Late at night, as Matchday 20 of the Bundesliga drew to a close, two scores dominated the headlines. Wolfsburg's 4-2 thriller against Leverkusen was a masterclass in end-to-end warfare, while Bayern Munich's 8-0 demolition of Hamburg was a cold-blooded massacre.
Hamburg fans were currently questioning their existence in the top flight. At this point, getting relegated to the 2. Bundesliga seemed like a mercy; at least there they could enjoy a game without being ritualistically slaughtered by the Bavarian machine every season.
The Bundesliga scoring charts remained deadlocked as both Arjen Robben and Robert Lewandowski found the net. However, the sports media had found a new obsession: David Qin.
What does a hat-trick before the age of eighteen signify? It was a tectonic shift in the landscape of European football, a shockwave sent to every professional peer.
Bild: "The youngest hat-trick scorer in the history of Europe's top five leagues. We must retract our evaluation from three months ago; he is at least two tiers higher than we imagined. If this trajectory continues, we are looking at an all-time great."
The Guardian: "Messi and Ronaldo have held a duopoly on the Ballon d'Or for seven years. Many have tried to break the siege, but the wall finally feels like it's cracking."
Bayern Sports: "Internal sources confirm that Bayern II coach Erik ten Hag reportedly barred David Qin from using team facilities—including the canteen, gym, and training pitches. He appears to be the primary architect behind the decision to let the wonderkid slip through Bayern's fingers."
The Sun: "A moral collapse at Sabener Strasse? Rumors suggest Ten Hag has been sidelined by Bayern brass pending an investigation into his handling of the Qin transfer!"
The digital world was equally ablaze. On Reddit and X(Twitter), the discourse was a mix of awe and humor:
@Bundesliga2Banter: "Forget the footballing talent—I'm here for the kid's vocals. You don't sing like that unless you've been through at least three messy breakups."
@TacticalGnome1: "Ballon d'Or talk is premature. The 'Big Two' have stood tall against every challenger for a decade. David is brilliant, but he hasn't won a major trophy yet. Let's see how he handles a rainy night in a European knockout game."
@SpursySince92: "Wolfsburg have Tottenham in the Europa League next, right? Pochettino just won Manager of the Month, and Harry Kane is the hottest thing in the Prem right now. He just buried Arsenal in the North London Derby. They say he finishes like Shearer and moves like Sheringham. It's the battle of the wonderkids!"
Meanwhile, at the London Colney training ground, Arsène Wenger sat with his chin in his hand, eyes fixed on the screen. He was dissecting a recent loss. Tottenham's "heavy metal" pressing was reminiscent of Klopp's old Dortmund—a nightmare for Premier League midfields to bypass.
The solution was simple in theory, yet difficult in practice: you needed a player capable of receiving the ball in a phone booth, dribbling out of trouble, and picking a killer pass. Alexis Sánchez had that spark, but he was sidelined with an injury.
A notification popped up in the corner of his screen: Wolfsburg vs. Leverkusen Highlights. Wenger clicked it instinctively.
A heavy sigh echoed through the silent office. He allowed himself a moment of fantasy—replacing his left-winger with David Qin. Would the North London Derby have ended differently? Likely. Tottenham's high line was a suicide note against a player with that combination of ball retention and explosive counter-attacking flair.
He picked up the phone to call his protégé, Alain Perrin. They spoke for a long time. Late that night, Wenger looked at his cleared stadium debt, then at the fluctuating form of Mesut Özil, and made a silent vow to go all-in during the summer window.
The following day in Wolfsburg, spring was beginning to stir. After a recovery session, David met with his second prospective agent.
"Seeing you in person really drives home how young you are," Jonathan Barnett said with a smile. The head of Stellar Group had flown in from England overnight. With a hat-trick under David's belt, the agent market was about to become a shark tank. Barnett's sixth sense told him that if he missed this boat, he would regret it for the rest of his career.
"What can I get you?" David asked as the waiter arrived. "A black coffee for me, please. No sugar, no milk."
"Make it two," Barnett added.
The conversation was focused: career trajectory, brand management, and commercial synergy. "Stellar Group manages over 500 clients," Barnett stated, dropping the pretense. "We have the infrastructure and the relationships with every major club in the world. Sign with me, and your only job is to play football. I handle the noise; you get the results."
Barnett knew that with young players, sincerity was the ultimate weapon. He also knew better than to try and swindle David; between the massive Chinese market potential and the fact that David had Volkswagen's legal department practically on speed dial, playing it straight was the only viable move.
"I'll give you an answer by the end of the month," David replied. He wasn't rushing. An agent was a career-defining choice, and he wanted to see all the cards on the table.
The week flew by in a blur of training and WhatsApp messages from Britte. Her life was a whirlwind of fashion designers and travel; David's was a routine of grass and sweat. Yet, they found a rhythm, with David sending clips of his trick shots and Britte providing the "hype" in return.
Matchday 21: Wolfsburg vs. Hertha Berlin.
"The Wolves are playing with an aura of absolute supreme confidence after that win in Leverkusen!" Derek Rae noted. "They look energized, proactive, and completely in control of the tempo."
Modern midfields often struggle with identity, but Kevin De Bruyne was a "Incisive Penetrator." He didn't just pass; he manipulated space. In the 24th minute, he unleashed a signature delivery—a physics-defying arc that bypassed the entire Hertha blockade.
David Qin took the ball in his stride, barely needing a touch to settle it. He came face-to-face with Peter Pekarík, the former Wolfsburg man. David didn't hesitate. He whipped out an Elastic, the ball vanishing and reappearing as he glided past the Slovakian.
Instead of charging into the congested box, David spotted a massive pocket of space on the opposite wing—a result of his focused vision training with De Bruyne. He pinged a cross-field diagonal.
"Perišić gathers it... he's into the area! He finds Olić at the near post—GOAL!"
The veteran striker had poached a classic poacher's goal. The chemistry between the two Croatians was undeniable, but the architect was David.
The second goal came shortly after. David danced around Haraguchi—the Japanese international—with a cheeky nutmeg that left the midfielder rooted to the spot. As he was pulled back by his jersey, David managed to poke the ball to De Bruyne.
"Advantage played!" Derek Rae shouted. De Bruyne drove forward, slid it to Dost, who squared it for Perišić. A thunderous strike into the top corner.
2-0.
With the game in the bag and a massive Europa League clash against Tottenham Hotspur looming in six days, Hecking made his move. He withdrew David and De Bruyne early to preserve their legs.
"The job is done," Hecking said, patting David's shoulder as he reached the bench. "Rest up. We need you at 100% for London."
As the final whistle blew, news reached the dugout: Bayern 6-0 Paderborn. Lewandowski with a brace, Robben with two goals and two assists.
"Bayern are going to ruin this league," Derek Rae sighed over the broadcast. "The Golden Boot race is becoming a tall mountain to climb."
David felt the pressure mounting. He was being chased by a machine that churned out braces like a factory.
"Kevin," David moaned, leaning against De Bruyne. "I didn't score today. They're pulling away."
"You're overthinking it," Olić said, stepping in with the wisdom of a 36-year-old. "Patience, kid. Those who wait usually get exactly what they want."
"But Ivica... I just want to get better. I want to improve now."
Olić just rolled his eyes. Most seventeen-year-olds were happy just to be on the bench; David was worried about being out-scored by the best striker in the world.
"We go to England at the end of the month, Kevin," David said, his eyes regaining their spark. "I promised Britte we'd put on a show. Just keep those through-balls coming."
"Only if you promise to return the favor," De Bruyne countered.
"Deal. When we play Chelsea, I won't even look at the goal. I'll pass it to you just so you can bury it past Courtois."
De Bruyne went quiet, but the small smirk on his face spoke volumes. Revenge, after all, was a dish best served on a European night.
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