Time spent at Munich were quite memorable. After two days of vacation, the rest allowed Oliver's body to shed its fatigue, and he fully recovered his spirit, eager to return to the excitement of matches and training with an unprecedented sense of anticipation. During the first full team practice after returning, the fitness Coach first conducted a detailed physical examination for Oliver, who had just returned.
"Hmm… excellent cardiopulmonary performance, stable lactate threshold. It seems the festive atmosphere in Munich was really good, Oliver." The fitness trainer joked with a smile, the report showed that Oliver's physical condition was even slightly better than before his rest.
"Of course, sir, Munich is a great city, and the people there are great too." Oliver replied to the fitness trainer with a smile, recalling those friendly Munich folks.
Oliver had rested for Hoffenheim's previous away match against Wolfsburg, but he didn't miss the live broadcast. He watched the live match from his hotel in Munich. Gnabry scored an open-goal tap-in after a classic Hoffenheim-style quick counter-attack, and then Amiri, who came on as a substitute, calmly converted a penalty in the final moments of the match to seal the victory.
2-0, a clean and decisive victory.
His teammates' stable and efficient performance made Oliver feel immensely pleased and invigorated. However, after the match, shortly after Oliver returned, another news notification on his phone suddenly stirred his emotions. Leverkusen pulled off an upset victory against Bayern Munich!
"Thomas and them… lost?" Oliver could hardly believe it. That almost perfect, giant-like existence of the entire Bayern team in his mind, had actually stumbled at their home ground? He immediately sent Muller a brief message of Condolences, telling him to cheer up, but what churned in his heart was a more complex emotion: Was it shock? Was it regret? Or was it a huge hope that he himself had never anticipated? He immediately opened his phone and checked the Bundesliga standings.
After 9 rounds:
Bayern Munich: 7 wins, 0 draws, 2 losses, 21 points (1st place)
Hoffenheim: 6 wins, 2 draws, 1 loss, 20 points (2nd place)
Only one point difference! Bayern's two losses (the other being an away loss to Hoffenheim) were like two massive cracks, instantly making the seemingly unreachable top spot within grasp! What did this mean? It meant that Hoffenheim truly had hope to touch the highest honor of the Bundesliga! Once this thought arose, it spread like wildfire throughout the entire Hoffenheim team.
"Guys! Look at the standings!" Rupp's voice was the first to ring out in the locker room, filled with incredible excitement.
"Oh my God! We're only one point behind?" Gnabry's eyes widened.
"Leverkusen did something big!" Amiri punched his palm, his face filled with uncontrollable ecstasy.
Even the usually composed Vogt and Hübner broke into bright smiles. Nagelsmann also walked in with light steps today, and the locker room instantly quieted down, but the burning light in everyone's eyes remained undiminished. The young Coach surveyed the room, a knowing, slightly mischievous smile on his face:
"I think you've all seen the latest standings? Well, Bayern generously opened a tiny crack for us… a very tiny crack." He used his thumb and forefinger to show a very small distance, "The current standings absolutely mean an opportunity for us. The League landscape is never an unchangeable steel fortress."
His tone suddenly became serious: "But, throw all the celebrations and fantasies aside! It's the beginning of the season, only 9 rounds have been played. What's one point? It can be erased, or overtaken at any time! From this moment on, every League round is a decisive battle! We must treat every opponent like Bayern! Get every point we should get!" He tapped the tactics board as he spoke.
"Your stability is more important than any information outside the pitch. Continue to play our way, focus on the next match. That's the true mindset of a strong team!"
Nagelsmann's words were like a basin of cold water, extinguishing the immediate frenzy of the group. Indeed, the Hoffenheim players saw hope, but precisely because they saw hope, they needed to be even more down-to-earth. The German Bundesliga temporarily concluded, and the bugle call of the European battlefield immediately sounded again. After a brief rest, the entire Hoffenheim team would embark on another journey. This time, the destination was the distant and unfamiliar Russia, Moscow, Luzhniki Stadium. Hoffenheim would challenge Moscow Spartak in an away match. When the itinerary notice was issued, many players, especially the younger ones, subconsciously frowned.
On the charter flight to Moscow this time, the atmosphere among the group was noticeably different from their previous Champions League trip. During the team's pre-departure tactical meeting, Nagelsmann spent a lot of time emphasizing that this would be the team's first encounter with a truly "harsh away environment" this season.
"Gentlemen, forget the away games we've experienced before," Nagelsmann stood in front of the tactics board, his expression serious, "Moscow, this will be an away game of a completely different level. First, the weather."
Nagelsmann pulled up the local weather forecast map; the highest temperature was barely a few degrees above freezing, approaching zero at night.
"Although we won't be playing in the snow, this temperature will genuinely affect your physical functions. Therefore, your warm-up activities must be more thorough, your warm clothing must be in place, and the bench must also have enough warm items."
He pointed his laser pointer at the image of Luzhniki Stadium on the screen: "Second, the pitch. They might play on artificial turf, or even if it's not pure artificial turf, the pitch conditions, especially the bounce and roll of the grass, will be very different from the natural grass we are used to.
Remember, the quality of the pitch will affect the ball's trajectory, and impact your ball control and passing accuracy!" He emphasized every technical detail, "So when playing here, passes must be crisper, reduce complex ground passes, use simpler methods, and handle the ball more directly!"
Finally, Nagelsmann's tone became even more solemn: "Third, and most importantly: the opponent's style and the match environment. Russian players are extremely strong physically, and their tackling is incredibly fierce. Their home atmosphere will be very fanatical and extremely oppressive. You need to be mentally prepared for a lot of physical contact, and there will likely be no shortage of challenges that exceed reasonable limits."
He surveyed all the players, his gaze falling on several key players, especially the attackers in the front, including Oliver.
"Everyone must protect themselves. This is not just about winning the match, but also for your health. Do not get involved in unnecessary conflicts, do not easily attempt overly flashy dribbles or risky breakthroughs that could lead to retaliatory fouls. Once you feel something is off, release the ball immediately! Understand? Your health is the foundation for us to go further this season!"
Nagelsmann's words felt like a heavy stone pressing down on the players' hearts. Cooling down from the excitement of Bayern's loss, the reality of facing the tough Russian away game made everyone's expressions tense up again. The intensity of the confrontation, the low temperature, the poor pitch, the fanatical home crowd—this was the first time they, as a whole, had to conquer such a new difficulty. During the charter flight to Moscow, the colorful autumn landscape of Germany outside the window gradually gave way to a deep and vast grayish-brown. As they disembarked the gangway, a biting but not yet piercing cold wind immediately swept in, and the air carried a dry, cold scent.
Oliver subconsciously took a deep breath, feeling a slight chill in his nasal passages. The sky over Moscow was a hazy white, the sun hidden behind thick clouds, casting a desolate light. The pitch wasn't great, but the hotel conditions were good, with ample heating. However, during the short adaptation training session at a training ground next to Luzhniki Stadium, Oliver personally experienced his mentor's warning. The slightly stiff, unnatural feel and rebound of the artificial turf underfoot meant that every touch and pass required readjusting his feel.
Moscow's low temperature meant muscles needed more time to enter their ideal state. During training, intentional physical confrontations among teammates also increased, simulating the upcoming impact.
On match day, the temperature seemed to drop a little more. On the bus heading to Luzhniki Stadium, the atmosphere was quieter than usual. Oliver was dressed warmer today. He wore a warm neck gaiter, a black long-sleeved thermal shirt under his jersey, and black gloves. He had just gotten a haircut a few days ago and looked quite handsome today.
"Oliver, are you going to shoot a movie today?" Gnabry, sitting next to him, asked Oliver.
"Huh? What do you mean?" Oliver didn't understand what Gnabry was saying.
"Never mind… I won't compare looks with you… I should have known you look so handsome with a neck gaiter; I would've prepared one today too." Gnabry mumbled softly, thinking Oliver's handsomeness was accentuated by the neck gaiter.
Oliver unconsciously touched the small wooden beer mug ornament in his down jacket pocket—a little trinket Muller had given him at Oktoberfest. A warmth spread from his fingertips, a warmth from his Munich friends. This warmth briefly helped Oliver dispel the gloomy cold of Moscow outside the window and the pre-match tension. Luzhniki Stadium, this behemoth that had witnessed countless important battles, stood in the chilling twilight.
An ocean of red and white was already surging within it. As the Hoffenheim bus slowly drove into the designated player entrance, the deafening, synchronized, and immensely impactful Russian cheers hit them like a solid wall. The sound was filled with the meaning of a battle cry, making hearts tremble even through the thick bus windows. The bus door opened, and the cold air, carrying even clearer and more intense shouts, surged in. The fanaticism of the Russian fans, with a rough and direct sense of power, assailed them.
" Один за всех, и все за одного.!!!" This was Moscow Spartak's official slogan.
" Красно-белые правят безраздельно.!!!"
" Король Российской Премьер-лиги!!!"
Some even more fanatical Russian home fans even shouted:
" Немецкие черти, убирайтесь отсюда!!!"
Fortunately, Oliver didn't understand Russian. By the side of the pitch, the number of security personnel had visibly increased, and they sternly separated the players from the media and fan areas. Oliver pulled his down jacket hood tighter, lowered his head, and quickly followed his teammates into the player tunnel. The tunnel was lined with high fences, separating them from the highly emotional fans, but their roars and the sound of them hitting the fences were ceaseless. Although the temperature inside the tunnel was higher, the air was filled with tension, and occasional vibrations could be felt.
Upon entering the relatively safe, spacious, and brightly lit locker room, the deafening shouts were blocked by the heavy door. The heating here was also very strong, but as the players took off their heavy coats and trousers and changed into their short-sleeved and short-trouser jerseys, many still quickly got goosebumps on their arms. The accompanying physiotherapists moved among the guys, handing out thick thermal vests or jackets to those who needed to warm up.
Nagelsmann's voice rang out in the locker room, carrying a reassuring calmness: "Alright, everyone, it's loud and cold outside. Remember my words: this is our match, don't be distracted by the noise, focus on our rhythm! Pay attention to physical confrontations and self-protection! Their home record is good, but there's nothing to fear. You have the strength to win this match!"
Nagelsmann forcefully slapped the tactics board, "Execute the plan, trust each other! Let this city remember our names!"
"Hoffenheim!" Vogt led everyone in shouting.
"Forward, always!!!" Everyone shouted back loudly.
After the shouting, Oliver felt even more excited. He vigorously rubbed his thigh muscles with his palms to get them active faster. He flexed his ankles, feeling the friction of his studs on the locker room floor, trying to adapt to his body's response in the low temperature. He glanced at Gnabry, who was adjusting his gloves nearby, and then at Hübner, who was looking down, diligently applying anti-freeze oil to his thighs. The challenge was here, right before them.
Oliver took a deep breath of the air, thick with the mixed scent of medicinal oil and sweat, his gaze refocusing, leaving only the desire and calmness for the ninety minutes of play about to begin. A difficult match, in the cold air of Moscow, was about to begin.
...
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