Unlike the deceptive calm on the touchlines, the intensity on the pitch as the match neared its conclusion reached a fever pitch.
"Stay calm!"
Kevin De Bruyne commanded himself, refusing to let the swirling atmosphere of Goodison Park rattle his focus. The first lesson he had learned in the academy was that the more critical the moment, the clearer the mind must be. It was a principle he had lived by ever since turning professional.
His persistent pass-and-move sequences on the right wing finally bore fruit, successfully pulling the Everton formation out of alignment. He noted that Gareth Barry was still shading too far toward the left. In a heartbeat, De Bruyne knew the window had opened. He unleashed a clinical diagonal ball.
Thwack! The ball hissed across the turf and was killed instantly by David Qin's right foot.
Seamus Coleman had learned his lesson; he didn't lung in immediately this time. But Barry sensed the imminent danger. He closed the distance—jostling, harassing, looking for the steal. David responded by retreating to gain ground. When Barry's first stab failed to find the ball, David dragged the ball back with his right foot and began to turn toward the touchline.
Coleman could no longer hold back. He swarmed in to double-team.
In David's eyes, the movements of the two defenders seemed to drop into slow motion. His retinas captured the fleeting gap between them with crystalline clarity. At the exact moment he dragged the ball back a second time, both defenders instinctively reached for the tackle.
Snap! A sudden, explosive flick of the boot sent the ball like an arrow from a bow, zipping precisely through the microscopic space between the two men. Under the gaze of tens of thousands, David ignited his jets and gave chase.
"Fluid as water!"
"Utterly seamless!"
"He has single-handedly shredded Everton's left-side defense!"
Behind David's charging silhouette, Barry's hand reached out and then dropped. He was already on a yellow card; another tactical foul meant a walk to the dressing room. He had hesitated, momentarily forgetting that there were mere seconds left on the clock.
David felt the breeze from the Mersey on his face as he spotted the cavernous opening in the half-space and his teammates surging forward in support.
Thud! The ball left his left foot, rolling perfectly into the stride of De Bruyne.
David didn't stop. He continued his overlapping run down the flank, successfully dragging John Stones' attention with him.
"Close him down!" Tim Howard's roar echoed across the box. The nearest man, Phil Jagielka, decisively stepped out toward De Bruyne.
The Belgian maestro was a disciple of simplicity. He didn't dwell on the ball for even a fraction of a second. The moment it reached him, he pinged it across the face of the area.
His target? Bas Dost. The former Eredivisie top scorer and current Wolfsburg super-sub.
The ball found Dost's feet with pinpoint accuracy. He didn't give the charging Howard a chance, calmly side-footing the ball toward the far corner.
"THE EQUALIZER!"
"AT THE DEATH!"
"In the dying embers of the match, Wolfsburg has found the leveler!"
"The substitute Bas Dost delivers! But David Qin's spectacular escape on the wing... that was the catalyst! Look at the slow-motion replay of his footwork—every single movement was a calculated setup for the next!"
"Unbelievable! How does a seventeen-year-old possess such technical mastery?"
James Zhan's mind was occupied by a single word: Talent. Truly, the heavens were not fair.
"Hehe... the world is never fair," Dr. Zhang Lu added with a chuckle. "Perhaps when the gods were molding the rest of us, they were just passing the time, but they clearly spent all their effort crafting David's feet."
At Goodison Park, David watched the ball clip the inside of the post and ripple the net. He let out a primal roar: "YEAH! GREAT JOB!"
Under the crushing pressure of a looming defeat, he had executed the breakthrough, found De Bruyne, and watched the sequence culminate in Dost's finish. Fortunately, the Dutchman hadn't squandered the chance, or David would have been devastated.
Dost was equally ecstatic, his face flushed a deep red as he swung a flurry of celebratory punches at the corner flag. Though a former Golden Boot winner in the Netherlands, his presence at Wolfsburg had been minimal. Had Nicklas Bendtner not sabotaged his own career, Dost might not even have made the bench. Years of quiet grind had finally paid off in one defining moment.
In contrast to the Wolves' joy, the Everton players looked as though they had swallowed glass. Coleman and Barry, in particular, were haunted. Most of the responsibility for the goal rested on their shoulders. Had David Qin not beaten them two-on-one, the ball never would have reached De Bruyne, let alone Dost.
"I felt like I was always a step behind him," Coleman admitted. He wasn't looking for excuses; he was stating a cold fact. Every time he lunged for a tackle, David seemed to have anticipated it, reacting a split-second faster.
"If you ever play against Messi, that feeling will only get stronger," Barry sighed. He understood. From a scientific perspective, David's reflex arc was shorter, his situational reaction time superior. They simply couldn't catch him.
"Let's see if we can get one more..." Barry tried to rally his men, but the whistle blew shortly after the restart.
Final Score: Everton 2-2 Wolfsburg.
For Wolfsburg, playing in Europe for the first time in four years, a draw away against a Premier League power like Everton was more than acceptable. But what truly electrified the fans was David Qin. They were discovering a young man who provided a constant stream of surprises and joy. Watching him touch and pass the ball was, quite simply, a breath of fresh air.
On the pitch, David looked up at the scoreboard, a trace of dissatisfaction lingering in his heart. He'd had many chances today, but several of his attempted take-ons had been snuffed out. Had Luiz Gustavo not been so quick to cover, the consequences could have been disastrous. He was feeling the true weight of professional football; even with the "Ronaldinho Template," he knew he had to water that talent with sweat to harvest the richest fruit.
"Kevin... you need to step it up! No goals for you today!" David slung an arm around De Bruyne's shoulder, beginning his playful psychological "motivation."
De Bruyne: "..."
Since when was scoring goals supposed to be easy? But then again, he had felt his influence stifled by the high-tempo, high-intensity nature of the English game. David wasn't wrong. He needed to improve.
"Fine. Let's get better together," De Bruyne countered, refusing to be rattled.
As the cameras panned across the stadium, the two of them walked side-by-side toward the tunnel—the numbers 13 and 14 fading into the distance.
In the post-match press conference, Roberto Martínez expressed his frustration with the draw but dropped a heavy hint about his interest in David Qin. Compared to Bundesliga wages, the Premier League offered far more, along with massive global exposure. With Everton poised for a takeover and a fresh influx of cash, he was ready to spend. He believed the youngster would find it hard to say no.
In the adjacent room, Dieter Hecking was firm: "David Qin is not for sale."
After all, when it comes to financial muscle, the Volkswagen Group casts a much longer shadow than a theater producer like Bill Kenwright
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