In the days following the first leg loss to Liverpool, the atmosphere at the Hoffenheim Training Base remained somewhat subdued; the players were still struggling to recover. Under the morning sun, everyone walked onto the training pitch in small groups, the usual laughter absent. Nordtveit had been a bit less enthusiastic these past two days.
He was quite taciturn during training, occasionally staring blankly at his right foot—the very foot that had kicked that cursed own goal. That goal had hit him quite hard; he kept thinking that if he hadn't scored that own goal, Hoffenheim could have at least salvaged a draw.
But there are no 'ifs'; he was indeed the 'culprit,' and he felt deeply remorseful.
Oliver changed into his training shoes and noticed Nordtveit doing strength training alone in the equipment area. He walked over, casually picked up a dumbbell nearby, and lightly nudged Nordtveit with his shoulder, saying, "Hey, Kevin, in future matches, I'll still need your long-pass support."
Nordtveit froze for a moment, the barbell plate in his hand nearly slipping. He spoke, his voice somewhat hoarse. "You... sure? My current state..."
Oliver adjusted his shin guards, his eyes fixed on Nordtveit.
"Absolutely, positively sure. I've studied Bremen's defense; their left-back is decent, but I trust your long passes. As long as your long pass can find me..."
He made a gesture for a diagonal pass.
"I can make him lose his way." Oliver remained very considerate. As the team's 'warm buddy,' he comforted Nordtveit in his own way. Sometimes, the best way to comfort a teammate isn't to directly console him or tell him not to be sad, but to tell him, "I still need your help; the team can't do without you."
Letting the person being comforted know they still have value is the secret to true comfort. Nordtveit stared at Oliver for a few seconds, then suddenly burst out laughing: "You little rascal... when did you learn to be a psychologist?"
Oliver spoke nonsense with a straight face, "I just got my psychologist license last week. It's very expensive, but this time it's free for you."
Nordtveit's mood improved significantly. As the two were chatting and laughing, Amiri strolled over, whistling.
"Oh, our four-goal man is counseling a patient?" He reached out and fist-bumped Oliver. "How about it, kid, are you ready to receive my brilliant passes in your Bundesliga debut?"
The moment their fists touched, a system prompt suddenly flashed before Oliver's eyes: [Amiri interaction level reached 100%, unlocked skill: Midfield Offensive Orchestrator, current proficiency 91%].
He was almost choked by this unexpected surprise. Amiri was a well-known midfield orchestrator in the Bundesliga. This skill would increase the ball-holder's probability of discerning midfield attacking lines and further enhance their overall tactical awareness. Although Oliver primarily played as a right winger, this midfield skill was still very helpful to him. Oliver's current game reading ability was already quite good; what he lacked was a certain degree of decision-making and timing. With this midfield skill, he could better grasp the timing for breakthroughs and attacks from his position, and also better understand his teammates' intentions.
At the same time, this was also why the skill's initial proficiency was as high as 91%, because Oliver and Amiri were not far apart in game reading ability.
"What's wrong? Did I grow thorns on my hand?" Amiri looked at the suddenly stiff Oliver in confusion.
"Nothing... just thought of a tactical idea," Oliver quickly adjusted his expression. "Want to try it in the training match later?"
As they chatted, Nagelsmann's whistle interrupted their conversation. He also knew that after this match, the players' morale was low, and as their coach, he had to boost their spirits. He addressed the crowd loudly.
"I know this match has hit you hard, but I want all of you to lift your heads! Losing to Liverpool is not the end of the world, but hanging your heads definitely is! This season has just begun, and the Champions League qualifiers aren't over yet! We're only one goal behind, we still have hope!"
The players unconsciously straightened their backs.
"Kevin," Nagelsmann suddenly called out, and Nordtveit trembled. "Your interception statistics last season were top ten in the Bundesliga. Did one mistake make you forget who you are?"
Nordveit opened his mouth, but ultimately just shook his head emphatically. Then, the coach turned to everyone, "Listen up, everyone. This weekend against Bremen, I want to see a bloodthirsty, fighting Hoffenheim. Everyone, summarize what needs to be summarized, forget what needs to be forgotten, and move on from this match as quickly as possible. Also, Oliver, you'll start as the right winger in the first Bundesliga match."
"Yes, Coach!"
After training resumed, Oliver began to actively train with Amiri today. He wanted to get the proficiency of this new skill to 100% before the match against Bremen. He deliberately imitated Amiri's rhythm of handling the ball—that unique pause for observation, followed by a sudden burst of speed in passing. Oliver watched very intently, but Amiri felt a bit awkward.
"Why are you always staring at me lately? Don't tell me..." Amiri felt uneasy from being stared at.
"No? What are you thinking??? It's just that your passing vision is too godly," Oliver quickly interrupted Amiri's wild speculation.
They almost had a geh moment.
"I'm just curious how you do it? Like... your passes that seem to have eyes in the back of your head."
Amiri proudly lifted his chin: "Oh, so that's what you're curious about. That's called talent, kid."
Then he patiently explained,
"Actually, it's not that hard. The key is the first-eye scan before receiving the ball. Now, throw me the ball, and I'll show you."
He took the ball Oliver threw, then suddenly tapped it with his toe, demonstrating.
"See, at this point, if it were in a match, I would have already seen Gnabry initiating a run on the left flank."
"Amazing, Amiri." Oliver couldn't help but clap.
Over the next three days, Oliver's specialized training began. It was still the unshakeable six-thirty in the morning, and he could always be seen alone on the training pitch practicing Amiri's signature move: receiving the ball with his back to goal, instantly flicking it with the outside of his foot to change direction, while simultaneously looking up to scan the attacking third. When there was no one to train with, he would set up many cones and practice alone. Sometimes, because he was so familiar with it, Oliver would even blindfold himself with a strip of cloth to judge breakthrough positions and passing positions.
During lunch breaks, he repeatedly watched Amiri's match recordings, not even missing the angle of his shoulder tilt during off-ball runs. Occasionally, if he didn't understand something, he would personally ask Amiri for guidance.
During lunch on the third day, Gnabry watched Oliver gesturing passing routes in the air with his fork. "Oliver, are you planning to switch to midfield? Why have I been seeing you training with Amiri so much lately?"
Oliver swallowed his chicken breast and mumbled, "It has to be 100%."
"What 100%?" Gnabry asked curiously.
"Ah... nothing, that... that..." Oliver wiped his mouth and stood up. "See you at the training match this afternoon."
In addition to his focus on the training pitch, the most intense part was the extra training in the system space.
He broke down Amiri's skill into three modules: predictive scanning, passing timing, and line selection.
On the virtual training ground, holographic projections of defending players constantly changed formations, while Oliver forced himself to make Amiri-style decisions within 0.3 seconds.
[Proficiency 93%... 95%... 97%...]
On the eve of the match, when Oliver delivered a surgical through-ball in the final combined training session, assisting Uth's goal, even Nagelsmann couldn't help but whistle.
Amiri rubbed his eyes, "I'm seeing ghosts, Oliver. No wonder you've been asking me questions with my videos lately. So you've been secretly learning all along. That pass just now was exactly like something I would kick. You're not going to try to steal my job, are you?"
"Hahahahahaha, my appetite isn't that big. I'm still focused on the right wing, buddy. I'm learning your overall tactical awareness from you," Oliver joked back.
Back in the dorm that evening, Oliver showered and collapsed onto his bed.
A system prompt flashed before his eyes: ["Midfield Offensive Orchestrator" proficiency 100%].
He looked at his personal data; his current game reading ability was already a solid A+. Three days ago, he was just a winger who only knew how to dribble forward, but now he possessed excellent midfield vision. Tomorrow, he would step onto the home pitch for the first time as a starting player in the Bundesliga, and Nordtveit's long-pass accuracy during training this morning had recovered by eighty percent; his confidence was being rebuilt.
Hoffenheim, fresh from a defeat, was reawakening.
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Guys, as promised I gave you your 20 chapters.
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