inhaling his exhaust fumes.

In the 93rd minute, with just over a second of stoppage time remaining, the referee blew the final whistle with a sigh of relief.

Borussia Dortmund cruised to a comfortable victory against arch-rivals Schalke 04 at home.

Schalke players, mired in relegation, hung their heads and hurried silently toward the players' tunnel, skipping even the usual post-match jersey exchange.

Back in the home team's locker room, there was no splashing champagne, nor any excessive revelry.

Because they have absolutely no time to catch their breath. Four days later, the invincible Russian Premier League champions, Zenit St. Petersburg, will be at their gates. That will be a do-or-die battle that will determine their fate in the Champions League group stage.

Head coach Terčić stood in the center of the locker room, his gaze sweeping over the group of exhausted players.

"Well done, guys. Tonight, you are the undisputed kings of the Ruhr region." Terzic glanced at his watch, his expression slowly turning serious. "But I can only give you twelve hours of rest. Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock, base tactics room, everyone report on time."

"Boss, is there any bad news from Zenit? Those Russians aren't here for tourism." Sun Yang deftly tore off his shin guards, wiped the sweat off his face haphazardly with a towel, his eyes still gleaming with fighting spirit.

Terzic's smile vanished. He grabbed the tactical board and slammed it heavily on the tactical table with a dull thud.

"UEFA sent a notification ten minutes ago. They said that due to international travel restrictions, the entire Champions League refereeing team for next Wednesday has been replaced." Terzich's sharp gaze swept over everyone. "They've replaced them with referees from the Premier League. You know what that means? Their standards are very high, encouraging physical contact. In other words, unless someone gets seriously injured, the whistle won't even blow!"

The once noisy locker room fell completely silent in an instant. Everyone stopped what they were doing.

"That's not all." Telcic stared at Haaland, who was slowly untying his shoelaces, his voice so somber it seemed to drip water. "The Russians at Zenit just made some outrageous statements in the media. Their nearly two-meter-tall center, Dzyuba, has spoken out."

"What did he say?" Harland frowned.

"He said he wanted to smell blood on our home turf. He wanted to smash you cowards into the grass one by one, and let all of Europe taste the meat grinder tactics of the Siberian high-altitude bombers!"