Chapter Twelve: You May Fail, But You Must Not Be Defeated

The current situation has brought immense joy to the Bielefeld supporters. It was reminiscent of the match Momo watched before his transmigration, when Tottenham faced Manchester United—except that in that match, Tottenham scored three goals in the seventieth minute, while Bielefeld had already netted three at the very start. It now seemed inevitable that Hannover 96 would have to accept defeat.

This season, Hannover 96 had been prolific in front of goal; by the thirty-second round of the Bundesliga 2, they had scored 82 goals, with 47 at home and 35 away. Defensively, counting the three goals just conceded, their total goals against stood at 35—11 at home, 23 on the road—making them the team with the fewest goals conceded at home in the league. Mainz, meanwhile, had the lowest number of away goals conceded, with 16, and now held second place in the league.

This explained why Hannover 96 had taken their trip to Bielefeld’s Alm Stadium so seriously. Of the 11 goals they had conceded at home so far, Bielefeld had scored four—more than a third of the total. As for results, Hannover 96 had lost only twice so far this season: once to Frankfurt, where Yang Chen scored twice, and once 4-2 away to Bochum. In the first round, Frankfurt had been held 1-1 at home by Hannover 96, while Bochum had lost 2-0 away to Hannover.

Only Bielefeld had managed to trample Hannover 96’s pride on their own soil, storming the AWD Arena with four goals. Now, Hannover 96 came to Alm Stadium and were again suppressed by three goals. Stumbling twice in the Bundesliga 2, if they failed to change, even winning the league would carry a stain of shame for Hannover 96.

“What a magical goal! Is this some kind of curse against Hannover 96 whenever they restart play? I think their number 30 striker, Karl, must be feeling traumatized right now!”

During the second kickoff, number 30 Karl played the first pass to number 10, Freddy Bobic, before running to the side. Freddy Bobic dribbled forward and, as number 5 midfielder Kauf closed in, passed back to Karl just as the two were about to make contact, aiming for a one-two.

But Karl’s position was poor; he was pinned down by number 44, central midfielder Borges. Although Karl was much bigger and stronger than Borges, he hurriedly returned the ball to Freddy Bobic—a hospital pass, a dangerous ball that put his teammate at risk of a foul or injury, and if left unchecked, would likely be intercepted for a counterattack.

The pain of the last conceded goal was still fresh. Kauf was right beside Freddy Bobic, and contact was inevitable. Kauf used his physical advantage to shove Freddy Bobic to the ground, and it looked serious—Bobic lay there for a long time without getting up.

At this critical moment, an essential rule came into play. Unless the referee blew his whistle, the game continued, no matter what happened. The Hannover 96 players kept glancing at the referee, wondering if he would stop play, but Kauf had already sent a piercing pass through the midfield, delivering the ball precisely to Wichniarek’s feet.

The referee signaled advantage and play continued. Trouble brewed. Number 10 Wichniarek broke into the box, followed closely by number 23, Wisik. The Hannover 96 goalkeeper rushed out furiously. As the keeper lunged at the ball like a starving tiger, Wichniarek softly flicked it diagonally behind him. Wisik fired into the empty net—no question about it.

There was no offside; it was a beautiful goal. (If a pass is played to a teammate who is level or behind, it’s not offside; only if he’s ahead.) Bielefeld led Hannover 96 by three goals to none.

“Before the match, I doubt anyone expected such a result. But finally, the player we’ve been waiting for—Momo—gets his chance. He’s coming on for—wait, number 10, Freddy Bobic?”

Freddy Bobic moved slowly toward the sideline, refusing any help. Peter Neururer’s face was grim; he had intended to take off Karl and pair Bobic with Momo up front. Karl was just back from injury, and now Bobic, in his first game after recovery, was hurt again! Neururer felt as if the world was conspiring against him.

Momo, however, was unconcerned. He didn’t care about the opposition or his teammates’ state of mind. All he knew was that he was about to step onto the pitch and fight for victory. Bobic’s injury made him think of the Asian Cup in his past life—China versus Australia. Back then, Tim Cahill broke into the box; a Chinese player was rolling on the ground, players signaling for a halt, even goalkeeper Wang Dalei glancing between the referee and Cahill. But Cahill showed no hesitation, scoring with an overhead kick.

Momo shook his head fiercely, ignoring the jubilant Bielefeld fans. He stood at the center spot in the blazing red of Hannover 96. Karl stood nearby, looking utterly dejected, as if the words “I’m useless, I’m a failure” were written on his face.

“Hey, Karl, you’re Karl, aren’t you?”

Momo softened his tone, calling Karl’s name quietly, hoping to help him relax. After all, this was Momo’s first time coming on as a substitute so early, and he didn’t want hospital passes or to face an unstoppable Bielefeld with a disheartened strike partner.

Karl looked up, guilt and despair in his eyes. Momo frowned; this wouldn’t do. He tried to comfort Karl, but Karl seemed unable to hear anything. They had already lingered at the center spot for a while; time was running out. Finally, Momo said,

“Hey, Karl, look—you’re much taller than me, and stronger too. You should be more powerful than I am.”

Karl seemed interested in this line, raising his eyelids and sizing up the 170cm Momo with his own 193cm frame. He seemed to regain a bit of confidence.

“Listen to me. We’re behind, but it’s not all your fault. People will just say Hannover 96 lost, not blame you alone. Sure, maybe your mistakes will be magnified, but we all share the pressure.”

The referee approached, sensing something was off with Hannover 96’s mood—some players clearly angry, like number 6 defender Link, who looked ready for a fight. The referee wanted to control the atmosphere, but couldn’t let the game stall too long, or his authority would be questioned.

Momo noticed the referee’s approach and knew it was no use talking further; Karl was lost in his own world.

“Hey, Karl, there’s a saying in my country: you can fail, but you cannot be defeated. I don’t have time to explain, but if you don’t know what to do with the ball, just pass it to me. Let’s get started.”

Glancing at the referee tapping his watch, Momo quickly restarted play. Karl received the ball as though it were a live grenade, instantly returning it to Momo.

“What an awful pass, what a terrible combination. Momo’s first touch after coming on is a hospital pass—I almost wish he’d stayed on the bench.”

Honestly, Karl’s pass was poor, but not disastrous. As Momo tried to push forward into Bielefeld’s half, Karl’s pass had forced him to stop, turn, and come back for the ball; otherwise, Kauf would have intercepted it.

Kauf was facing the ball, Momo had his back to it. His explosive pace got him moving quickly, but made stopping hard. Luckily, his agility kept him from stumbling too badly. As he steadied himself, the burst of speed helped him catch up, but a powerful shove sent him crashing to the ground.

Freddy Bobic was far bigger and stronger than Momo, but even he couldn’t withstand Kauf and ended up injured. How could the frail, seventeen-year-old Momo fare any better? At his age, he should have been playing with teenagers in the U-17s.

Momo had barely touched the ball; as soon as Kauf made contact, Momo lost control and tumbled forward—something that looked like a dive to the Bielefeld fans and players. Defender Link rushed over, red-faced, a volcano about to erupt, and only calmed down when the referee showed Kauf a yellow card.

Momo got up, placed the ball for the free kick, brushed himself off, and jumped in place a few times. Satisfied he was unhurt, he turned to his still-arguing teammates and shouted,

“Enough! Stop bickering—we’re still behind!”

Link glanced at Momo, shook his head in frustration, and returned to his position. Kauf, whether mocking or apologetic, said,

“You really are weak. I barely used any strength at all.”

Momo shrugged, saying nothing more. He turned to see Karl still looking at him with concern. Momo flashed him a broad smile and struck a pose of confidence. Karl turned away, saying nothing. Number 17, the Czech winger Jan Simak, stepped up to take the free kick.

Karl and number 37, Momo, started making runs. The rest of the match entered a stalemate, with a noticeable increase in free kicks. Bielefeld’s fans and players soon realized Momo wasn’t diving—his body simply wasn’t built for the physical battles, and at 170cm, he was dwarfed by the generally 180cm-plus Bielefeld players.

If Bielefeld could, they’d have kept away from Momo, but he always seemed to find space and get to the ball. If Freddy Bobic had been like a lounging lion, Momo was an arrow drawn taut—an unsettling presence, like a cold shiver down the spine.

No one could say when he’d appear in a dangerous pocket of space; he was rarely seen dribbling or wandering, but whenever he was spotted, it was always in a threatening position.

A single lapse could see him threaten the goal, leaving Bielefeld’s defenders unsettled—Momo’s mere presence disrupted their focus.

“The match is in the forty-third minute. The fourth official has raised the board—three minutes of added time. Since coming on, Momo hasn’t scored, but he’s been a real threat to Bielefeld’s back line. According to the stats, he’s been brought down thirteen times already in this half. If only he were a bit stronger physically…”

Chen Nu’s tone was tinged with regret. Hannover 96 boasted a 193cm Karl for aerial duels, yet every cross seemed to miss him, leaving the 170cm Momo to challenge for headers. Watching Momo fall again and again, you had to wonder if his teammates felt anything at all.

Defender Link had certainly been furious, but as a defender, there was little he could do. If only he could lend some of his fire and courage to Karl. On one occasion, a long ball came in from midfield—a high cross, but Momo stood little chance in the air.

“What is Hannover 96’s coach thinking? How could he start someone like Karl in the first team? He should be back with his mother, drinking milk. I’d bet he’s never dared contest a single header.”

Clearly, Chen Nu had forgotten his own penchant for jinxing things—and the saying that even a cornered rabbit will bite.

Whether by accident or design, this time Karl actually made contact with the ball—a header, at last, perhaps inspired by Momo’s relentless effort, or maybe the ball just landed perfectly for him.

Regardless, Karl leapt high—his 193cm frame giving him the edge over Bielefeld’s defensive leader, the Dutchman van der Veen, and a full-back. He managed to flick the ball on. With number 17, Jan Simak, tangled up with Borges on the far side, who was the ball for?

“Momo! It’s Momo! This is a golden opportunity—there’ll never be a better one! Momo has to score!”

Viewers listening to Chen Nu’s commentary wished they could shut him up. Even first-time listeners now saw him as a jinx—wasn’t he just cursing Momo to miss?

But it was an excellent chance. The setup was like a sandwich: bread on both sides, meat in the middle. And Momo was the meat. No one knew when he’d arrived in the box.

To the defenders, the more physically imposing players drew their attention, and they overlooked the slight Momo.

Momo’s ball control made receiving the pass easy. The ball settled at his feet—a dream opportunity. Peter Neururer shot to his feet on the touchline, eyes fixed on Momo. The Alm Stadium echoed with a cacophony of sounds. Momo remained calm; composure kept him from shooting rashly. He chose to dribble.

With a burst of speed, he pushed the ball ahead toward the penalty spot. At that moment, Bielefeld’s 190cm goalkeeper, number 22, Ehrhoff, charged out. Goalkeepers always seemed to love rushing out, but Momo knew it was a terrible idea.

“Great touch! Momo’s about to shoot—wait, no! He’s pushed it too far! It’s over, Ehrhoff is out!”

Chen Nu’s voice rose and fell, a rollercoaster of emotion. Many Chinese fans felt like smashing their TVs, but Momo’s acceleration was not to be underestimated. He sprinted after the ball, but to his surprise, Ehrhoff was almost as fast.

Momo’s eyes locked on the ball. He ran with all his might, chasing it, aiming for the goal behind the giant Ehrhoff. They were on a collision course, both pushing to their limits.

Determination flashed in Momo’s eyes—this ball had to go in! With a roar, he plunged forward, fiery pain shooting through his body. Did it go in?

[With the 515 event approaching, I hope to climb the 515 Red Packet Leaderboard and give back to readers with red packets on May 15th. Every little bit counts, and I’ll keep updating diligently!]