The day after winning the championship.
The morning in Sinsheim was filled with a festive atmosphere, more intense and purer than any previous festival. Early this morning, the streets of the small town were already packed with surging crowds, and team flags, scarves, and balloons formed a boiling ocean.
Not only residents of Sinsheim, but also media reporters from all over Germany and even Europe, carrying their cameras and lenses, squeezed into the best positions to record the glorious moment when this small village club made history.
"Hoffenheim! Champions!"
"Salad Bowl! Salad Bowl!"
"We are Bundesliga Champions!!!"
Deafening cheers rose and fell like tireless tides. An open-top double-decker bus, decorated with a huge club emblem and golden ribbons, slowly drove through the main street of the town, escorted by police cars. On the upper deck, the Hoffenheim players, dressed in brand-new championship commemorative T-shirts, beamed with uncontrollable joy and pride. The Salad Bowl and German Cup trophies shimmered with dazzling silver light in the sun, being hoisted high by the players in turn, displayed to the fervent red ocean of fans along the roads.
Each time a trophy was lifted, it triggered a thunderous response. Oliver stood among his teammates, closer to the front of the bus. He was also wearing a championship T-shirt, with a brilliant and sincere smile on his face. He vigorously waved to the fans along the road who were frantically shouting his name, responding to the chants of "Ollie! Ollie! Champion!"
When it was his turn to lift the Salad Bowl, he took a deep breath, feeling the heavy weight and cold touch of the metal trophy, then raised it high above his head! At that moment, all eyes were on him, and the cheers reached their peak. He was no longer the newcomer teenager; he was a legend of this small town, the absolute core of this team's coronation.
The bus moved slowly, and everywhere it went was a red ocean and thunderous cheers. Children rode on their fathers' shoulders, excitedly waving their small hands; white-haired elders had tears in their eyes, clapping excitedly; couples embraced, sharing the glory that belonged to the entire town.
The parade lasted the entire morning. When the bus finally returned to Rhein-Neckar Arena, the players were almost soaked in sweat, and their voices were somewhat hoarse from shouting, but the excitement and sense of satisfaction in their eyes had not diminished in the slightest.
...
The daytime clamor and glory gradually subsided, and the Rhein-Neckar Arena at night was enveloped in another, deeper and more complex emotion. Bright lights illuminated the stadium as if it were day, and the stands were packed, but the atmosphere was completely different from the daytime revelry. The air was filled with a post-celebration satisfaction, but also mixed with an indescribable sense of parting.
Fans knew that tonight's "Season-End Celebration Party," in addition to celebrating the glory of the double, had an unavoidable theme—farewell. Oliver's departure from Hoffenheim, and even from Bundesliga, was no longer a secret. The party proceeded according to the program. Club President Hopp delivered an enthusiastic speech, reviewthis dream-like season, thanking the players, Coach, staff, and all the loyal fans.
The Salad Bowl and German Cup trophies were once again brought to the center of the stage, shining brightly under the spotlights, eliciting thunderous applause and cheers from the entire stadium. Players went on stage one by one to receive tributes from fans and share the joy of winning the championship.
However, as the program neared its end and the host picked up the microphone again, the entire stadium gradually quieted down. An unspoken understanding flowed in the air. Everyone knew that the moment was about to arrive.
"Now," the host's voice was filled with emotion, "Let us turn the stage over to a special player. He came from England, but on the land of Sinsheim, he wrote a legendary chapter that belongs to him, and to all of us. He is the Champions League top scorer, the Bundesliga top scorer, he is our always reliable finisher, he is our Hoffenheim's—number 17, Oliver!"
The spotlight instantly focused on the stage entrance. Oliver's figure appeared there. He was wearing that familiar, brand-new blue and white home number 17 jersey. This attire instantly moved all the fans in the stadium, erupting in the longest and most enthusiastic applause of the night! It was endless!
Nagelsmann, President Hopp, Director Rosen, and other high-ranking officials, dressed in formal wear, as well as all the players in their jerseys sitting in the front row, all stood up and applauded at this moment. Nagelsmann watched his disciple walk towards the center of the stage, his eyes complex, filled with pride, relief, and even deeper reluctance to part. Oliver walked to the center of the stage and took the microphone. He looked around at the packed stands, at the faces, some familiar, some unfamiliar, all filled with love and reluctance. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil in his heart. The applause gradually subsided, and the entire stadium was left with only expectant gazes.
"Good evening, Sinsheim," Oliver began, his voice clear through the microphone, reaching every corner of the stadium. "Thank you everyone, thank you for coming here tonight to celebrate this incredible season with us."
As he spoke, his gaze swept over the club's high-ranking officials, coaching staff, and teammates in the front row below the stage.
"First, I want to say that standing here and sharing the glory of the championship with everyone is one of the greatest honors of my life." His voice gradually steadied, filled with heartfelt gratitude, "This season, for me, and for Hoffenheim, has been like a dream, the most beautiful dream woven from sweat, tears, struggle, and countless sleepless nights."
His gaze turned to the presidential box: "President Hopp, Director Rosen, my Coach, thank you. Thank you for choosing to believe in an unknown 17-year-old from England that summer, giving him an opportunity to prove himself in the Bundesliga, and in the Champions League. Without your trust and the platform you provided, I wouldn't be who I am today. Hoffenheim's foresight and courage will always inspire my admiration."
Then, his gaze shifted to the coaching bench, landing on Nagelsmann. Their eyes met in the air, as if countless memories and emotions flowed silently between them.
"Coach Nagelsmann," Oliver's voice was clearly moved,
"You are the most important guide in my professional career. It was you who taught me how to think, run, and fight on the highest level stage. It was you who gave me unparalleled trust and freedom, allowing me to fully express myself. It was you who tolerated and guided me during my most difficult, most confused, and even most reckless times." He paused, his voice choked with emotion,
"After that night at the Bernabéu, in the hospital, I will never forget what you told me. You taught me not only football tactics, but also how to become a better person, a person who understands responsibility and accountability. Thank you, Coach! Thank you so much!"
Nagelsmann sat below the stage, his eyes instantly red. He tightly pressed his lips together, suppressing his surging emotions as he applauded, nodding vigorously at his beloved disciple on stage. Oliver's gaze turned to his teammates beside him:
"And you, my brothers! Gnabry, Amiri, Grillitsch, De Jong, Maguire, Vogt, Uth, Baumann, Kaderabek, Schulz, Kramarić, Nordtveit, Akpoguma, Demirbay, Ochs…" Oliver finished reciting the names of all 26 other first-team members besides himself; he remembered every single one of them.
"We sweated together, bled together, laughed together in the locker room, competed together on the training ground, gritted our teeth together in desperate situations, and celebrated wildly together after victories! The last-minute winner at Anfield, lifting the trophy at the Allianz Arena…
Every moment became so precious and irreplaceable because you were by my side! You are my best brothers! You are my most trusted support on the field! Thank you! Being able to fight alongside you, and lift the Salad Bowl and German Cup together, is the proudest thing in my life!"
Grillitsch and Amiri sat below the stage, their eyes already moist, they clapped vigorously, giving Oliver a thumbs up on stage. Other teammates were also moved, and the applause grew even warmer. Finally, Oliver's gaze once again turned to the stands, looking at that ocean of fans:
"Lastly, and most importantly, thank you, all Hoffenheim fans! Thank you for every cheer at the Rhein-Neckar Arena! Thank you for every follow on away games! Thank you for your support during low points! Thank you for your celebration during peak moments! It is your passion, your loyalty, your unconditional love that has given us endless strength! You are the team's strongest backing! You are the true soul of Hoffenheim! Being able to fight for you, and bring you the glory of the championship, is my greatest honor!!!"
Oliver's voice was choked with emotion, but every word was clear and powerful, filled with genuine feeling. As his voice fell, he bowed deeply to the stands in every direction. The entire stadium erupted in thunderous applause!
Mixed with shouts of "Ollie! Danke!" and even many fans were so moved that they shed tears.
This applause was an affirmation of his contributions, a blessing for his farewell, and even more, a response to his sincere confession. The applause gradually subsided, but the emotion of parting had already spread. The host timely announced: "Now, let us use the warmest embrace to bid our eternal number 17 a fond farewell!"
The host motioned for the teammates to come onto the stage. The first to come up was Gnabry. This winger, known for his speed and passion, now had red eyes. He hugged Oliver tightly, his voice choked: "Brother… take care! When you go to London, be just as fierce, or even fiercer, I'll be watching your games!"
Oliver hugged him back tightly, patting his back: "You too, Serge, I hope you also become fiercer and fiercer!"
Amiri followed close behind, he was relatively more reserved, but his eyes were also moist.
He tightly gripped Oliver's hand, his voice low and sincere: "Ollie, you are the best partner I've ever had, bar none, take care! At Arsenal… bring back a championship for us to see!"
Then came De Jong, Maguire, Vogt, Uth, Baumann… every teammate who had fought alongside him came onto the stage, embracing Oliver tightly and offering their blessings. Someone clapped him on the shoulder, someone ruffled his hair, some offered words of encouragement, while others simply embraced him tightly—everything was understood without words. Each hug was filled with camaraderie and reluctance to part.
Finally, Nagelsmann stepped onto the stage. Unlike the others, he didn't immediately embrace Oliver; instead, he stood before him, looking deeply into his eyes for a few seconds. In the young Coach's eyes, there was pride, relief, the sadness of parting, and an infinite expectation for his disciple's future. He opened his arms and gave Oliver a solid hug, patting him firmly on the shoulder.
"Ollie," Nagelsmann's voice was low and solemn, "You've grown up, truly grown up. From that kid who buried himself in hard training on the practice field, to the superstar now standing at the pinnacle of Europe… I am incredibly proud of you."
Nagelsmann paused, as if he had a thousand words to say.
But in the end, they transformed into the simplest words:
"Ollie, London is a big stage, Arsenal is a great team, and Professor Wenger is a legendary mentor. Go there, unleash your talent, win more championships, and conquer a broader world. Remember, no matter where you go, no matter how glorious your achievements, Sinsheim, Rhein-Neckar Arena, will always be your home. No matter where you are in the future, every one here will cheer for you! Be proud of you! Continue to showcase your talent on the next stage."
Oliver nodded vigorously, tears finally streaming down his face uncontrollably: "I promise you, Coach! I will!"
The farewell ceremony ended. According to the procedure, after the party, a family photo of the Hoffenheim 2017/18 double-winning squad was to be taken. As arranged by the photographer and desired by the players. Nagelsmann sat in the central C-position of the first row.
To his left was Captain Vogt. To his right, a space was left empty. Oliver, surrounded by his teammates, walked over and sat down in his designated spot. Behind and around them were Grillitsch, Amiri, Gnabry, De Jong, Maguire, Uth, Baumann, and all the other brothers who had fought side by side.
The photographer pressed the shutter. The flash lit up, freezing this unforgettable moment. This photo, both now and in the future, will become one of the most precious images in Hoffenheim's history. The photo was titled [Hoffenheim's New Miracle].
This photo recorded the glorious peak of a small-town team, and also the moment a talented young man embarked on his journey from here.
The party dispersed. The clamor faded, and the stadium gradually returned to tranquility. Oliver returned to the locker room alone, changed out of the No. 17 jersey that carried countless honors and memories, carefully folded it, and put it into his backpack. He slung his bag over his shoulder, walked out of the locker room, and headed towards the players' dormitory.
Back in the dormitory, he set down his backpack.
He habitually reached into the side pocket of his backpack to check if he had forgotten anything, but his hand touched a thick, square object. This was neither a phone nor a wallet. He hadn't noticed this side pocket before and only discovered it now.
Oliver took it out, puzzled. It was a thick, unmarked kraft paper envelope. He sat down on the bed and curiously opened the envelope; there was no letter paper inside, only a thick stack of photos and a folded letter. He unfolded the letter first. This letter was handwritten, with varying penmanship, clearly written by multiple people.
[Dear Ollie:
By the time you read this letter, we guys have probably already returned to our rooms, or gone to the bar for tonight's 'farewell drink' (don't worry, we didn't invite you because we know you have an early flight tomorrow). But we feel there are some things we still want to tell you this way.
First of all, congratulations, brother! Bundesliga champion! German Cup champion! Double Golden Boot winner! Champions League semi-finalist! You were an absolute monster this season! But we love you, you monster!
To be honest, at the beginning of the season, when we first heard the club signed a 17-year-old kid, and even that he was going straight to the first team, us old-timers were a bit skeptical. We thought: Where did this little brat come from? Can he even do it?
And what happened? In your first training session, you made Serge completely lost (Serge insisted we add this line)!
You scored in your first official match! And then… you were unstoppable! You led us, defeating Liverpool, Dortmund, Bayern, Manchester City, Real Madrid (although we lost in the end, we all felt you won), and finally brought back both the salad bowl and the German Cup! It was like a dream! And all of this, without you, Ollie, would absolutely not have been possible! We remember you were a bit reserved when you first arrived, but now, you're the life of the locker room, our core, our reliance! You would bleed and fight for the team (that night at Bernabéu really scared us to death!), and you would stay after training to practice free kicks until dark.
You are a genius, but you work harder than anyone, which is why we all respect you! Now, you're leaving. To London, to Arsenal, to a bigger stage.
Honestly, we're really going to miss you; the locker room will definitely be much quieter without you. The training ground will also be less fun without your frequent Aikido movements. But we all understand that this is what you deserve! You belong on a bigger stage! Professor Wenger is a good Coach, Arsenal is a great team, and we believe you will continue to shine there and win more championships!
Kid, don't worry about us. Hoffenheim will continue to move forward! The Coach will lead us, and our new brothers, to keep fighting! We will protect the salad bowl you helped us win back, and we will ensure that Rhein-Neckar Arena continues to be a nightmare for opponents! Finally, remember: no matter where you go, no matter which club's jersey you wear, Hoffenheim will always be your home!
The locker room here will always have a place for you! Us bros here will always be your besties!
Go, Ollie, conquer the Premier League! Conquer the Champions League! Let the whole world remember your name! We will be in Sinsheim, cheering for your every goal! Applauding your every victory!
Always your brothers, all Hoffenheim players & Julian Nagelsmann.]
At the end of the letter were densely packed signatures:
Grillitsch, Amiri, Gnabry, De Jong, Maguire, Vogt, Uth, Baumann, Kaderabek, Schulz, Nordtveit…
All the players' names were on it. Finally, there was a flamboyant signature:
[J. Nagelsmann]
After reading the letter, Oliver's vision instantly blurred. Then, with trembling hands, he picked up the thick stack of photos beneath the letter. The first one: taken on the training ground, he, Grillitsch, and Amiri had their arms around each other, making funny faces at the camera, sunlight spilling onto their sweaty faces, their smiles carefree and bright.
The second one: after defeating Liverpool, a champagne battle in the locker room, he was sandwiched between Amiri and Uth, soaked to the bone, foam in his hair, yet he smiled like a child.
The third one: in an old restaurant, he and his teammates sat around a table piled with plates, he was stuffing a large piece of meat into his mouth, while Gnabry next to him pointed at him and laughed loudly.
The fourth one: in a quiet corner of the library, Oliver wore casual clothes, thick textbooks and notebooks spread before him, his brows slightly furrowed, his expression focused, the lingering glow of the setting sun outside the window falling upon him.
The fifth one: after qualifying from the Champions League group stage with a perfect record, the entire team celebrated wildly in the locker room, he was tossed high by his teammates, his face filled with ecstasy and excitement.
The sixth one: after a League victory, he and Nagelsmann high-fived on the sidelines in celebration, the Coach's hand firmly slapping his palm, both their faces showing smiles of relief.
...
Some of these photos were taken by teammates, others by reporters. They all documented Oliver's journey from a raw, young teenager to becoming the team's core, little by little. The sweat of fighting side by side, the wild celebrations after victories, the toil and exhaustion during training, the playful antics off the field, the persistence of studying late into the night…
All memories of Hoffenheim surged like a tide, instantly filling his heart. He looked at the familiar faces in the photos, the moments they had shared, and his lips involuntarily curled into a warm smile. As he smiled, his eyes grew warmer, and his vision became increasingly blurred. All the warmth, emotion, and reluctance to part broke through his last line of defense. Tears, finally uncontrollable, streamed from his eyes, sliding down his cheeks and dripping onto the photos in his hands.
Oliver didn't wipe them away, letting them flow freely. He flipped through the photos one by one, sometimes grinning foolishly, sometimes feeling a pang in his nose. On this quiet night, in this place he was about to bid farewell to, he was alone, crying and laughing at these photos carrying countless memories and that letter full of camaraderie. The quiet of the night in the small town was such that every sound could be heard.
From Oliver's dormitory, his low sobs and the rustling sound of turning photos could be heard. Tears blurred the bright smiles on the photos, yet they made that warmth of Hoffenheim, that warmth of home, even clearer and hotter in his heart. No matter where Oliver's future takes him, this land, these brothers who fought alongside him, and this Coach who was both a mentor and a friend, will be the warmest, most precious starting point and an eternal haven in his football career.
...
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