The match began. From the kickoff, Moscow Spartak, as expected, deployed a solid 5-4-1 defensive block in their backfield, aiming to compress space. Facing a dense central defensive line, Hoffenheim opted for a strategy of patient maneuvering. Their goal was clear: to firmly control the pace of the game and avoid being dragged into a brutal physical battle by their opponents.
"Maintain distance! Three lines compact!" Captain Vogt's roar cut through the noisy background, clearly reaching every teammate.
Left-back Schulz, like a cheetah receiving an order, immediately surged forward, forming a highly threatening overlapping attack with Gnabry on the left side. On the right, Oliver did not rush deep, but instead frequently roamed horizontally in the opponent's half, in the right flank. Every seemingly casual touch and run he made pulled at Spartak's defensive chain. Right-back Kaderabek, understanding perfectly, rhythmically surged forward under Oliver's cover, maintaining the width and tension of the attacking line. Hoffenheim's three lines danced in perfect sync on the winter turf, maintaining precise spacing.
When opposing forward Fernando initiated an aggressive harassment near the center circle, Hoffenheim was already prepared. Vogt took a step back, forming a triangular safe passing structure with the equally flexible Geiger and Demirbay. Possession quickly shifted between the defensive midfielder and center-backs, evading Fernando's pressure, and slowly advanced the formation forward. Oliver would often drop back to the vicinity of the center circle to receive the ball; he didn't hold the ball in the center, touching it once to pass to a better-positioned teammate, then immediately turning and surging forward, his sharp eyes scanning every gap in the opponent's defense.
In the 18th minute, Oliver received a diagonal pass from Demirbay on the right flank, but instead of attempting a forceful breakthrough, he calmly controlled the ball and cut inside. This instantly drew a pincer movement from the opposing full-back Kombarov and center-back Dzhikiya! Just as the two converged, Oliver's body shifted ever so slightly to the left, drawing more attention from the opponent Dzhikiya. However, his left foot precisely sliced the ball along the turf into the wide-open space on the flank, which was completely unmarked! Kaderabek, like a coiled spring, galloped forward with long strides, and without any adjustment, swept a low cross towards the goal! The ball traveled extremely fast, and Szalai, who was charging at the near post, lunged for a shot, but unfortunately, the angle was too central, and it was instinctively blocked by goalkeeper Selikhov's leg! A collective gasp and shouts of relief erupted from the stands.
"That was a great chance, but Oliver's initiation was excellent; he can see the position of every teammate!" the Commentator said.
"Adrian, mind the wing!" The Spartak Coach waved his arms agitatedly on the sidelines, pointing to the flank area that Oliver had just easily torn apart.
After the middle of the first half, Hoffenheim's attacking focus subtly shifted to the right under Oliver's perceptive vision. Nagelsmann's targeted demolition tactic signal was conveyed to every player on the field. Gnabry on the left began to dribble and draw defenders more, repeatedly overpowering Spartak's right-back Yeshchenko, gradually pulling the entire Spartak defensive line's Center of Gravity towards Hoffenheim's left. The space in their right flank was repeatedly torn open and expanded.
"Amiri, right flank!" Oliver shouted instantly, catching a momentary leftward shift in the opponent's defensive line during a transition, simultaneously gesturing to Amiri in the center.
Amiri understood, giving up part of his deep retreat to receive the ball, and began to frequently make sudden runs into the open space between the opponent's right-back and right center-back. This created wave after wave of layered attacks with Oliver, who was operating between the wing and the center.
In the 38th minute, Gnabry's sprint and aggressive pressing on the left side of midfield forced a fatal error from Spartak's midfield general Glushakov. Demirbay reacted with lightning speed, like a precise scalpel; after winning the ball, he didn't even pause to adjust, sending out an incredibly incisive through ball! The target was directly at the weakest link in the opponent's defense, the area between right-back Kombarov and the center-back! This pass sailed over the defenders' heads, bouncing precisely into Oliver's surging path!
At this moment, only Kombarov, who was retreating, stood in front of Oliver! He showed no panic, even confirming with his peripheral vision that the inside covering defender was still far away. He made an extremely subtle fake dip of his right shoulder, as if to force a breakthrough to the byline. Kombarov's center of gravity shifted slightly outwards by half a step! Just this half-step of space was enough! Oliver decisively pulled the ball back with his right foot! The movement was small, but the timing and speed were perfectly executed! The ball rolled through the gap where Kombarov attempted to intercept with his leg. This first touch had already beaten his opponent, but Oliver did not hesitate, immediately following up with a push outwards with his left foot! Another fluid move, like a "roulette"!
Instantly, he shook off the stumbling Kombarov who was chasing back and the left center-back Bocchetti who rushed in to cover! In a flash, Oliver was already facing the goal from near the edge of the six-yard box. He didn't even look up at the goalkeeper's position, driven purely by instinct, he swept the ball with the inside of his left foot towards the near bottom corner of the goal! The ball skimmed the cold turf, rapidly passing through the outstretched arm of goalkeeper Selikhov, who had rushed out to block, and crashed into the near corner of the net!
1-0!
A moment of suffocating silence fell over the entire Luzhniki Stadium, followed by an explosion of long-suppressed cheers from the hundreds of Hoffenheim away fans in the guest stands!
"The Terminator, Oliver!!!!"
"Oliver, Hero Oliver!!!"
Oliver calmly turned and ran towards the sideline to celebrate, pointing his finger to his temple; this was his new celebration.
"Perfect reading! Perfect execution! This is a targeted strike!" The German television Commentator shouted excitedly, "Look at Kombarov's desperate eyes; he and his defense were instantly dismembered by a young man with unparalleled football IQ and skill! Hoffenheim's prodigy seized the fatal weakness!"
The halftime whistle blew shortly after, and the Hoffenheim players ran towards the tunnel, patting each other on the shoulders and backs.Nagelsmann didn't say much in the locker room at halftime; he simply re-emphasized defensive solidity, transition efficiency, and self-protection.
In the second half, the storm arrived faster and more fiercely than expected; less than five minutes after the kickoff, Moscow Spartak had already made an aggressive formation change, to a 3-5-2! Attacking midfielder Promes moved up to the forward line, and dribbling expert Samedov shifted to the wing. The entire formation, like a beast with its jaws wide open, surged forward with a do-or-die spirit! The pressure instantly crashed down on Hoffenheim's backfield like Mount Tai.
"Demirbay! Drop back!" Captain Vogt roared urgently.
Demirbay did not hesitate, immediately dropping back between Hübner and Vogt, forming a temporary three-center-back system. Gnabry also received clear instructions; he dropped back significantly to the left defensive midfield position, assisting full-back Schulz in tightly marking the highly impactful Samedov. Spartak's siege was like a tide, wave after wave. High-intensity physical confrontations and fierce tackles filled every corner of the pitch. Nagelsmann on the bench frowned deeply, leaning slightly forward, his fingertips unconsciously tapping the tactics board due to tension. Just when the home team seemed about to completely overwhelm Hoffenheim, Nagelsmann's emphasized transition efficiency was transformed into a sharp blade by Amiri and Oliver themselves!
In the 56th minute, Amiri, in a fierce midfield scramble, wrested the ball back from Fernando's feet! He even disregarded the fierce slide tackle from an opposing player nearby, stumbled for a moment, then instantly rebalanced himself with his desire for victory and excellent balance. He carried the ball like an arrow shot from a bow, surging forward like lightning through the center! Spartak's players, having pushed up in large numbers, exposed a huge void in their backfield. Right center-back Bocchetti was forced to leave the area he should have been guarding, rushing towards the rapidly advancing Amiri, attempting to block him with his body!
Just as Bocchetti was about to collide with Amiri at a critical moment, Amiri saw Oliver waving high. He decided to play a diagonal through ball! The ball, as precise as in training, skimmed the turf, tracing a tricky arc, just barely clearing Spartak's remaining defensive line. It drilled into that fatal, unmarked open space on the right flank.
"Great ball! Amiri!" Nagelsmann roared!
Oliver accelerated. He had been observing Amiri's movements, and as Amiri made the decision to pass diagonally, Oliver had already sprung out like a cheetah! This was perfect timing for an offside trap! Without any delay! He penetrated the opponent's defense like a ghost, and as Bocchetti looked back, Oliver received the exquisite pass on the right edge of the penalty area. He even had time for a calm touch and adjustment, a testament to his absolute control of the rhythm. At this moment, Spartak's goalkeeper Selikhov was somewhat hesitant due to the sudden counterattack, his positioning slightly closer to the near post. It was this fraction of a second opportunity! Oliver took one touch, adjusted his stride, his eyes fixed on the far post.
His right leg tensed and powered up! The inside of his foot calmly pushed a low, high-speed shot!
Goalkeeper Selikhov desperately moved his body to the left, stretching his arm to its maximum length! His fingertips even grazed the cold air!
The ball skimmed the inside of the post, rolling with absolute precision into the far corner of the net.
2-0!
This goal was like a bucket of ice water, completely extinguishing the flames of Spartak's comeback that had just ignited in Luzhniki Stadium.
The Commentator said with incredible emotion: "A textbook counter-attack! Amiri pushed to break the deadlock, and Oliver calmly finished! Hoffenheim's counter-attacking efficiency is chilling! Oliver's attack is too sharp!!!"
Nagelsmann directly took over Oliver's knee slide celebration on the sidelines. The blow of being two goals down had a snowball effect, completely destroying the psychological defense of the Spartak players. The formation inevitably became disjointed over a large area, and center-back Dzhikiya's mentality was clearly unbalanced. He even began to blindly surge forward to participate in the attack, completely ignoring the increasingly large spatial gaps behind him, like a gambler who had lost control. Hoffenheim's wolves keenly smelled the scent of their prey's blood loss.
In the 68th minute, this attack originated from the left flank. Schulz's overlapping cross was barely blocked by an opposing defender, and Gnabry cleverly intercepted the falling ball. Facing the rushing defender, he didn't force it, but cleverly cut horizontally inside! This move somewhat disrupted the entire defensive formation. He caught a glimpse of the surging Geiger out of the corner of his eye, and the two implicitly executed a wall pass. When Gnabry received the ball again, he had already cut into the penalty area! Without adjustment, facing goalkeeper Selikhov, who still had a slight angle, he directly blasted a shot with his left foot into the top corner of the goal!
"Bang!"
3-0!
Unstoppable! Spartak's collapse was now visible to the naked eye.
In the 72nd minute, Hoffenheim controlled the ball in their own half; Spartak players seemed to have been drained of their spirit. Vogt calmly received the ball one step behind the center circle, looked up, and unhesitatingly delivered a precise diagonal long pass. The target was directly the right flank! This time, the receiver was Oliver. With his back to the goal, at the right corner of Spartak's penalty area, he firmly held off Bocchetti, who was struggling to track back, with his body. Bocchetti tried to pull and interfere, but Oliver's core strength kept him rock-solid in the confrontation. Just as Bocchetti put all his effort into steadying himself and preparing to prevent Oliver from turning...
Oliver moved. He didn't even fully turn his body to face the goal. Relying solely on his excellent core strength and anticipation, Oliver leveraged that minuscule time difference when Bochetti shifted his weight back. As he sharply half-turned his left foot backward, he skillfully flicked the ball inward with the outside of his left foot! The entire movement was as fluid as flowing water and drifting clouds! Bochetti's leg extension was half a beat late. He had tried his best, but could only watch helplessly as Oliver slipped past him. Oliver adjusted his stride and immediately burst into the right side of the top of the penalty arc!
At this moment, several Moscow Spartak players were frantically chasing back, but it was already too late. Oliver's gaze fell on the goal; the near post area seemed to be blocked by goalkeeper Selikhov and some retreating defenders. This space was enough! He lifted his left foot, drawing a beautiful and unparalleled human arc! The ball, like a precisely guided cruise missile, bypassed the interference of the wall and flew directly into the top left corner of the goal. Selikhov, whose vision was obscured, was too late to make a save!
"4-0! A hat-trick! Oh my God! Oliver! This is Oliver's second hat-trick! He is the first player in Champions League group stage history to score a hat-trick in two consecutive matches!" The Commentator's voice was completely drowned out by the frenzied celebration.
The bright red 4-0 on the giant electronic scoreboard completely shattered the last shred of reason. Despair spread like a plague in the eyes of the Moscow Spartak players, followed by an uncontrollable surge of violence.
In the 82nd minute, Hoffenheim quickly counterattacked after winning the ball back in midfield. Oliver received the ball on the right wing; at this point, Moscow Spartak's defenders were completely dazed, and their defensive line was in shambles. Oliver easily carried the ball forward to the right edge of the big penalty area. He used his eyes to deceive the left center-back Tasci, who was marking him, faked a cross to the byline, then quickly pulled the ball back with his left foot and delivered a low, inverted triangle pass. The ball speed was not fast, but it passed through several retreating defenders in the middle and the confused goalkeeper! Szalai, the striker who arrived just in time in the middle, faced an open goal and easily pushed the ball into the net!
5-0!
However, just in the moment of celebration after the goal, as Oliver was carrying the ball and preparing to return to his own half to participate in defense, an unexpected change occurred!
"Careful!!! Oliver!!!" Nagelsmann's pupils suddenly constricted, and he roared in alarm from the sideline!
Too late!
Tasci, whom he had just passed, charged over from the side-rear like an out-of-control locomotive!
He leaped high, not aiming for the ball, but using his shoulder and arm to deliver a solid, incredibly fierce blow to Oliver's unprotected ribs!
"Ugh!" Oliver felt an irresistible force smash hard into his left ribs; the intense pain instantly made his vision go black, his body completely lost balance, and he flew into the air like a broken puppet, crashing heavily onto the cold, hard artificial turf!
"Thud!" A dull thud echoed.
Oliver's body instantly lost balance, and he fell heavily to the ground like a felled tree.
"Damn it!!!" Gnabry's eyes were bloodshot!
He was the closest and saw it most clearly.
It looked like a tackle, but it definitely wasn't; it was blatant retaliation!
He was the first to rush over!
Szalai had already run to his position, but hearing the cry, he turned back and saw this scene, then furiously ran towards the perpetrator, giving a hard shove to Tasci, who stood frozen in place.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Vogt, as the Captain, was already enraged, and he, along with Amiri, Demirbay, and others, instantly surrounded Tasci.
The scene instantly turned chaotic!
Players from both sides were entangled, pushing and cursing! A piercing whistle shrieked, and the referee desperately rushed into the crowd, unhesitatingly showing a yellow card to Tasci. This was Moscow Spartak's third yellow card from their frantic appeals! Nagelsmann's heart was in his throat!
He immediately turned to the bench and roared, "Ochs! Quick! Get ready to come on, replace Oliver!" His face was ashen, and at the same time, he looked anxiously towards the field, praying that his beloved disciple was alright. Oliver lay on the ground, curled up, his right hand tightly clutching his right ribs. The severe pain made him frown deeply, breathing heavily, his face pale.
"How are you? Oliver, where does it hurt? Is it your right ribs?" The team doctor had rushed onto the field immediately, and Gnabry and Szalai also knelt beside Oliver, asking anxiously.
Oliver endured the pain, waved his hand, and managed to squeeze out a few words: "...Rib...ribs...a little pain...it should be nothing serious..."
The team doctor quickly examined him. Fortunately, although Tasci's tackle was fierce, the angle and point of impact were not particularly malicious. Oliver's relatively resilient physique and his subconscious slight evasive movement played a protective role. After an examination, the team doctor indicated that there was no immediate danger, and his ribs were fine, but the soft tissue outside the ribs was definitely bruised and he needed to be substituted for protection. Nagelsmann immediately replaced Oliver with the young Ochs.
The moment the substitution board went up, Nagelsmann personally ran to the sideline, and as Oliver was being helped off the field, he tightly grasped his hand, his eyes filled with concern and tension: "Oliver, are you really okay? Are you sure?" He repeatedly confirmed, while gently patting Oliver's back to help him catch his breath.
"I'm really fine, Coach... Hiss... It's just... my ribs hurt a bit." Oliver moved his right arm, which pulled on the injured soft tissue.
"Damn it, what a bunch of barbaric players! Oliver, sit down properly. You must get a comprehensive physical examination when we get back." Nagelsmann, seeing his disciple cry out in pain, uncharacteristically swore.
Nagelsmann only slightly relaxed after receiving a reassuring look from Oliver, but he still patted his shoulder worriedly. Oliver was arranged to sit on the bench and immediately wrapped himself in a thick down jacket to keep warm.
For the remaining few minutes, Nagelsmann decisively changed to a five-man defense to stabilize the situation: Hübner moved to the left, forming a three-man central defense with Vogt and Schulz, Kaderabek dropped back to right wing-back, and holding midfielders Ochs and Amiri conducted safe horizontal passes and ball control in midfield to run down the clock.
Moscow Spartak's spirit had been completely shattered, and they seemed to have lost even the strength to foul. The match drew to a close with round after round of safe passing. On Hoffenheim's bench and in the away stand, everyone's eyes were focused on the 17-year-old boy sitting on the sideline, wrapped in a thick coat.
The cold wind at Luzhniki Stadium was still biting; although Oliver had suffered a minor injury, he was still very happy that the team had secured the three points.
The final whistle blew, and Hoffenheim won by a large margin.
On the bench, Oliver also stood up abruptly at the sound of the final whistle; he couldn't help but want to celebrate with the team.
But the moment he stood up, the place where he was struck on his right ribs still throbbed faintly, causing him to suck in a cold breath, his brows slightly furrowed.
"Hiss... Ah..."
But this brief pain was instantly washed away by the immense joy and satisfaction that swept through his entire body, leaving no trace.
The Hoffenheim players did not immediately rush towards the wildly celebrating fan stand; instead, they all turned around. They rushed towards the figure sitting quietly on a plastic chair, wrapped in a thick down jacket. Gnabry was the first to reach Oliver, his face still flushed with the excitement of the goal, but his eyes were full of concern.
He had intended to pat Oliver's shoulder in celebration, but his hand stopped halfway, and he carefully changed to supporting his elbow: "Oh my God! That looked really painful! Are you sure you're okay?"
"Oliver, what did the doctor just say? Did the ribs get hit to the bone?" Amiri bent over, looking at Oliver, his brows tightly knit.
The joy of winning the match was now completely replaced by worry.
Szalai even squatted down directly, carefully looking at the right rib area Oliver was clutching: "That dog... that bastard was too dirty! How do you feel, Oliver? Is your breathing smooth? If it hurts badly, don't try to bear it!"
Szalai refrained from saying the word "son of a bitch."mDemirbay, Kaderabek, Schulz, and even goalkeeper Baumann, all the players on the field, gathered around.mThe spirit of unity in the locker room, facing a tough battle together, extended to the moment of victory on the field, only now the goal had become protecting their injured core. Everyone's movements were deliberately gentle and careful; pats on the back and handshakes automatically avoided Oliver's injured right side.
Geiger only dared to gently touch Oliver's uninjured left shoulder, whispering, "A hat-trick and an assist, Oliver, you're a hero, but you really scared us to death."
"I'm really fine, guys, just a minor injury," Oliver tried to make his voice sound lighthearted, even though the dull pain in his ribs continued to irritate his nerves.
He looked at the faces surrounding him, each filled with concern and the joy of victory; his fatigue was covered by a deeper warmth.
"Alright, don't all crowd around me. We won! We won! That's five goals!" Oliver raised his voice slightly, trying to shift his teammates' focus from himself to this exhilarating big win.
His words slightly eased the tense atmosphere, and smiles of relief appeared on everyone's faces; this was probably the unspoken understanding between men.
"Quiet! Quiet! Don't push!" Nagelsmann's voice sounded, with a hint of urgency.
Nagelsmann squeezed through the crowd, like a protective mother hen. He waved for the players to step back a bit: "Give Oliver some space! He took an impact, he needs fresh air! Be gentle with your movements! Don't touch his injured spot!"
While warning the players, he personally bent down and carefully scrutinized Oliver's complexion: "Let me confirm again, young man, is your breathing okay? No nausea or other feelings?"
Oliver looked at his mentor's undisguised tension and concern, and a warm current flowed through him.
"I'm really fine, Coach, it just hurt a lot when I was hit, but it's much better now. My bones are fine, really fine."
Only then did Nagelsmann let out a long sigh of relief, his expression of profound relief overshadowing the excitement of victory.
He mumbled in a voice only the two of them could hear, "These Caucasian bastards... luckily you're tough enough..."
Then he straightened up, his face returning to its usual composure, but with a warmth greater than ever before.
"Alright, lads, you played very, very well today! You overcame the cold, the pitch, and all difficulties! Oliver laid the foundation for our victory," he specifically looked at Oliver,
"Everyone protected the fruits of victory! This is a true team! Now, go thank our fans! They deserve the best cheers! And then! Hurry up, back to the locker room, we can't let Oliver catch cold out here for too long!"
The players understood and dispersed, walking orderly towards the stands, applauding, bowing, and waving to the sea of white that had cheered for them throughout the match. But their peripheral vision still occasionally scanned towards the figure surrounded by the Coach and team doctor, preparing to leave the field early. Under the protection of the assistant Coach and team doctor, Oliver left the field early, walking towards the players' tunnel. With every step, a slight pulling pain in his ribs clearly reminded Oliver how hard-won this arduous yet exhilarating victory was.
...
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