Two months. A full two months.
Jin Hayes had lost count of the training sessions, the drills, the endless repetitive exercises. He'd spent his evenings in his tiny attic room, scrolling through Chinese web novels, particularly the football ones in the sports category. In those stories, the protagonist always joined a new team, impressed the coach in his first training session, came off the bench in a crucial match, scored a wonder goal, and took the football world by storm.
Reality, he'd discovered, was considerably less dramatic.
For a young player, especially one from East Asia, breaking into a European first team was a slow, grinding process. Trust had to be earned, and it wasn't earned quickly.
In training, Jin Hayes had done everything asked of him. He'd won over his teammates with his skill, his work rate, his willingness to learn. In informal one-on-one sessions after training, he'd faced down the most talented players in the squad. Against Nuri Şahin, the Turkish-German prodigy widely regarded as the most technically gifted midfielder in the team, Jin Hayes had unleashed five different dribbling moves in succession, leaving Şahin grasping at air each time. The watching players had erupted in astonished laughter and applause.
"OHHHH! Jin! He murdered him!"
"Nuri, did you even touch the ball?"
"Rematch! Someone get a camera!"
Şahin, good-natured and competitive, had just shaken his head with a wry grin. "I'm not going near him again. The kid's possessed."
After that, the atmosphere in the dressing room shifted. The initial suspicion and curiosity melted away, replaced by genuine warmth. Jin Hayes was no longer the unknown loanee from Arsenal. He was one of them.
But Thomas Doll, the head coach, remained unmoved. In league matches, Jin Hayes watched from the bench, an unused substitute. Week after week, the pattern repeated. Train hard, impress everyone, then sit and watch as the team struggled.
Until October 31st. Matchday two of the DFB-Pokal, the German Cup. A Tuesday night. Away to Magdeburg, a third-tier side. And finally, finally, his name was on the teamsheet. Not in the starting eleven, but on the bench.
A professional debut, of sorts.
The first half was a disaster. Magdeburg, organised, physical, and fired up, had defended deep and hit on the counter. In the 34th minute, a sloppy pass in midfield had been intercepted, and within three seconds, the ball was in the back of Dortmund's net. 1-0.
The second half was worse. Dortmund, a team already fractured by debt and poor results, played like a collection of individuals, not a team. Heads dropped. Passes went astray. The spark was gone.
Jin Hayes watched from the bench, his frustration mounting with every misplaced pass, every half-hearted challenge. He'd warmed up four separate times, jogging along the touchline, stretching, waiting for a sign that never came.
Fifty-six minutes. Thomas Doll finally turned.
"Jin. Get ready."
Jin Hayes was already stripped down to his black and yellow away shirt, his boots laced, his shin pads in place. He'd been ready since half-time.
Doll blinked, surprised by the boy's preparedness. "Right. Good. You're on for Kuba. Right wing."
The fourth official held up the electronic board. Number 16, Jakub Błaszczykowski, off. Number 24, Jin Hayes, on.
Jin Hayes's heart hammered against his ribs. Right wing wasn't his preferred position. He was an attacking midfielder, comfortable in the centre, where he could drift, create, orchestrate. On the wing, he'd be isolated, expected to hug the touchline and deliver crosses. It wasn't ideal. But it was a debut. He'd take it.
As he jogged onto the pitch, the away end, sparse and disheartened, offered no reaction. No one knew who he was. A fifteen-year-old Asian kid, coming on with his team losing to a third-tier side. What was there to cheer about?
Doll's final instructions followed him onto the grass. "Keep it simple! If you can't go forward, pass back. Don't take unnecessary risks!"
If I can't go forward, Jin Hayes thought. What if I can?
Doll, reading the expression, added with a faint, sceptical smile, "If you can, then of course… that would be even better."
He didn't believe. No one did. They were just fulfilling a contractual obligation.
Thirty seconds later, everything changed.
Dortmund's defence, under pressure, cleared the ball towards the right flank. Nuri Şahin, tracking back, saw Jin Hayes in space and played a simple pass in his direction. As soon as the ball left his foot, Şahin's stomach dropped. The Magdeburg left-back, a stocky, aggressive player built like a brick outhouse, was already charging forward, his eyes fixed on the young substitute. It was going to be a collision. The kind that separates boys from men in German football.
He's going to get crushed, Şahin thought. I shouldn't have passed.
The ball arrived. Jin Hayes, with his back to goal, seemed to sense the impending impact without looking. Instead of trapping the ball at his feet, he did something unexpected. He flicked it up with the toe of his right boot.
The ball rose in a gentle arc, floating over both their heads. The Magdeburg full-back, committed to his charge, could only watch as Jin Hayes pivoted on his left foot, spun away from the collision, and accelerated past him in one fluid, impossible motion. By the time the defender had turned, Jin Hayes was three yards clear, the ball already under control, the wing opening up before him.
"WAS ZUM...?!" The defender's shout of disbelief was lost in the sudden eruption of noise.
On the Dortmund bench, Doll's jaw dropped. His assistants grabbed each other's arms. On the pitch, Şahin stood frozen for a split second, then his instincts kicked in.
"GO! GO ON, JIN! SUPPORT HIM!" He sprinted forward, waving frantically, and suddenly the black and yellow shirts that had been trudging in despair were surging forward, a wave of renewed hope.
Jin Hayes didn't look back. He didn't need to. The ball was his, the wind was in his face, and for the first time in two long, frustrating months, he was exactly where he belonged.
>>>>
The moment Jin Hayes left the Magdeburg full-back grasping at air, the stadium seemed to shift. The home fans, previously confident, fell into an uneasy silence. The Dortmund bench, moments ago slumped in despair, was on its feet. And on the pitch, Jin Hayes was flying.
His 100-metre time, 11.07 seconds, wasn't world-class – Cristiano Ronaldo at his peak was clocked at 10.6 – but with the ball at his feet, with defenders scrambling to recover, it was more than enough. The wind whipped past his ears as he ate up the turf, the right flank his own private highway.
A Magdeburg centre-back, panic evident in his eyes, abandoned his position and slid across to block the advance. Jin Hayes saw him coming, saw the hesitation, the uncertainty. He dropped his right shoulder, a classic feint to go outside. The defender bit, shifting his weight. And then Jin Hayes was gone, cutting inside onto his left foot, the defender a statue in his wake.
He was in the penalty area. One-on-one with the goalkeeper. The angle was tight, but the opportunity was clear.
The away end, sparse and silent moments ago, erupted. A cacophony of desperate hope.
Jin Hayes didn't think. He just reacted. His right foot swung, aiming for the far top corner, the kind of finish that makes highlight reels.
The connection was horrible.
His foot sliced under the ball, sending it skidding low and awkwardly across the face of goal, a mishit that curved unpredictably towards the far post. The goalkeeper, already committed to a dive based on Jin Hayes's body shape, could only watch in horror as the ball evaded his outstretched fingers.
And then, from nowhere, a flash of yellow and black. Alexander Frei, the Swiss international striker, Dortmund's captain and talisman, had read the play. He'd seen the space, anticipated the chaos, and sprinted into the six-yard box. As the ball skidded across, he slid in, his outstretched foot meeting it perfectly and guiding it into the empty net.
1-1.
The away end exploded. The Dortmund bench emptied onto the touchline, coaches and substitutes embracing in disbelief. Thomas Doll, for the first time in weeks, allowed himself a genuine smile of relief.
On the pitch, Frei scrambled to his feet, a huge grin on his face. He ran straight to Jin Hayes, grabbing him by the shoulders.
"What a pass! Unbelievable vision! How did you see me there? The far post – perfect!"
Jin Hayes opened his mouth to explain, then closed it again. How could he say, I didn't see you. I was trying to score and I messed up?
He settled for a nod and mumbled, "I knew you'd be there."
Frei, normally a reserved, almost aloof figure in training, clapped him on the back with genuine warmth. "Keep playing like that, kid. You'll be in the starting eleven before you know it."
The goal changed everything. Magdeburg, stunned by the equaliser, never recovered. Dortmund, energised by Jin Hayes's introduction, poured forward. Three more goals followed, a rout disguised as a contest. The final score: Magdeburg 1-4 Borussia Dortmund.
Jin Hayes played the remaining thirty-four minutes. He didn't score, but he didn't need to. Every time he received the ball, he drew two, sometimes three defenders, creating space for his teammates. His final statistics, when they were calculated, were astonishing for a debutant: eleven completed dribbles, three key passes, and the primary assist for Frei's goal. After the match, the German football magazine kicker awarded him a rare 1.0 rating – their highest mark – for a substitute performance. He was, officially, the man of the match.
As he walked towards the tunnel, a pack of reporters descended, cameras flashing, microphones thrust towards his face. A blonde reporter from a major German sports channel, speaking in English, reached him first.
"Jin! A quick interview? Your professional debut – two assists credited to you, eleven successful dribbles, the highest rating on the pitch. You're now the youngest player ever to appear in the DFB-Pokal. What are your thoughts?"
Jin Hayes paused. He thought of the two months of frustration, of the cold shoulders and the sceptical glances, of Thomas Doll's dismissive instructions to just "keep it simple." He thought of the taxi driver who'd told him to run away, of the fans who hadn't even bothered to cheer his name when he came on.
He looked directly into the camera, a small, confident smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"The coach made the right decision," he said, his German carefully rehearsed but clear. "When you put me on the pitch, there's only one possible result."
****
Grade
Performance Level
Description
1.0
Weltklasse
World-class; an absolute flawless performance.
2.0
Sehr Gut
Very good; a standout player on the pitch.
3.0
Befriedigend
Satisfactory; an average, solid performance.
4.0
Ausreichend
Adequate; did enough to get by but had noticeable flaws.
5.0
Mangelhaft
Poor; a weak performance with several mistakes.
6.0
Ungenügend
Insufficient; a "disaster" match or a sending-off.