Four days later, Bologna's home ground, the Stadio Dall'Ara, looked particularly solemn under the afternoon sun. This century-old stadium wasn't particularly grand, but its red and blue tiered seating, encircling the neatly trimmed pitch, exuded a unique classical charm characteristic of Italian football. The stands were gradually filling with fans, some holding red and blue scarves in small groups, while the air was filled with Italian chatter and occasional teasing remarks directed at the visiting team.
Today, Bologna and Hoffenheim would play a friendly match here. Oliver followed his teammates off the bus and stepped onto this unfamiliar land; it was his first time in Italy. The August sun in Italy was much more intense than in Germany, due to its Mediterranean climate, but despite its intensity, the dry wind blowing across his skin felt more comfortable than Hoffenheim's humid summer. He took a deep breath, and a faint scent of coffee wafted into his nostrils; temporary stalls outside the stadium were brewing espresso, and a few locals in Bologna jerseys stood nearby, sipping from small coffee cups while observing the Hoffenheim players.
"First time in Italy, huh?" Gnabry patted Oliver's shoulder, grinning. "Their fans are much crazier than in the Bundesliga, don't get scared later."
Oliver nodded, his gaze sweeping over the graffiti on the stadium's outer wall, which depicted legendary players from Bologna's history, their portraits outlined in vibrant colors, their eyes seemingly watching everyone who entered the stadium. He suddenly felt a slight tightness in his chest, not from nervousness, but a strange excitement. Playing abroad truly felt different, especially stepping onto a football mecca like Italy; even a friendly match excited him greatly.
After a day of rest, the match was about to begin, and everyone had already gathered in the locker room. Nagelsmann stood in front of the tactics board, holding a marker pen, and only spoke after everyone had sat down:
"Listen, guys, this is the last practical test before the new season starts. Don't treat it as an ordinary warm-up match. This is a game to test the results of our pre-season training, and I hope all of you take it seriously." His voice wasn't loud, but every word was articulated clearly.
"Bologna's midfield likes to control the tempo, but their defense is slow to turn. We need to disrupt their rhythm with high pressing, and once we win the ball, immediately transition to attack."
Oliver sat in his spot, listening to the coach's tactical instructions while tightly wrapping his ankle with a bandage; he would still start today. He could feel the atmosphere in the locker room gradually tightening, and his teammates' breathing became much quieter. Demirbay was softly discussing something with Rupp in the front row, while goalkeeper Kobel quietly checked his gloves, his eyes focused as if he could already see the opponent's shot trajectory.
"Yan," Nagelsmann suddenly called his name,
"Their left-back is average in speed but likes to press high. When you're matched against him, you can use more inside cuts and switch positions with Gnabry."
Oliver looked up, met the coach's gaze, and simply responded, "Understood, Coach."
Amiri chuckled softly nearby: "Don't worry, kid, their right-side defense is even worse. I'll support you anytime."
A few low laughs immediately rippled through the locker room, easing the tense atmosphere slightly. Nagelsmann didn't stop them, only continuing after the laughter subsided: "Remember, don't act like you're here for tourism. Bologna will treat this match as their final drill before the Serie A season begins; their intensity won't be low."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone, "So, cherish every minute, and play it like a competitive match."
Oliver could feel his heart rate accelerating. He looked to the other side of the locker room, where Gnabry was neatly slipping shin guards into his socks; Hübner was leaning against the locker with his eyes closed, as if mentally rehearsing his defensive positioning for later. Everyone was preparing in their own way, and the faint sound of the home fans' singing from outside reminded them that this wasn't Hoffenheim; this was someone else's territory.
A staff member knocked on the door, reminding them in heavily Italian-accented English that it was time to go out for warm-ups. Oliver stood up and followed his teammates towards the tunnel. The corridor lights were dim, and the picture frames on the walls displayed glorious moments in Bologna's history: black and white photos of celebrations, raised trophies, and fan revelry. And at the end of the tunnel, a bright daylight streamed in from the exit, accompanied by increasingly clear shouts from the fans.
Gnabry walked ahead, suddenly turned back and winked at Oliver: "Ready? The Italians' welcoming ceremony is very enthusiastic."
"Of course, I've been ready for a long time. "Oliver smiled, bumped fists with Gnabry, and his steps unconsciously quickened.
He could feel his blood warming, and his muscles seemed to awaken, filled with an eager-to-try power. The light at the end of the tunnel grew closer, and when he finally stepped onto the pitch, the overwhelming roar instantly made him understand what Gnabry meant. Deafening boos erupted from the stands, along with cheers from the Bologna home fans.
"We are one!!!"
"Bologna makes the world tremble!!!"
"Crush the Bundesliga!!!"
The slogans sounded wild, but these were indeed their common chants. Today, not only Bologna fans were present; many fans from Genoa, who had recently been defeated by Hoffenheim, had also infiltrated the crowd, hoping to see Hoffenheim lose. Italian football might lack the scent of money, but it never lacked the passion of its fans.
The referee's whistle for the start of the first half cut through the Stadio Dall'Ara. The battle had begun.
As Hoffenheim's players kicked off, they surged into Bologna's half like arrows released from a bow, executing Nagelsmann's high-pressure tactics deployed before the match. Oliver moved quickly on the right wing, his gaze always fixed on Bologna's main defensive midfielder, Nagy, the Hungarian player with a buzz cut who was trying to receive a short pass from the goalkeeper.
"Guys, push up, let them feel the pressure!" Nagelsmann, hands in his trousers pockets, suddenly leaned forward and roared from the sidelines.
His voice wasn't prominent in the noisy stadium, but the Hoffenheim players on the field had already received the coach's signal. Hoffenheim's Ochs and Rupp simultaneously pressed Nagy, while Oliver found space on the right, quietly cutting off his passing lane back to the full-back—a very clever decision. Hoffenheim's teammates were already accustomed to Oliver's runs; this kid always made them feel very reassured. Nagy, in a hurry, could only choose to clear with a long ball; the ball flew erratically towards midfield and was easily intercepted by Grillitsch. Hoffenheim's first press created a threat.
"Beautiful, you executed it very well!!" Nagelsmann clapped on the sidelines, while telling his assistant to take notes.
In the 25th minute of the match, the deadlock was finally broken. Attacking midfielder Rupp once again dropped back to midfield to receive the ball, and Bologna's defensive midfielder instinctively followed him out. Just as a momentary disorganization appeared in the opponent's defense, Rupp gently back-heeled the ball, sending it through the gap between two center-backs, precisely finding Amiri who had surged forward. Amiri made a decisive choice, not even stopping the ball, and unleashed a powerful shot directly from the edge of the penalty area.
"Bang!" The ball rocketed into the top right corner of the goal like a cannonball.
Hoffenheim took the lead! 1-0!
Nagelsmann on the sidelines punched the air fiercely, but quickly regained his composure. He quickly walked to the touchline and shouted to the players returning from their celebration: "Get used to this feeling; we'll largely maintain this momentum this season."
Oliver wiped the sweat from his forehead, saw the coach specifically glance his way, and make a "maintain width" gesture. He nodded at the coach, knowing this meant he should always be ready to exploit the space left by Bologna's full-backs when they pushed forward.
A new opportunity arose in the 40th minute. Grillitsch made a clean tackle in midfield, completely anticipating Bologna's passing lane. He also didn't hesitate, immediately playing a through ball to Oliver on the right wing; this kind of understanding had become routine. The moment the ball rolled, Oliver had already started his run. His timing for the run was perfectly judged, neither revealing his intentions too early nor being caught offside. Bologna's left-back De Maio frantically chased back, but Oliver's first touch was textbook perfect.
"Is this the positional awareness a 17-year-old should have? Is this player really 17?" Bologna's coach lost his composure.
With his first touch, Oliver gently guided the ball with the outside of his right foot, and it obediently rolled towards the penalty area. This touch not only neutralized the incoming ball's momentum but also smoothly changed direction. De Maio couldn't stop, sliding out completely; although he slipped, in this situation, he was "dribbled" past by Oliver. Honestly, he was a bit embarrassed.
"Beautiful!" Nagelsmann on the sidelines couldn't help but shout.
Oliver didn't make an immediate decision; he looked up to assess the situation inside the box, where Ochs was occupying two center-backs. Just when everyone expected him to cross, Oliver suddenly pulled the ball inwards with his left foot, faking out another defender who had come to cover. This simple cut seemingly held a hidden depth.
Oliver's body balance remained perfectly stable, and as he cut the ball, he had already adjusted his shooting posture. When the ball rolled into the right position, he struck it with the inside of his right foot, sending it on a precise arc.The ball curled past the goalkeeper's fingertips, grazing the inside of the far post before nestling into the net.
2-0!
"Perfect! Absolutely perfect! This is the best 17-year-old player I've ever seen! He's smarter than last game!!" Nagelsmann, rarely, jumped up on the sidelines, turning to high-five the players on the bench in celebration.
He shouted towards the field: "Yan!!! Stay focused!!! Excellent play!!!"
Oliver was swarmed by his teammates. Gnabry ruffled his hair, Demirbay laughed and patted his back, and everyone was happy for Xiao Yan's performance. Through the gaps in the crowd, Oliver saw Nagelsmann on the sidelines gesturing to his assistant coach, his face full of admiration.
"This kid is like a sponge that's constantly absorbing water; he learns too fast," Nagelsmann told his assistant,
"That inside cut he just made, and the calmness of his shot—I can see his thought process, that's something only experienced players can do, but he's only 17."
"You're right, Coach, I have a feeling this kid's future achievement will definitely not be low." The assistant coach agreed wholeheartedly.
Returning to the center circle to await the restart, Oliver felt his heartbeat finally calm down a little. He looked towards the stands, where a few scattered Hoffenheim fans were waving flags. One of them held a handwritten sign that read in German: "Number 17, well done!"
Although the sign was hastily written by a fan, Oliver still felt good; at least someone was truly starting to notice him. Oliver took a deep breath, pulling his attention back to the field. The first half wasn't over yet, but the Bologna players' expressions had already changed, from initial ease to current anxiety. Oliver knew that such emotions often brought more opportunities.
"Don't let up!" Captain Vogt shouted from the back, "Hold on for four more minutes!"
Nagelsmann on the sidelines had already sat back down on the bench, but his eyes never left the field. He would occasionally stand up and shout a few instructions, but most of the time he was observing, especially Oliver's positioning and decision-making. When he saw Oliver tracking back in defense to help Kaderábek, he couldn't help but nod again.
"His defensive attitude is also good; he balances the timing of attack and defense very well." He muttered to himself, gently tapping his notebook, recording Oliver's performance.
During first-half stoppage time, Bologna launched a fierce attack, but Hoffenheim's defense was rock solid. When the referee blew the whistle for halftime, Nagelsmann was the first to walk towards the player's tunnel, a satisfied expression on his face. As the players walked off the field one by one, he stood at the tunnel entrance, high-fiving everyone. When it was Oliver's turn, Nagelsmann directly put his arm around Oliver's shoulder and chatted with him as they walked: "That goal, very cleverly handled."
Oliver was about to say something when Nagelsmann patted his shoulder: "However, they'll definitely mark you tightly in the second half. Be prepared; I'm more interested in seeing your performance in the second half. Alright, let's go back and rest for a bit."
After speaking, he walked with Oliver towards the locker room, his posture as tall and straight as ever, but today his steps seemed a few shades lighter than usual.