0032 The author is taking a break due to injury; this issue will be skipped. (Please follow and vote with monthly tickets.)

What?

Beckenbauer could no longer sit still. He rose to his feet, trembling as he watched the pitch. It was not as if he had never seen such a scene before, but even he would struggle to manufacture two goals in two minutes against a defense as stacked with national team players as Dortmund’s. The Kaiser of football stared at the number seven on the pitch with a complex expression. This was exactly the kind of expectation he had held for Müller, yet to his surprise, the one displaying such a level of quality was Müller’s opponent—a youngster who had only just begun playing in the top flight.

A brilliant smile, powerful charisma, and a team gathered tightly together. This was the football of his dreams. Reclaiming influence from the "Mönchengladbach faction" had never been his original intention, but the national team required a unified philosophy.

No wonder. No wonder! No wonder the media had been singing the praises of this team from Northern Italy. Beckenbauer saw something extraordinary in this Sampdoria side: a few steady veterans, a core of players in their prime, and a young genius. It was truly something to look forward to.

After standing briefly, Franz Beckenbauer sat back down and began to applaud with a smile.

Schmidt looked sullen and grumbled, "Shouldn't you be supporting Dortmund? They are our team, after all."

"If they can't win, then we should just enjoy the match," Beckenbauer replied.

"You're blocking my view!" Debel shouted, clapping his hands.

Schulz couldn't help but grit his teeth, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. *Damn it, I just made a sliding tackle—how could that block your view?*

Helmer nudged Debel and urged, "Say less, nobody wanted this to happen."

"It’s not like you’re the one picking the ball out of the net," Debel retorted sharply.

Helmer rolled his eyes. This guy’s temper was even stronger than his skill.

Seeing his teammates bickering, the expression on Müller’s face darkened visibly. Captain Zorc noticed this immediately. Their genius attacking midfielder was the type of player whose performance was heavily dictated by his mood. When things went well, he was omnipotent on the pitch, but if it were an overcast day or he’d seen a movie that upset him, it would immediately reflect in his play.

The team needed Müller’s performance to mount a comeback. Zorc hurried back to the penalty area to pacify his teammates, telling them to stop causing Müller any further anxiety.

The West German television commentators also fell silent. Previously, they had assumed that Matthäus and Brehme were being held back by their teammates in Italy, but today, Lu Deyang was giving them a live masterclass at the Westfalenstadion. Dortmund were title challengers, boasting a squad filled with West German internationals, with their only foreign player, McLeod, being a Scottish star. How could such a squad be dismantled like this from the very start?

"...We prepare for every match, we defend our goal at every moment, we stand firm together, cheering for football, Dortmund, cheer for us, Dortmund, Dortmund, we never lose our courage or confidence in front of any opponent, cheer for football, Dortmund!"

You can defeat Dortmund, but it is very difficult to conquer the Westfalenstadion. Even with the entire Dortmund team gripped by frustration, the stirring anthem of the club soon rang out through the stadium again. The vibrant rhythm expressed an infinite optimism, as if no hardship could ever bring them down.

Zorc looked up at the stands and silently clenched his fists. At that moment, he profoundly understood the meaning of the saying: football is nothing without its fans.

"Pick yourselves up! Don't act like cowards!" Zorc waved his arms and shouted. As a native son of the city, he had to step up at a time like this.

Lu Deyang glanced at the Dortmund half. *Now that is the kind of opponent that makes things interesting.*

While on assignment, Kumagai Gen-ten had been closely following Lu Deyang’s situation. Fortunately, when Lu Deyang left, he had handed over a manuscript, allowing Kumagai to watch the game in peace and simply transmit the copy back tomorrow.

Dortmund’s technical quality was still there. Because the playing style of their domestic players was so conventional, they had brought in the Scottish international McLeod to complement Müller. McLeod clearly realized that they had to draw Sampdoria out. After receiving the ball, he wasn't in a hurry to push it forward.

Mancini clearly lost his patience and charged toward him. Vialli shook his head and had no choice but to follow. McLeod waited until the two were close before passing the ball back. Schulz, who received it, immediately sent it forward to Zorc. After Zorc laid it back, Kutowski rushed up and launched a long ball.

Seeing this, Pari knew it was trouble. The ball dropped straight toward the right flank. After Müller received the ball and attempted to move toward the center, Pellegrini shifted his feet, but Müller changed direction and continued to charge forward with the ball. When running at such high speeds, adjusting for an opportunity is never easy.

While running, Müller unleashed a thunderous strike that slammed into Vierchowod’s chest and rebounded. Frank Mill received the ball with his back to the goal, only to be brought down from behind by Dossena.

*Beep—*

A free kick. The sudden opportunity made the Westfalenstadion erupt with excitement. McLeod ran over immediately to discuss the set-piece with Müller. As the referee’s whistle blew, McLeod ran over the ball, and Müller, after his run-up, swung his leg. The ball flew just over the top of the wall and headed straight for the bottom left corner of the goal.

Pagliuca dived instantly, but could not reach it. The ball struck the inside of the post and bounced into the net.

*Boom—*

Müller, having scored, sprinted toward the sidelines. The entire Westfalenstadion was already boiling over. They seemed to see a comeback in the making; they, Borussia Dortmund, would never admit defeat.

"Andy!!!"
"Andy!!!"
"Andy!!!"

Behind the isolation netting, the Dortmund fans shook the mesh frantically, as if they could transmit their strength and agitation onto the pitch.

The West German television presenters began to scream wildly. In this era, European competition was still a highly valued honor. Although the Cup Winners' Cup had never seen a team defend their title due to the format, the prestige of the tournament was significant. Last year, Sampdoria had reached the final only to lose to Barcelona. If they could pull off a comeback, wouldn't that mean Dortmund had the strength to win the title?

Pezzotti walked to the sideline and asked, "Should we remind the boys? They are pushing up too far." With a two-goal lead, they could simply play on the counter.

"It’s fine, let them play," Boskov said, watching that figure on the pitch. He believed that the goal and the assist were only the beginning.

Dortmund’s momentum was visibly rising. As soon as Sampdoria kicked off, Wegmann charged out. Mancini didn't take him seriously at all—in his eyes, West German players were synonymous with poor technique. Mancini flicked the ball with his left foot and pulled it back, bypassing his opponent.

However, Zorc followed up with a flying tackle, sliding the ball right behind Mancini. Fortunately, Dossena rushed up in advance and successfully recovered the ball.

The players from both sides began a fierce physical battle in midfield; Dortmund clearly wanted to win the match in a different way. Within a few short seconds, players from both teams hit the ground multiple times as possession constantly changed hands. Pari rushed up to contest a tackle, and the ball flew toward the opponent's half.

Seeing this, Vialli flicked his head and sent the ball to the left flank. Zorc had just started to warn his teammates to be careful when he realized that, besides Vialli, only Lu Deyang was in the attacking half—and he was surrounded by five defensive players. McLeod was tracking back as well, which made him breathe a sigh of relief.

*Even Beckenbauer wouldn't be able to do anything under that kind of pressure, right?*

But the next second, his eyes widened.

After the ball bounced, Lu Deyang, who was charging forward alongside McLeod, had already wound up his left foot.

*Is he crazy?*

That was a distance of over 40 meters. Even if Debel wasn't a world-class goalkeeper, there was no way he would allow a shot from that range.

*Bang—*

The sound was like a roaring dragon echoing through the mountains. McLeod, who was tracking back, felt his eardrums ache as he watched the ball rocket into the air. The players and fans alike looked up. Under the gaze of tens of thousands of eyes, the ball began to drop rapidly as it reached the edge of the penalty area, sailing past Debel’s hands and plunging into the back of the net.

Dead silence!

The West Germans never expected that just as the dawn of hope had arrived, someone would immediately stand up to deliver them a heavy blow.

In front of his television, Kumagai Gen-ten finally let out a sigh of relief. Now he wouldn't have to worry about Lu Deyang making excuses to delay his manuscript after a loss. He took out the paper bag Lu Deyang had left him, pulled out the contents, and his expression immediately changed.

White. It was all white. On the very last page, a cute Pikachu was bowing, and a cartoon version of Lu Deyang was lying in bed. Written in clumsy Japanese were the words: "Because the author Lu Deyang is injured, this issue is officially suspended. Come and write letters to comfort Mr. Lu..."