The tension on the pitch didn't escalate further. De Bruyne suppressed his irritation, deciding it was best to simply ignore Bendtner for the remainder of the match. On the sideline, Dieter Hecking was wrestling with his own headache, frustrated by the lack of remaining substitutions. If he had the choice, he would have hauled Bendtner off immediately.
The reasoning was simple: the heart of Wolfsburg was, and always would be, Kevin De Bruyne. No one's priority surpassed his. If Bendtner couldn't coexist with the Belgian maestro, Hecking wouldn't hesitate to cut him loose.
On the field, David Qin glanced up at the stadium clock. Four minutes of regulation time remained. He was hungry for more; he wanted to maximize every second of his debut. Who knew how long he'd have to wait for his next opportunity? Besides, watching his teammates find the net had whetted his appetite. He wanted to hear the roar of the crowd reserved specifically for him.
"Kevin!"
David increased his work rate, darting into space and actively demanding the ball from De Bruyne. The Belgian was happy to oblige. David had already proven his ability to drive the attack, and the two had developed a quiet chemistry during their training sessions.
"Step up!"
Seeing David receive the ball, Makoto Hasebe gestured for Slobodan Medojević to press high. After eighty-odd minutes of play, Hasebe's stamina was flagging, especially after the relentless physical battles with De Bruyne. The Belgian's natural physical gifts were legendary—even Jose Mourinho had praised them—though their footballing philosophies had famously clashed.
Facing the aggressive press, David didn't attempt to go it alone. Instead, he initiated a slick give-and-go with Ricardo Rodríguez.
Hasebe was clever. As Rodríguez surged forward, he drifted laterally, hoping to catch the defense off guard with an interception. David, undeterred, lunged forward to shield the ball with his body.
Thud! The dull sound of muscle hitting muscle echoed as both men stumbled back a few paces. But it was David who kept his footing. A body honed by the Ronaldinho template wasn't going to lose a physical duel that easily. Moreover, David had the advantage in both height and weight, and as a substitute, his legs were still fresh. Under the weight of these objective factors, Hasebe staggered and fell awkwardly to the turf.
"David Qin might look lean, but his physical resilience is remarkable!"
"He shakes off Hasebe and continues his drive forward!"
"Ignjovski is closing in fast to cover!"
"How will he handle this?"
The answer was simple. Hasebe's primary duty had been to stifle De Bruyne. With Hasebe neutralized by David, a pocket of space opened up in the half-space. The Belgian maestro spotted it instantly and ignited his engines.
"David!" De Bruyne's accented shout cut through the air. Without a moment's hesitation, David squared the ball perfectly into his path.
In an instant, Wolfsburg's counter-attack blossomed. Bendtner was charging into the box, Vieirinha was ghosting toward the far post, and Rodríguez was overlapping on the flank.
At the thirty-meter mark, De Bruyne adjusted his stride, his eyes locked on a specific target. He tilted his body and whipped his right foot through the ball! Marco Russ lunged to block, but he only heard the crisp snap of the ball as it whistled past his toes.
Snap! The ball traced a "rainbow" arc across the green turf—a wicked, exaggerated curve that bypassed the chaotic Frankfurt defensive line entirely.
"De Bruyne!"
"He paints a perfect arc with his right foot!"
"Rodríguez!"
"The linesman keeps his flag down—the Swiss international is in! Let's see what he does!"
Inside the Volkswagen Arena, Rodríguez looked up and saw Bendtner. "The Lord" was waving his hands frantically, shouting, "I'm open! Pass it!"
Whether Rodríguez heard him or not was anyone's guess. He suddenly chopped the ball back on the left side of the area, adjusted his footing, and swung his right leg. Many, including the Frankfurt defenders and Carlos Zambrano, anticipated a cross to Bendtner. Kevin Trapp even shifted his weight in preparation.
But the next image made their pupils contract.
Rodríguez didn't pass to Bendtner. He pulled the ball back to the left side of the "D" at the top of the box. A flash of green-and-white moved from the periphery of the frame to the center in a heartbeat. Under the gaze of thirty thousand fans, Wolfsburg's Number 13 met the ball and side-footed it with clinical precision!
Bang! The ball screamed into the far corner of the net, exactly where Trapp wasn't. No matter how elite the keeper was, he could only watch as his goal was breached once more.
3–1!
"Beautiful! Absolutely beautiful!"
"It's in!"
"In the 89th minute, our own David Qin scores the goal to seal the victory!"
"That is his first ever Bundesliga goal!"
"Incredible! What a perfect debut—one goal and one assist!"
Liu Jiayuan was beside himself with joy, the microphone at his lips trembling. Back in China, fans were jumping for joy, their cheers loud enough to disturb the neighbors, overcome with a manic delight.
Inside the Volkswagen Arena, the cheers came in waves, crashing over the pitch. David stood by the corner flag, looking up at the fans with a radiant smile. The sensation of scoring was entirely different from assisting; the rush it provided was on a different level altogether. In that moment, he knew exactly what he wanted: to score more, and to make those cheers even louder.
"David! I knew you could do it! Good thing I spotted you!" Rodríguez shouted, completely ignoring a fuming Bendtner. The Dane's attitude had ensured he remained an outsider. And in football, everything is a comparison. Between the arrogant Bendtner and the grounded David Qin, the squad's preference was clear as day.
"Thank you!" David said, sharing a high-five and a hug with Rodríguez.
"Don't mention it! We're brothers!" the Swiss international laughed.
Nearby, Bendtner stood isolated, watching his teammates celebrate. On the other side, Ignjovski shook his head, his face a mask of dejection. If 2–1 offered hope, 3–1 was the death blow. With only five minutes of injury time remaining, the chances of a "Camp Nou Miracle" were non-existent. Miracles are, by definition, impossible to replicate.
Makoto Hasebe took a long, hard look at David Qin, as if burning the image into his memory. He had a powerful premonition that from this day forward, Asian football had a new star—and on the international stage, the Chinese national team had just become a much more dangerous opponent.
As the final seconds ticked away...
Tweet—Tweet—Tweet!
The final whistle blew, and the score remained unchanged.