Jin Hayes was a seasoned netizen. When he wasn't on the training pitch, he was invariably glued to his phone, scrolling through forums and message boards with the dedication of a true football obsessive.
He didn't limit himself to German football forums, either. He regularly checked in on the domestic discussion sites back home, keeping a finger on the pulse of what fans were saying. Whether it was the Bayern Munich forum, the general Bundesliga forum, the Borussia Dortmund fan page, or even the unofficial Jin Hayes appreciation thread that had sprung up organically, he visited them all with quiet satisfaction. He wanted to see how supporters were reacting to his performances.
He had even created an account on Baidu with the intention of using his real name—Chen Tao—as his handle. Unfortunately, the username was already taken. After several frustrated attempts at variations, he had settled on registering under the ID "Ball King." Occasionally, when the mood struck him, he would drop a reply in the comments section, usually something cryptic or self-deprecating that no one would ever suspect came from the player himself.
As he led Borussia Dortmund to increasingly impressive results week after week, the most intensely debated topic across these forums had crystallized into a single, polarizing question: Should Jin Hayes be called up to the national team setup?
The arguments in favor were straightforward and compelling. Jin Hayes possessed undeniable technical quality. He had proven himself in one of Europe's top leagues, week in and week out, against elite competition. Adding him to the national squad would be a massive injection of quality—a genuine upgrade. Some even argued he might be the spark needed to finally push the team toward World Cup qualification.
The opposing arguments, however, carried their own weight. The national team program was currently navigating a deeply turbulent period. The golden generation that had reached the 2002 World Cup was now a fading memory, and the overall trajectory of the program seemed to be one of steady decline. News reports regularly exposed internal dysfunction, administrative chaos, and worse—several high-profile figures had already been detained amid widening investigations into corruption.
A popular slogan circulating online at the time was blunt and unforgiving, calling for the removal of the association's leadership. The sentiment was clear: the problems ran deep, and no single player—no matter how talented—could fix them alone.
As one particularly cynical forum user had written: "If Jin Hayes actually joins that setup, I'm done. I won't watch another match."
Jin Hayes understood that comments like these were often born from frustration rather than genuine intent. Those same fans would inevitably find themselves tuning in anyway, drawn back by hope or habit or some complicated mixture of both. The harsh words were more an expression of deep-seated disappointment with the broader football environment than a genuine rejection of the players themselves.
Every day, both sides of the debate would clash fiercely in the digital trenches. Comment threads would run for pages and pages, arguments growing increasingly heated as the season progressed. Several media outlets had also begun publishing editorials and opinion pieces, openly calling on the Football Association to consider recruiting Jin Hayes for the youth national teams, or even to promote him directly to the senior squad.
The media attention and fan discourse certainly generated a degree of public pressure. But through it all, Jin Hayes never received a single phone call. He hadn't yet signed with an agent—a decision he was increasingly questioning—and there was no one actively working behind the scenes to facilitate any kind of national team involvement on his behalf.
He had largely assumed that the entire matter was separate from his reality. Theoretical. Distant. Not something he needed to actually confront.
So when the topic suddenly surfaced through his Dortmund coach, of all people, Jin Hayes was genuinely caught off guard.
"Mr. Fohren, are you absolutely certain they're looking for me?"
"Of course," came the reply. "Officials from your country's Football Association contacted the club directly through official channels. The club wanted to hear your personal opinion before proceeding any further."
Borussia Dortmund, for their part, had no strong feelings either way. Whether Jin Hayes would remain at the club next season or move elsewhere was still an open question. National team call-ups were ultimately a player's individual matter, and for the time being, it wouldn't interfere with the club's immediate fixture list or training schedule.
"Can I speak with them directly?" Jin Hayes asked.
"Certainly. May I provide them with your private number?"
"No problem."
The call came through moments later. Jin Hayes stared at the unfamiliar international number displayed on his screen, though the +86 country code was immediately recognizable. He let it ring twice, steadying himself, before pressing the answer button.
During this brief interval, Anna did not leave.
She settled quietly into the old wooden rocking chair beside him, her presence a silent constant. In earlier weeks, the two of them would occasionally sit out here together in the evenings, chatting about nothing and everything. Lately, however, those moments had grown increasingly rare. Anna wasn't entirely sure why she had chosen to remain now. Listening to Jin Hayes speak in a language she couldn't understand was essentially listening to gibberish. And yet, she stayed.
"Hello? Yes, this is Jin Hayes."
"Hello, Jin. This is Liu Chunming, head coach of the National Under-20 team. I apologize if I'm calling at an inconvenient hour—I hope I'm not disturbing you this late?"
The voice on the other end was weathered, carrying the gravel of years spent shouting instructions on training pitches. Despite his position and experience, Liu Chunming's tone was notably polite, even deferential, toward Jin Hayes—an underage player he had never met in person.
Jin Hayes's expression flickered with bemusement. It was nearly eleven o'clock at night in Berlin, which meant it would be past five in the morning back home. The man was certainly up early. Or perhaps he simply hadn't slept at all.
"I've been following your performances in the Bundesliga very closely," Liu Chunming continued, his voice earnest. "I wanted to reach out personally to ask whether you might be open to joining the National Youth Team for our upcoming training camps and tournaments. Given your current level, I have no doubt that integration into the senior national team would follow naturally in the future. The pathway is there."
Hearing the invitation delivered so directly, Jin Hayes's first instinct was a surge of pure excitement.
Donning the national team jersey. Representing his country on the international stage. Potentially leading the squad toward a World Cup appearance. These were the dreams that fueled every young footballer who ever laced up a pair of boots. The images flashed through his mind unbidden—the roar of the crowd, the weight of the shirt, the anthem echoing through a packed stadium.
He opened his mouth, ready to accept. The word was already forming on his lips.
And then, deep within him, a vague but unmistakable sense of resistance stirred. A quiet, insistent warning bell that he had learned—through hard experience—never to ignore.
His premonition had appeared again.
Jin Hayes had always trusted these instincts. They had served him too well in the past to dismiss now.
He remembered, with sudden clarity, an incident from his childhood. He had been attending a summer training session at a local football school when a scout from a club backed by a prominent corporate group had approached him. The scout had been slick and persuasive, painting vivid pictures of a club destined for promotion to the top flight, of Jin Hayes becoming the face of a new footballing era.
At that time, the national team had just made its historic first World Cup appearance and reached the final of the Asian Cup. Football fever was at its peak. His parents had been genuinely swayed by the scout's polished pitch.
But the twelve-year-old Jin Hayes had felt it. That same quiet, instinctive resistance. A wordless feeling that something wasn't right. He had refused the offer, much to the scout's confusion and his parents' surprise.
Indeed, that corporate-backed club had earned promotion to the top division in 2007. And then, almost immediately, it had been relegated amid a storm of match-fixing allegations and scandal. The fallout was ugly and far-reaching.
Chen Jianping and Ding Ru had even called Jin Hayes after seeing the news break, their voices filled with genuine relief that they had never let him sign with that outfit. If he had put pen to paper back then, Jin Hayes wouldn't be making his mark in European football now. He wouldn't be starting in the Bundesliga, wouldn't be hearing eighty thousand voices sing his name at the Westfalenstadion. Instead, he would have been dragged down into the quagmire of the lower divisions, his potential squandered before it could ever truly bloom.
That same accurate, protective premonition was stirring now. And it was telling him, with quiet but absolute certainty, that this National Youth Team invitation was a massive pitfall. Something that could derail everything he had worked so hard to build.
He had just established himself in the Bundesliga. His future stretched out before him, bright and full of possibility. Dortmund. Maybe somewhere else eventually. European nights. Champions League football. The highest level.
Jin Hayes would not allow himself to take a risk that could shatter his football dreams before they had even fully taken shape. Not now. Not like this.
"Coach Liu, I..." Jin Hayes began, his voice trailing off.
He instinctively wanted to refuse outright. The words were already forming on his tongue. But he still harbored a certain sense of responsibility—a genuine, if complicated, desire to contribute to the national program's revival one day. So he changed his approach, softening his tone as he asked tentatively:
"What exactly would I need to do?"
"It's like this." Liu Chunming's voice took on an awkward edge, the discomfort audible even through the crackling international connection. "As a head coach, I fully recognize your ability. In my honest assessment, you're operating at a level several steps above the rest of the current youth squad. But..."
"But?" Jin Hayes had already sensed something was amiss. The hesitation in Liu's voice confirmed it.
"Regarding talent selection, the final authority rests with the Youth Football Development Management Department. Whether or not a player can join the National Youth Team requires a formal guarantee from the club. This is to ensure that the player will serve diligently and responsibly after joining the squad, bringing honor to the program."
"A guarantee?" Jin Hayes repeated, the word feeling strange in his mouth.
"Yes. It's primarily a formality—a deposit, funded by the club. Do you have an agent yet? If not, you could ask your parents to contact the club—whether it's Arsenal or Borussia Dortmund—and inquire whether they would be willing to provide the necessary funds..."
This was the first time Jin Hayes had ever heard of such a concept. It sounded completely nonsensical. A deposit? For the privilege of representing the national team?
But hearing Coach Liu's troubled, almost embarrassed tone, Jin Hayes understood that this might genuinely be coming from higher up the chain. This wasn't Liu Chunming's policy. This was the system he was forced to operate within.
Wasn't the whole purpose of a National Youth Team to identify and nurture the most talented young footballers in the country? To develop the future of the senior squad? How had it become... this? A transaction? A business arrangement?
At that moment, a cascade of images suddenly flooded through Jin Hayes's mind. Vivid. Overwhelming. Unstoppable.
…
He saw figures wearing orange-yellow vests, their heads bowed in repentance behind iron railings. Among them, he recognized a former national team star, a player who had once graced the Premier League with Everton, known for his distinctive hairstyle. Now he stood among the accused, his legacy in ruins.
And then Jin Hayes saw himself.
He saw himself approaching Borussia Dortmund CEO Hans-Joachim Watzke, trying to explain the situation—the deposit, the guarantee, the bureaucratic maze. He saw Watzke's bewildered expression, the complete incomprehension of a European football administrator being asked to navigate a system that made no logical sense.
Later, he saw himself making the same appeal to Arsène Wenger. And although Wenger seemed equally perplexed by the request, the Arsenal manager's faith in Jin Hayes's potential was strong enough that he convinced the club to approve the funds. The money was paid. The guarantee was secured.
Jin Hayes saw himself joining the National Youth Team amid a flurry of media coverage—photographers capturing his arrival at the training camp, headlines celebrating his inclusion. There were cheers from fans and pundits alike. Finally, it seemed, the program was embracing its brightest overseas talent.
But the images that followed were darker.
He saw himself on the training ground, executing the same dribbling moves that had humiliated Bundesliga defenders. And he saw his own teammates—players from other domestic club academies—responding not with admiration, but with resentment. Hard tackles flew in during routine drills. Whispers followed him through the corridors. A deliberate, coordinated isolation took shape.
Only one player was willing to speak to him. A defensive midfielder and center-back from the East Asia club, a guy with arms covered in tattoos who looked more like a street tough than a professional footballer. He was fast, physically imposing, and surprisingly versatile—capable of filling in at right-back when needed, with decent attacking instincts to boot. His name was Zhang Linpeng.
The two of them formed an unlikely partnership, and together they dragged the squad to the semi-finals of the AFC U-19 Championship in Saudi Arabia. But their run ended in brutal fashion—targeted fouls from the Korean youth team players, cynical challenges designed to neutralize Jin Hayes's influence. They fell in the top four.
Given his contributions—nearly one hundred percent of the team's goals had flowed through him in some capacity—Jin Hayes assumed he would return home to at least some measure of praise. He had given everything. He had carried the squad further than anyone expected.
Instead, the newspapers and media outlets branded him as the scapegoat. The culprit.
The press releases were eerily uniform, as if written from a single template. They claimed Jin Hayes had refused to adhere to tactical discipline. That he had been autocratic on the pitch, monopolizing possession, playing selfishly. He was labeled the team's ball hog. His impressive individual statistics, they argued, had actually come at the expense of his teammates' performances. His presence had supposedly disrupted the collective chemistry, and this—this!—was the real reason for the semi-final defeat.
Overnight, Jin Hayes saw himself vilified by an uninformed public. Online, only his dedicated fans and Bundesliga supporters spoke out in his defense, but their voices were too few, too quiet, easily drowned out by the coordinated flood of media narratives.
He was quietly, unceremoniously expelled from the National Youth Team. The image of team administrator Zhu Heyuan standing over him, condescendingly directing him to pack his bags and leave the training base—it felt so real, so immediate, as if Jin Hayes were living it in that very moment.
Years passed in the vision. Jin Hayes's performances in Europe only improved. His reputation grew. His fanbase swelled. More and more voices called for the senior national team to recall him. But the program offered no response. Silence. Indifference. As if he didn't exist.
It wasn't until the legendary Italian manager Marcello Lippi took charge of the national team that the door finally cracked open. Jin Hayes was twenty-four years old. He was called directly into the senior squad for the 2018 World Cup qualifiers.
But the isolation hadn't ended. Aside from his old acquaintance Zhang Linpeng, Jin Hayes was once again an outsider within his own national team setup. The cliques had already formed. The hierarchies were already established. He was the intruder.
Only Lippi's forceful advocacy and tactical authority secured Jin Hayes's position as the starting attacking midfielder. The Italian refused to bow to internal pressure, and his faith was immediately rewarded.
In Lippi's debut match at the helm, Jin Hayes scored two world-class goals—both created through mesmerizing solo dribbles—leading the team to a 2-0 victory over Qatar and a winning start in the third round of Asian qualifiers.
At the China Cup international tournament, Jin Hayes produced a moment of pure magic: a slaloming run through the heart of the Croatian midfield and defense, beating five players before slotting the ball home. A 1-0 victory. After the final whistle, he exchanged jerseys with Croatian midfield general Luka Modrić, the image captured by photographers and broadcast worldwide.
In 2017, during a crucial qualifier, Jin Hayes led the team to a 2-0 victory over South Korea—a second consecutive win in the decisive round. The entire nation was reignited with football fever. Hope, genuine and electric, surged through the fanbase.
The path forward seemed clear. Victories over Uzbekistan, Syria, and Qatar, plus a draw against South Korea in the return fixture, would be enough. Whether or not they could take points off group leaders Iran, the national team would successfully qualify for the 2018 World Cup. Media analysts across the board agreed: this was the strongest national squad in a generation, and with Jin Hayes pulling the strings under Lippi's guidance, qualification was almost a certainty.
And then.
Just before the crucial away match against Iran, Jin Hayes saw himself in training. A routine scramble for possession. A teammate's studs, planted deliberately and discreetly on his knee. The sickening give of ligament. The white-hot flash of pain.
The diagnosis came quickly: torn cruciate ligament.
His season was over. He would be out of professional football for at least a year.
Without him, the national team collapsed. Consecutive losses to Uzbekistan, Syria, and Qatar. A 3-2 defeat to South Korea in the return leg. A 1-0 loss to Iran. They finished fifth in the group, falling agonizingly short of qualification.
Lippi resigned in frustration and disgust. The World Cup dream shattered once again.
….
"Xiao-Jin? Are you still there? Did you hear me?"
Jin Hayes blinked, the images receding like a tide pulling back from the shore. His throat felt dry. "I'm here, Coach Liu. I'm listening."
"What's wrong? You went quiet for a moment."
"Nothing." Jin Hayes took a slow, steadying breath. "I've been thinking. For now, I believe I should focus entirely on my club commitments. I'm not from a formal academy background, and I still have so much to learn—fundamentals I need to drill here in Europe."
He paused, constructing the words carefully. "Plus, I have my high school studies to keep up with over here. The workload is significant. I really do want to play for the National Youth Team someday, and it's a genuine shame I won't get to work with you directly. But I don't think I'm ready. I'm simply not capable enough yet."
"Would you like to discuss this with your parents first?" Liu Chunming pressed gently, not quite ready to give up. "Or perhaps speak with the club again? If you don't have an agent, I could help facilitate some of those conversations—"
"Thank you, Coach Liu. Truly. But I've already made up my mind."
A long silence stretched across the line. Finally, Liu Chunming sighed—a sound heavy with resignation and something that might have been understanding.
"I see. That's truly regrettable. But I can understand your choice. It's alright. As long as I'm involved with the youth program, there will always be a place for you here. Whenever you're ready."
"Thank you."
The call ended. Jin Hayes lowered the phone and stared expressionlessly at the crescent moon hanging in the night sky. The clouds that had obscured its edges moments ago had drifted away, leaving the moon clearer and brighter than before. Sharper. More defined.
"Jin?" Anna's voice was soft, concerned. She was watching him from the rocking chair, her blue eyes searching his face. "Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?"
Looking at him now, she felt that Jin Hayes carried a kind of melancholy that didn't match his age—a weight that seemed to belong to someone much older. His profile, slightly hesitant and lost in thought, was admittedly quite striking in the moonlight.
"I'm fine," he said, his voice distant. "Just tired. I'm going to head in and get some sleep. You should go to bed soon too."
"Was?"
Anna watched in utter disbelief as Jin Hayes turned and walked resolutely toward the house without a backward glance.
No, seriously?
I gave you the perfect opening!
Anna had already begun to imagine a romantic scene unfolding under the moonlight—the two of them chatting easily, their eyes meeting, holding each other's gaze, the space between them gradually shrinking...
And Jin Hayes had just... left? Without even looking back?
Verdammt! He used to be so smooth, so attentive. When had he suddenly transformed into a complete block of wood?!
Anna didn't fully understand why she was so angry. She just knew that she was. With a frustrated growl, she kicked the leg of the swing hard—only to lose her balance entirely and tumble headfirst onto the soft lawn.
"Ahhh! I'm so frustrated!!"
The fairy-like beauty that others saw from afar was now sprawled gracelessly on the grass under the moonlight, raging in impotent fury at a boy who was completely oblivious to her feelings.
Jin Hayes saw none of this.
After experiencing that vivid, terrifying "premonition of the future," he cherished his current football career more than ever. Every training session. Every match. Every opportunity to step onto the pitch and simply play. He would not let anything jeopardize what he was building.
Only one match remained in the Bundesliga season.
The final fixture. Against Bayern Munich.
They had just stolen the DFB-Pokal from him four days ago. Luca Toni's header in the 119th minute still haunted the edges of his thoughts.
Jin Hayes wanted revenge.