Chapter Five: Ahead

All eyes were fixed on the ball.

Would Momo be able to score his first Bundesliga goal in this match?

At this moment, Rostock’s goalkeeper did not choose to charge out recklessly. His positioning was cautious, guarding every corner closely. Momo searched intently for a weakness.

Then, suddenly, Momo felt his footing slip and he tumbled to the ground. What happened?

The players of 1860 Munich raised their hands, signaling for a penalty! But the referee had a clear view; he mimed a collision with his hands and made a “bang bang” sound, indicating that the defender played the ball first.

“Let’s look at the slow-motion replay to see exactly what happened just now! Number 6, Kienz, lunged in for a sliding tackle—it’s clear he got the ball first. Momo didn’t notice and was tripped up immediately after. This is the correct call.”

1860 Munich’s head coach, Pacult, looked a little regretful, but there was no complaint; he had also seen the incident clearly. Momo had made a successful run, broke through, but Rostock’s goalkeeper remained composed, blocking Momo’s path and virtually sealing off the angle. Momo was right to calmly control the ball and look for an opening.

It was a pity that just as Momo found his moment and prepared to shoot—just as he’d made up his mind—Number 6 Kienz suddenly slid in, getting to the ball first.

Momo turned and gave Number 10, Thomas Häßler, a thumbs-up. It was certainly a fine pass; it was just unfortunate that the chance wasn’t converted.

“Momo seemed too composed in front of goal, searching for a sure-fire opportunity, but in the end, Number 6 Kienz seized the moment and intercepted. Now, it’s a goal kick for Rostock!”

After weathering this crisis, Rostock clearly began to pay close attention to Momo; at all times, at least one player was marking him closely. Rostock got into their rhythm faster than 1860 Munich and began launching attacks.

“By the twenty-first minute, the match had become a stalemate. 1860 Munich’s midfield core and veteran hero, Number 10 Thomas Häßler, was effectively neutralized by Rostock. This made it hard for 1860 Munich to mount any effective offense.”

What Chen Nu said was exactly what worried 1860 Munich’s coach, Pacult. After being forced to sell off many of their strong players, only a group of aging veterans remained. Though experienced, their physical capabilities and endurance had inevitably declined.

The midfield engine for 1860 Munich was Number 10, Thomas Häßler. He was the hand that wielded the blade; without a hand to guide and swing it, a blade is nothing but a display piece. Once Thomas Häßler was locked down, 1860 Munich’s offense was completely stifled.

The 4-1-2-1-2 formation wasn’t 1860 Munich’s usual setup; they typically used a 3-5-2 to control the midfield and supply ammunition to the forwards. But last season, a weak defense meant that while they could score, victories were hard to come by, resulting in an embarrassing situation: plenty of goals but a low standing.

Because of this, Coach Pacult, working with limited funds, targeted Shao Jiayi, a Chinese defender who had impressed defensively at the World Cup, switching from the 3-5-2 to the 4-1-2-1-2.

They also spent two million euros on Momo, hoping to inject fresh blood into their aging attack. For 1860 Munich, this was a deal with nothing to lose. Momo’s youth and talent meant his value would only rise, and even if they didn’t sell him, he would strengthen the squad.

From the beginning, Number 10, Thomas Häßler, and Number 28, Momo, showed flashes that caught the coach’s eye. Although Number 9, Martin Max, was the previous season’s Bundesliga top scorer, age had caught up with him—he could no longer cover much ground. Momo, in contrast, was constantly seeking open space.

Everything had seemed promising, but who could have predicted that Number 10, Thomas Häßler, would be so thoroughly contained? Though he could control the ball and rarely lost possession, whenever the ball reached his feet, the attack came to a halt.

1860 Munich seemed to be suffocating, and Coach Pacult was visibly anxious. He needed to make a change.

“The match has settled into a tense deadlock. 1860 Munich is finding it hard to get the ball to the forwards. Number 9, Martin Max, is dropping back, perhaps to help his old teammate, Thomas Häßler!”

There was a note of hope in Chen Nu’s voice—the atmosphere was stifling. Chinese fans would much rather witness the dazzling display Momo put on at the start than this, where he can barely get a touch.

“Here’s a chance! Number 9, Martin Max, has the ball! It’s a short pass from Number 10, Thomas Häßler! We’re in the 41st minute! 1860 Munich has a promising opportunity! Number 3, Jakobsen, steps up to intercept!”

When Martin Max dropped deeper, it created a new pivot between the attacking midfield and the forwards.

This wasn’t due to Momo’s youth or lack of awareness—it was simply a task suited to the experienced Number 9, Martin Max. Expecting Momo to play that role would be as unnatural as asking a man to bear children—it just didn’t fit his strengths.

When Coach Pacult signed Momo, he had already been briefed by the club’s veteran scout, Frett, and had seen Momo’s strengths during the World Cup. Momo was a blade—using a blade as a club would be a waste.

At 1.82 meters, Martin Max no longer had the stamina for constant movement, but his experience told him exactly what to do, making him the ideal choice.

Sure enough, his dropping back took some pressure off Häßler and gave him another passing option. When Häßler was double-teamed by two Rostock players, he suddenly slipped out a quick short pass!

Martin Max controlled the ball—and the entire Allianz Arena erupted. Their hero, though aged, was still their hero. Blue flags waved and the crowd roared.

With the ball at his feet, Martin Max surged towards Rostock’s half. Number 3, Jakobsen, moved in to challenge. With sixty thousand fans cheering, the late-blooming Martin Max’s ambition was reignited! He didn’t pass; he decided to take on Jakobsen himself!

“Martin Max doesn’t pass! Momo’s already in position, but Max waves him off as if to say, ‘Kid, watch me—I’ve still got it!’ Jakobsen closes in! Oh!”

Martin Max remained composed. After briefly pausing, he suddenly accelerated. A simple step-over left Jakobsen momentarily dazzled, but then Jakobsen’s eyes lit up—he noticed Martin Max hesitate, if only for a split second!

“Martin Max! Martin Max is dispossessed by Jakobsen!”

Neither Chen Nu nor Momo had expected such a result.

There was a trace of resignation in Martin Max’s eyes.

At thirty-four, he could no longer deny his age. When he tried to burst past Jakobsen with a step-over, his movement suddenly stalled, just for an instant, as if something caught in the gears.

Such a subtle pause would be hard to notice unless you were watching closely, but Jakobsen, wholly focused on defending, detected it and successfully made the tackle.

“That’s a steal by Jakobsen, who immediately passes to Number 8, Lantz. Lantz moves the ball to the flank, drawing away Number 44, Hofmann, and Number 5, Wotawa!”

Rostock hadn’t committed many men forward—just Number 8, Lantz, and Number 30, Wurbech. Their 4-4-1-1 formation clearly aimed for a draw, but at this moment, Rostock actually had the upper hand.

“Number 8, Lantz, is forced to the byline! 1860 Munich’s defense is holding up! Wait—Lantz! Lantz crosses!”

Just when everyone expected a goal kick, Lantz suddenly stopped and lofted a cross into the middle!

“Number 30! Number 30! Wurbech!”

Chen Nu’s voice was full of disbelief. With everyone’s attention drawn to the wing, Number 30, Wurbech, kept searching for a scoring chance. His persistence paid off—he found a golden opportunity!

Simon Jentsch stared blankly at the ball in the back of his net, unable to believe it was real.

“Number 30! Number 30, Wurbech, scores! A header! A brilliant header! 0–1! Rostock takes the lead away from home!”

Number 30, Wurbech, clenched his fists and let out a triumphant roar. From his flushed face and bulging neck, Momo could feel his excitement.

The Allianz Arena was instantly awash with boos and angry shouts, but Wurbech paid them no mind!

He stopped, raised both hands, and walked toward the center circle, nodding lightly as if the jeers were applause.

As he neared the halfway line, he clenched his fists and spun around, punching the air toward 1860 Munich’s goal.

Today, Rostock would slaughter the Lions on their home turf—the aging 1860 Munich, the so-called team of old men!

1860 Munich’s players were visibly shaken; Simon Jentsch’s eyes blazed with fury—damn it! Damn it!

Momo and Martin Max exchanged glances, each seeing an unyielding fighting spirit in the other’s eyes.

All right, then, Rostock! You’ve provoked us! Let’s see what happens now! We’ll show you the razor-sharp claws of 1860 Munich!