"Wolfsburg are absolutely relentless today!"
"Five shots in just twenty minutes, and the quality of each attempt has been staggering. David Qin's dribbling is becoming sharper by the second; it's clear he's already re-adjusted to the Bundesliga tempo. You have to wonder if he'll find the back of the net today."
Back from the Asian Cup and straight into the Bundesliga booth, the veteran commentator was in his element. To him, this felt like a luxury—witnessing a young star bridge the gap between continental dominance and elite European league play so seamlessly.
On the touchline, Dieter Hecking stood with the calm, satisfied expression of a man who knew the game was already won. As an experienced tactician, he could see that The Wolves had completely seized the rhythm. Hoffenheim were being suffocated, their movements becoming increasingly desperate. Barring a catastrophe, this match was in the bag.
In the opposing technical area, Markus Gisdol looked crestfallen. When the two sides had met in the first half of the season, David Qin's performance hadn't been nearly this blinding. Gisdol had made specific tactical adjustments to neutralize him, yet his defensive line was being shredded anyway.
The transformation in Wolfsburg's attack was profound. David had replaced Caligiuri, but it felt like the entire engine had been swapped for a high-performance model. The chemistry between De Bruyne's cold, calculated distribution, Perišić's explosive pace, and David's uncanny ability to weave through tight spaces was approaching perfection.
Before Gisdol could even formulate a change, a deafening roar shook the stadium.
Having taken an early lead, Wolfsburg had lured Hoffenheim forward with a compact shape, only to snap the trap shut with a high-intensity press. Polanski tried to find Firmino with a quick pass, but Junior Malanda was on him instantly. Though Firmino possessed Brazilian flair, his first touch failed him under the physical pressure; the ball bobbled just enough for Luiz Gustavo to swoop in and reclaim possession.
"The pressing intensity from Wolfsburg is immense!"
"Gustavo slides it wide—Perišić is off! No, he stops dead, cuts it back across the face!"
"Kevin De Bruyne!"
A healthy romance doesn't drain a man; it fuels him. De Bruyne was currently living proof. Scanning the field, he spotted Bas Dost occupying the center and David Qin ghosting past his marker on the flank. With a flick of his boot, he sent a delicate chip floating into the danger zone.
"Bas!"
As the ball soared toward Dost, David hit a second gear, screaming for the layoff. The Dutchman heard him loud and clear. Dost's shaved head rose, meeting the ball with a calculated backward flick.
It was a death sentence for the defense.
David latched onto the header, his first touch doubling as a nutmeg on Beck as he exploded into the gap. He left the defender two yards behind in a heartbeat. The Hoffenheim traveling fans watched in silent dread, their only hope resting on Oliver Baumann.
Baumann, the 5.5-million-euro signing from Freiburg, fixed his eyes on David's hips. He watched for the subtle shift in gravity that betrays a striker's intent.
There! David slowed his pace, his feet fluttering in a series of staccato steps as if adjusting for a power strike. Baumann bit on the feint, committing his weight to a low dive. It was a fatal mistake. With ice-cold composure, David opened his foot and sent a delicate chip over the prone keeper.
A "rainbow" appeared over the Volkswagen Arena.
The Wolfsburg faithful surged to their feet, the stadium erupting as the ball kissed the back of the net. Fans high-fived strangers, their voices lost in a cacophony of celebration.
"Look at that! Our sharpest blade is back!"
"Beautiful, David! Absolutely clinical!"
"He looks even stronger than he did last year!"
David didn't stop at the goal. He sprinted toward the corner flag, lifting his jersey to reveal a handwritten message on his undershirt: I'M BACK!
While the national team brought him pride, scoring in the Bundesliga gave him a sense of conquest. Both were vital, but this felt like home. David stood before the cameras with a defiant, wide-eyed grin, pointing to the words so the world could see.
"I'M BACK!"
The fans chanted along with him. They noticed something different in the boy—the lingering traces of youthful innocence had been replaced by an aura of dominance. But that was the mark of greatness: humble off the pitch, but an absolute tyrant on it.
"David, I've noticed a pattern," Perišić laughed, throwing an arm around his neck and playfully poking his stomach. "Everything with you is a chip! Chipped dribbles, chipped shots, chipped passes. Next time, make me a shirt too—I'll show it off when I score!"
"Win the race to the scoresheet first, then we'll talk," David shot back with arrogant charm. Their growing bond had made such banter effortless.
"Just you wait," Perišić huffed, though he couldn't hide his grin.
"Kevin, I actually made one for you too. You're wearing it next game!" David winked at De Bruyne.
De Bruyne immediately sensed a trap. Being the more reserved type, he shook his head in a firm 'no.' But David leaned in and whispered a few words into his ear.
"Cough... oh. Well, alright then," De Bruyne muttered, trying to look like he was being forced into it while barely hiding his curiosity.
"Hehehe!" David's mysterious behavior left Perišić dying to know the secret, but David wouldn't budge.
High in the away end, young Bernhard looked up at the sky. He was looking for dragons. He didn't see any mythical beasts, only flocks of bean geese flying overhead. They were at the end of their migration cycle, which usually lasted from mid-November to mid-February.
"Mama, do dragons really exist? Was David lying to me?" the boy asked, sounding a bit dejected.
"Maybe they're just sleeping deep in the earth," his mother said, ruffling his hair tenderly. "But never mind the dragons—don't forget to ask David for an autograph after the game. That's why we came, isn't it?"
"Right! I bet he'll say yes. We're practically best friends!" Bernhard's mood shifted instantly as he watched the replay of the goal on the LED screen. He clenched his small fists, deciding right then that he wanted to be just like David—a player who brought joy to the fans.
When play resumed, Wolfsburg, now two goals up, were in no rush. They settled into their rhythm, waiting for Hoffenheim to overextend so they could exploit the vast spaces behind with lethal counter-attacks. Having been stung twice, Hoffenheim became painfully cautious.
"Since David Qin's return, the entire Wolfsburg squad seems to have moved up a gear," the commentary continued. "In just six months, he's gone from a promising prospect to an indispensable pillar of this team. It's the sheer imagination in his play, the technical audacity—it's unique in the modern game. Watching him isn't just watching football; it's an experience."
--
Five minutes into the second half, Jin-su Kim charged down the wing, only to collide violently with Ivan Perišić. Both men went down hard, but while Perišić shook it off and climbed to his feet, Kim remained on the grass, clutching his ribs and gasping for air.
Dammit! Does everyone at Wolfsburg go for the ribs?! It was the exact spot where David had caught him before.
Kim looked to the referee for justice, but the official only gave Perišić a verbal warning, awarding Hoffenheim a standard free-kick.
"Get up, you clown!"
"If Beckenbauer hadn't swapped the refs in 2002, Germany would have been robbed too!"
"Stop faking it, diver!"
The German fans hadn't forgotten the 2002 World Cup, where South Korea had benefited from highly controversial officiating to eliminate Portugal, Italy, and Spain. They believed Germany only survived the semi-finals because Franz Beckenbauer, then a FIFA official, had intervened to ensure a neutral referee.
Kim was seeing stars from fury. He was no stranger to "dark arts" himself, but being on the receiving end while being mocked for it was a bitter pill.
"Get up! We're wasting time!" his own manager, Gisdol, barked. He didn't care about the pain; he cared about the momentum of the attack.
David watched from a distance, feeling a surge of petty satisfaction. Think twice before kicking my shins next time. He gave Perišić a subtle thumbs-up. Perišić caught it, his expression a smug declaration of: Mission accomplished.
The game pressed on. Hoffenheim took the free-kick, Kim sliding it down the line to Firmino. The Brazilian, rumored to be a Liverpool target for the following season, was desperate to impress. He knew that while the Bundesliga was elite, the Premier League was where the prestige—and the money—truly resided.
Firmino flicked the ball first-time to Schwegler, who swung a cross toward the far post. Volland rose for the header, but a pair of strong hands snatched it out of the air.
"Benaglio!"
"A decisive claim! And he launches it long immediately! He's looking for David Qin!"
David back-pedaled, leaning into Amiri to create space. He used his elbows to shield the ball—not a foul, just veteran positioning. Amiri tried to bump him off balance, desperate to force an error.
Clank. David killed the ball with his chest, letting it hover in the air before a sudden burst of power from his shoulder sent Amiri stumbling.
"Wow!" The crowd roared as David juggled the ball like it was a training exercise before nodding it down to De Bruyne. De Bruyne didn't even look; he launched a cross-field switch that found Perišić in stride.
Hoffenheim's defense was in tatters. Jin-su Kim chased back with everything he had, but while he could keep pace with David, he was no match for a sprinting Perišić. The "Perisic Blade" was out of the scabbard, and it was looking for blood.
Perišić accelerated, leaving Kim in the dust. As he cut into the box, Baumann rushed out to close the angle.
"Perišić takes it on!"
"A thunderous strike! Power beats precision! Baumann can't get a hand to it!"
"Wolfsburg 3, Hoffenheim 0!"
Perišić sprinted toward the North Stand, blowing a kiss to his wife in the crowd. Having watched his younger teammates flaunt their romances lately, the veteran decided it was time to show them how it was done.
"Ivan, getting a bit sentimental there, aren't we? Looking for baby number two?" David teased as he jumped on his teammate's back.
"Shut it, kid! We're already expecting! July!" Perišić beamed.
"A father of two at twenty-six? Not bad," David said, catching the envious glint in De Bruyne's eyes. It was no secret that the Belgian craved the stability of a family. David made a mental note to set up another double date with Bright as soon as possible.
With a three-goal cushion, Wolfsburg were playing with absolute freedom. But freedom didn't mean complacency. Their midfield remained a steel trap, specifically neutralizing Firmino. Hoffenheim's plan was simple: get the ball to the Brazilian and let him create. By cutting off the supply line, Wolfsburg had turned the "Village Club" into a toothless tiger.
In the 74th minute, Gustavo launched a long ball to find David. In his first game back, the boy was clearly enjoying himself. He trapped the ball, spun, and then began a series of juggles under pressure from Amiri and Beck. Five, six touches without the ball hitting the grass. Finally, he used a "Scorpion Kick" flick to send the ball over his head to the right.
The fans were dizzy. Before they could process the skill, De Bruyne had latched onto the ball and was charging forward.
"Don't let him pass!" Kim screamed, noticing Perišić closing in on the overlap.
Schwegler stepped up, ready to commit a tactical foul. But De Bruyne anticipated the contact, spinning to shield the ball with his body. Simultaneously, David ghosted past his markers, overlapping De Bruyne at full tilt.
Snap. No words were exchanged. No eye contact was made. But De Bruyne felt the run. He back-heeled the ball perfectly through Schwegler's legs.
The ball met David's stride in a blur of perfect synchronization. That, David thought, is what you call a service.
Standing between him and a brace was Bičakčić, the sturdy Bosnian center-back. David sized up the giant and knew exactly what to do. A flurry of step-overs followed by a sudden, violent change of direction. Bičakčić stood frozen like a training cone. By the time he lunged for the ball, David was already past him, bearing down on goal.
"The touch is a bit heavy on the turn!"
"Baumann comes out to meet him!"
"David Qin tries the chip—the ball is over, but the man is down!"
"PENALTY!"
Baumann had clattered into David's trailing leg, sending him into a tumbling roll. David used the momentum to dissipate the force, avoiding a serious injury. As he scrambled up, he saw the referee pointing directly to the spot.
The Volkswagen Arena was a cauldron of joy. A point dropped last week, three goals up today, and now a chance for a fourth. Life was good for the Wolves.
---------
If you want to read ahead, head over to: [email protected]/ HappyCrow
As always, thank you for the support, the comments, and those precious power stones!