Chapter Nine: Yang Chen’s Confidence

In the first half, it was the Chinese player Yang Chen who broke the deadlock, smashing the ball into the net of Hannover 96. Then, in the 63rd minute of the second half, Hannover 96’s forward Karl was forced off due to injury. Dole took the free kick, delivering an assist for Momo to score. The ball initially flew towards the outer post to the right of goalkeeper Heining. Because the center back Lasjewski was extremely tall, the goalkeeper judged that the ball would drop freely and bounce out near the outer post, so he stayed put and didn’t move. At that moment, Momo, just brought onto the pitch, burst forward at astonishing speed, aiming to tap the ball in with his left foot.

However, his shot went in the opposite direction, away from the goal. In a split-second reaction, the center back Lasjewski made an instinctive defensive move, striking the ball again, sending it toward the post. With the ball’s trajectory changing multiple times, goalkeeper Heining misjudged and lunged toward Lasjewski’s direction, only for the ball to bounce just out of his reach. The ball struck the post again. Momo, newly on the field, rushed forward once more for the rebound. This time, he controlled the ball with his chest and prodded it into the net with his toe—a truly miraculous goal.

That was what the ordinary fans thought, or at least most of them. Some credited luck, while others simply didn’t care, believing that as long as it was a goal, nothing else mattered. But for Fred, the veteran scout from 1860 Munich, things looked different.

This was the third time Fred had watched Momo play. Over these three matches, he’d noticed Momo’s excellent sense for getting into position and his purposeful movement off the ball. In such situations, he consistently created good chances.

This year, the club had already started negotiations with Beijing Guoan regarding midfielder Shao Jiayi’s transfer. At such a critical juncture, if they could sign this promising Chinese player Momo as well, it would be a wise move—after all, he was only seventeen. Watching the somewhat immature-looking Momo, the seasoned scout from 1860 Munich nodded approvingly. He already knew that Momo had been listed for transfer at a very low price—barely ten or twenty thousand euros would suffice, a pittance compared to the million euros needed for Shao Jiayi.

Returning his attention to the match, Frankfurt’s left winger Blanco and right midfielder Pruis were running down their respective flanks, ready to receive the ball and break forward. Attacking midfielder Skora distributed the ball, constantly involving his teammates.

Viewed from above, Frankfurt’s attack resembled a series of small triangles, with numerous outlets for the ball—forcing Hannover 96’s players to chase tirelessly. Momo’s eyes darted around, assessing the situation. If one were to interpret the scene through the lens of Football Manager Online, Frankfurt was currently adopting a tactic focused on controlling the tempo. All players adhered strictly to the set strategy, favoring direct passes and a lightning-fast rhythm, depleting the stamina of Hannover 96.

Momo keenly observed that the midfielders, after so much running, were already showing signs of fatigue. Hannover 96, meanwhile, had switched to an attacking strategy, but without possession, what attack could they muster?

At that moment, the ball was passed back to defender Lada. Dole pressed forward, forcing Lada to pass toward attacking midfielder Skora. Momo’s eyes lit up; with his anticipation stat at 14, he clearly saw the ball’s trajectory. With a 15 in acceleration and 14 in off-the-ball movement, he instinctively searched for space.

Momo surged forward and stretched out his right foot, intercepting the ball! The roaring Frankfurt machine was instantly silenced, as if someone had pressed a hand to its throat. Incredible. When did number 37—MOMO—get there?

Fred, the Munich scout, lowered his head and wrote another note in his crowded notebook: “Actively seeks open space, times interceptions well, clear understanding of ball trajectory.”

“Push up! Push up! Press forward! What are you all standing around for?” Peter Neururer shouted from the sideline, his voice like a volcanic eruption. The atmosphere above AWD Arena surged with thunderous cheers, and the anthem “Love of ’96” rang out once more.

“No one is left alone. Hand in hand, we move forward. Together, we stand strong as a wall of steel. Thank you for everything you’ve given us, for being so precious in our lives. The love of 96 years—red is far more beautiful than blue or yellow. Let others talk about Bayern and Bremen; we’ll always stand by you, 96, our Hannover! All these years you’ve given us trust, and with you, we never lose heart. Rain or snow, we’re here—never just in sunshine and fair weather. Sometimes things don’t go as we wish, but our love never fades. We may shed tears, but even in the toughest times, we keep rowing our red ship.”

Buoyed by the rousing song, Hannover 96 launched an attack with lightning speed. The center back Lada, having lost possession, was the first to press Momo for the ball.

Momo stayed calm, threading a direct pass to Dole on the diagonal. As Dole received the ball, two Hannover center backs rushed to intercept, with even their midfielders pushing forward. Encouraged by the singing, each pass was delivered with perfect order.

Hey, Frankfurt lads! We’ll show you: this is Hannover, you’re facing Hannover 96, and this is our home ground, the AWD Arena.

Dole, in possession, advanced steadily. Hounded by the Korean player Shim Jaewon, he didn’t dwell on the ball or force the play, instead swinging a wide pass to Hannover 96’s right back.

Frankfurt was playing a 3-5-2, so with no full-backs, and their central midfielders slow to track back, both flanks were left wide open for Hannover 96’s players to exploit. At this moment, right midfielder Pruis was tearing up the pitch behind the central midfielder in possession.

Unhurried, he lofted the ball into the box. There, waiting was Momo! Somehow, Momo had drifted to the edge of the penalty area; as the winger prepared to cross, he timed his run perfectly—neither offside nor missing the ball.

Goalkeeper Heining’s face was like stone. Having started to come out, he abruptly stopped and retreated. Lasjewski, Momo’s old rival, closed in on him. From a bird’s-eye view, you’d see that in Hannover’s half, all but the two center backs and Yang Chen were converging on Momo. With his acceleration at 15, even the nearby Heining knew he couldn’t beat Momo to the ball, let alone the more distant Lasjewski.

But Momo, with a 10 in receiving and 8 in ball control, knew he couldn’t handle such a high cross at his modest height of 170 centimeters. So he opted to trap the ball with his back. The idea was sound, but reality was cruel.

Momo was positioned slightly too far forward—if things stayed as they were, when the ball landed, it would likely strike the back of his heel instead of his back.

In a flash, Momo gritted his teeth, stamped his foot, and thrust his backside out. The ball crashed heavily onto his rear and bounced away, though not with much speed.

This was a gamble, but Momo remembered what his elementary school football coach had said: “You can use any part of your body but your hands—unless you’re a goalkeeper.” That’s why, in desperation, he tried this.

Dole, however, didn’t have time to ponder. After receiving Momo’s unorthodox pass, the opportunity was gone—Frankfurt’s players had already dropped back. There was only one option left: keep driving forward.

But as soon as Dole steadied the ball and prepared to surge ahead, a foot suddenly poked through from behind, nicking the ball between his legs. Dole spun around—it was Haeld, the central midfield lynchpin, tracking back just in time.

Haeld wasted no time, launching a long pass into the Hannover 96 half, where attacking midfielder Skora was waiting. One of Hannover’s center backs moved up to challenge, while the other dropped back to maintain distance.

But it was Frankfurt’s Skora who proved superior, heading the ball far upfield—right toward Yang Chen!

The home crowd at Hannover 96 fell silent, their singing snuffed out, replaced by a chorus of jeers. Yang Chen, unfazed, pressed on with the ball, charging toward their goal.

The match had flipped again, a scene reminiscent of the opening moments and that first concession. The lone remaining center back, seeing Yang Chen’s blistering pace, opted for a sliding tackle, even at the risk of a foul.

Yang Chen, however, easily evaded the challenge with a deft touch of his left foot and a swerve to the right—a poor decision by the defender. Peter Neururer was shouting furiously from the sideline, but it was futile.

Yang Chen was through on goal. With just the keeper to beat, if he could deliver a precise finish, he’d seal victory for Frankfurt. The clock showed eighty-five minutes—could Frankfurt clinch it here at Hannover 96?

Momo was racing back with his teammates, eyes locked on Yang Chen’s red jersey. He recalled Yang Chen’s heroic, bandaged goal against Indonesia in the World Cup qualifiers.

He remembered Yang Chen’s magnificent solo run and goal against Japan in the 2000 Asian Cup semifinal.

Now, to witness Yang Chen’s relentless charge once again—even as an opponent—filled Momo with emotion.

The Hannover 96 goalkeeper crouched, eyes fixed on the ball at Yang Chen’s feet. Yang Chen entered the box—shoot! Shoot! Why wasn’t he pulling the trigger? The keeper’s heart was pounding.

But Yang Chen looked set to run right into the net with the ball. The keeper decided to rush out. Yang Chen feinted, lifting his left shoulder and dropping his right, as if about to shoot with his left foot. In that instant, the keeper dived to Yang Chen’s right.

It was a ruse. Yang Chen’s left foot never left the ground—he just seemed to be on tiptoe. As the keeper dropped low, Yang Chen coolly pivoted on his left and hooked the ball past him with his right.

An open goal! Yang Chen’s pace forced the defenders to act fast, but with deft skill he rounded the keeper and blasted the ball home. Yang Chen had scored twice, breaking through Hannover 96’s defense again. Time was running out for Hannover 96.

Back in China, fans erupted in cheers.

“Beautiful! Just brilliant! If Yang Chen played like this at the World Cup, who knows how many more matches our team could have won!”

“Look at that young striker showing off! He even saluted like a schoolboy.”

“If only we had a commentator for the second division! Every time I have to read the newspaper the next day to figure out who’s who.”

“What’s the point? Just watch Yang Chen, even if it’s the second division now—he’ll be back in the Bundesliga soon enough.”

“Hey, look, Yang Chen! Awesome! That show-off is going back now. Where is he from anyway?”

Having scored, Yang Chen didn’t celebrate wildly, nor did he join his teammates. Instead, he jogged over to Momo, a confident smile on his lips, and said,

“Kid, keep working hard! Whether China makes it to the World Cup again depends on you.”

Yang Chen was brimming with confidence. Indeed, it was their generation that had taken China to its first World Cup, even though avoiding strong teams had played a part. Still, it was a historic high point for Chinese football.

Momo looked at Yang Chen, knowing full well what lay ahead for the national team—a dark, difficult era. Yet seeing the hope in Yang Chen’s face, Momo nodded fiercely. No matter what the future held, if he ever had the honor to wear the national shirt, he would give everything.

Thoughts flashed through Momo’s mind: the Beiyang Fleet’s near-total destruction in the First Sino-Japanese War without sinking a single Japanese ship. The 2002 World Cup, where China lost all three matches without scoring a goal—save for Zhao Junzhe hitting the post against Brazil and Yang Chen against Turkey.

He remembered the team’s plan released after the tournament: beat Costa Rica, draw with Turkey, lose to Brazil, advance to the last sixteen with four points. In the end, they crashed out at the group stage. During those World Cup days, red filled the streets, and everyone bet on China to win, no matter the opponent’s strength.

There was an old man back then who would shout, “Bet! Of course you bet! You have to bet on China to win!”

How many people, not even fans or experts, followed the crowd and bet on China—not for any reason other than pride and faith in Chinese football. And yet, it ended in three straight defeats.

So many people—don’t talk about how many curse Chinese football, or how many have lost faith. If, one day, Chinese football rises, then for every one, hundred, or thousand who curse today, there will be ten thousand, a hundred thousand, a million who will praise and support it tomorrow.

“I will! I will! I’m a striker—even if I’m just a striker, I’ll keep scoring to help China win!”

Yang Chen had no idea why Momo looked so moved. After all, Yang Chen wasn’t someone reborn—he didn’t know what would happen in the future. He simply encouraged Momo with that special blend of Chinese modesty and hope.

Both teams returned to the center circle. Over the next seven or eight minutes, Momo’s performance was especially lively—active movement off the ball, accurate interceptions, making the Munich scout fill his notebook with more observations.

Yang Chen had a few more shots, but none posed a real threat. In the final moments, at the Frankfurt coach’s signal, the team bunkered deep in their own half, waiting to counterattack.

The fourth official held up the board: three minutes of added time. Only three minutes left, but Momo felt as if he had boundless energy, as if he’d been set alight. He needed a goal—a goal to extinguish the fire in his heart.

By the ninety-second minute, Frankfurt’s fans in the stands had begun singing a rewritten club anthem.

“All your fans are in Frankfurt.
Our love for you is rock solid.
We have Chen Yang, like heaven on Earth.
You shine like the sun.
We’re all your fans,
Here in Frankfurt.
There’s only one you in Frankfurt,
No matter what, you’re our everything.
You’re everywhere here.
In our Frankfurt,
You’re like our heart.”

Momo kept searching for chances. By now, Peter Neururer had slumped into his seat, his desire for victory extinguished. The entire Hannover 96 side seemed resigned to defeat, even Dole had lost his fighting spirit.

But not Momo. He refused to give up. He craved victory, yearned for it. He was a striker, and a striker must be ambitious, must hunger for victory, must brim with aggression. Opportunity always comes to the prepared—and Momo saw his.