September in London was, as always, a grey and drizzly affair. Jin Hayes stood at the entrance of the Colney Training Centre, a single backpack slung over his shoulder, his suitcase resting at his feet. He was heading for a new map, a new challenge.
The Bundesliga. The favoured proving ground for young talents across Europe.
Before leaving, he cast one last look back at the training pitches. In the distance, a solitary figure was still on the grass, diligently attempting a move he'd shown him days ago. Cesc Fàbregas, the prodigy, was trying to master the 'compass spin' – the same piece of street football flair Jin Hayes had used to embarrass Arsenal's defence.
Jin Hayes walked over to the touchline. "You know you can't learn that, right?"
Fàbregas looked up, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. "You're leaving already?"
"Got a plane to catch. If I'd stayed on the first team, you'd never get a game."
Fàbregas paused, considering this with an expression of genuine seriousness. "That's… actually a fair point."
Jin Hayes laughed out loud. The kid had actually taken him seriously.
A brief nod, a wave, and he turned away from Colney. A week ago, he'd arrived here believing he was about to launch a new dynasty in English football. Now, he was leaving, armed only with a contract and a promise. He'd be back, he told himself. When he was ready.
"Farewell, Arsenal. For now."
Dortmund. One of the two great cities of Germany's Ruhr valley, a region forged in coal and steel, now home to a different kind of fire: the black and yellow of Borussia Dortmund. The city breathed football.
But the club itself was a shadow of its former self. In the 1990s, Dortmund had been the kings of Germany, back-to-back Bundesliga titles followed by the ultimate prize: the Champions League trophy in 1997. They'd stood at the pinnacle of European football. Then came the financial revolution, the influx of television money, the rise of a corporate Bayern Munich. Dortmund, a publicly traded company, had gambled and lost. Badly.
Now, in the autumn of 2007, the club was a mess. Over €100 million in debt. Perpetually on the brink of insolvency. The team, a collection of talented individuals and fading veterans, languished in mid-table. Revival felt like a distant dream.
Jin Hayes discovered this the moment he landed at Dortmund Airport. No one was there to meet him.
He waited. And waited. Finally, his phone rang. A voice, thick with a German accent, stumbled through an apology.
"I am so sorry, Herr Jin. Something urgent came up at the club. Please, take a taxi to the training ground. Someone will meet you there."
Jin Hayes hung up, looked around the empty arrivals hall, and sighed. So much for a warm welcome.
The taxi driver, a man in his fifties wearing a faded Dortmund scarf, eyed him in the rearview mirror. "You're here for a trial? You've come to the wrong place."
Jin Hayes raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"If you have talent, go somewhere else. No one can save this club right now. If you don't have talent, also go somewhere else. Maybe you'll find a coach somewhere who can help you. Here…" He trailed off, shaking his head.
Jin Hayes couldn't help but smile. "What if I'm already signed?"
The driver's eyes widened in the mirror. He studied Jin Hayes for a long moment, then gave a slow, pitying shake of his head.
"God help you, then, young man."
It turned out the driver wasn't exaggerating.
The club's training ground, located in the Brackel district on the northeastern edge of the city, was functional but unremarkable. The staff processed his paperwork with a weary efficiency, registering him as a player, assigning him the number 24 shirt – a number that felt strangely significant, though he couldn't explain why – and then… nothing.
The liaison, a man named Hans, continued to communicate exclusively by phone. "I'm so sorry, I cannot get away. The club has had layoffs. We are short-staffed. Please find a hotel for now. The accommodation is being renovated. The training schedule is in your email. Please report on Monday morning."
Jin Hayes stood outside the training ground, phone in hand, staring at the empty road ahead. The Brackel district was the countryside of the countryside. No hotels. No shops. Not even a stray dog.
He eventually found a dental clinic still open and asked the receptionist for help. She directed him to a guesthouse in a nearby residential area, about four kilometres away. He walked.
The guesthouse was a large, slightly run-down house on a quiet street, run by a plump, energetic woman named Maria Heinrich. When Jin Hayes explained he was the new player on loan from Arsenal, her face lit up like Christmas morning. She immediately slashed the price of the room in half, to €200 a month, and insisted on feeding him dinner.
That first meal was a revelation. After a week of bland English food, the spread before him was a feast: thick, juicy German sausages, a crispy roasted pork knuckle, tangy sauerkraut, and creamy mashed potatoes. Only the stern voice of professional discipline stopped him from devouring the entire knuckle himself.
The guesthouse was barely 500 metres from the training ground. Jin Hayes paid three months' rent upfront, €300 total for a small attic room with a sloping ceiling and a view of the street. It was a bargain.
*I know the math
The Heinrich family were Dortmund through and through. Maria's husband, Hans Heinrich, was a core member of the fanatical supporter group "The Unity." His father, 80-year-old Fritz, had been following the club since the 1950s, a living repository of black-and-yellow history. Their eldest son, Frank, was the team doctor. Yellow and black ran in their veins.
Only their youngest daughter, Anna, seemed immune. A teenager with headphones perpetually glued to her ears, she drifted through the family's football-obsessed world in a state of studied indifference.
That weekend, the whole family gathered in the living room to watch Dortmund's away match against Hansa Rostock. When captain Sebastian Kehl smashed in a long-range winner, the room erupted. Maria screamed. Hans punched the air. Old Fritz, in his wheelchair, let out a guttural roar of pure joy. Even Jin Hayes found himself on his feet, applauding.
Only Anna remained in her corner, scrolling through her phone, oblivious.
On Monday morning, Jin Hayes finally met the man who would decide his immediate future.
Thomas Doll, the head coach, was a former German international, a talented attacking midfielder in his playing days. Now, at 41, he was a young coach trying to navigate a sinking ship. He was taciturn, his face etched with the strain of managing a club on the brink.
"So," he said, his English heavily accented but clear, "you are the player Wenger recommended. You will train with the first team for now."
He glanced at a clipboard, then back at Jin Hayes. "The loan contract says you must have at least ten first-team appearances. I will decide based on form and tactics. Understand?"
Jin Hayes nodded. "Yes, Coach."
Doll grunted, offered no further introduction to the squad, and simply gestured for him to join the training session. As Jin Hayes jogged onto the pitch, he felt the weight of a dozen curious stares.
"Who's the kid? Academy call-up?" a voice muttered.
"Asian? Can he play?"
"Loan from Arsenal, apparently. Wenger signed him."
A snort of laughter. "Wenger? Those English tabloids would call their tea lady a genius if she could kick a ball."
"He looks small. He'll get eaten alive in this league."
"Enough." The voice was calm but carried authority. Sebastian Kehl, the captain, stepped forward, silencing the whispers with a glance. He approached Jin Hayes, a slightly awkward smile on his face.
"Hello. I am Sebastian Kehl, captain. You can call me Seb. Do you speak German?"
Jin Hayes had spent the weekend cramming German with the Heinrich family, drilling basic phrases into his memory.
"A little," he replied, carefully. "Basic communication. OK."
Kehl's face brightened with relief. "Good! That is very good. Come, I will introduce you."
The first day passed without incident. The players were cautious, curious but not hostile. Doll ran a standard training session, observing but offering little feedback. Jin Hayes kept his head down, focused on the drills, and said little.
That evening, as he walked back to the guesthouse, he allowed himself a small, hopeful thought. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Captain Kehl seemed decent. The coach was distant but professional. Perhaps his legendary career was about to begin.
He had no idea, none at all, just how wrong he was. Or the strange, unexpected circumstances under which he would eventually make his debut.