The few training days quickly passed, and on Saturday evening, Hoffenheim played at home in the Rhein-Neckar Arena. At 6 PM, an hour and a half before the match, the Hoffenheim locker room was already bustling. Oliver sat in his spot, head down, tying his shoelaces, his fingers slightly tense. This was his first time playing for the first team, even if it was just a friendly match, but he could already hear the growing buzz of fans entering the stadium outside.
Gnabry walked over and plopped down on the chair next to him, grinning, "Hey, Oliver, don't look so serious, relax."
He reached out and patted Oliver's shoulder, "Weren't you amazing in training? What, are you scared by our fans?"
Oliver looked up and forced a smile, "I'm alright, just a bit… new."
"New?" Gnabry laughed loudly, "It'll be really new when you hear the fans shouting your name later."
He leaned in closer and lowered his voice, "I'll tell you a secret: the first time I played for Arsenal, my legs almost gave out in the player tunnel."
Oliver raised an eyebrow, "Really?"
"Why would I lie to you?" Gnabry shrugged.
"Later, I found that as long as I focused on the ball, everything else was just noise."
The locker room door opened, and Nagelsmann walked in.
He was wearing a sharp suit, holding a tactics board, his gaze sweeping over every player before finally settling on Oliver.
"Oliver," he walked over, his tone calm, "Come out with me for a moment."
Oliver followed the coach out of the locker room and into the quiet corridor. Nagelsmann leaned against the wall, helped him adjust his jersey, and asked him, "Nervous?"
"A little," Oliver answered honestly, "but more than that, excited."
Nagelsmann nodded, "Very good, excitement is better than numbness. Listen, although I have high expectations for you, I don't need you to be a hero today, nor do I need you to prove anything quickly. Don't put too much pressure on yourself for this match; just show what you do in training, and that will be more than enough."
Oliver took a deep breath, "I will, Coach."
"Remember our tactics," Nagelsmann continued, "on the right wing, you need to cut inside to create space for Kaderábek to push forward. Genoa's left-back isn't fast, you can exploit that."
"Understood."
Nagelsmann patted his shoulder, "Alright, go back in, enjoy the game."
Back in the locker room, his teammates had already changed into their jerseys and were making their final preparations. Oliver pulled on his number 17 jersey. This number wasn't particularly important at Hoffenheim, nor did it have any special meaning or history, but Oliver quite liked it because he was 17 years old. Captain Vogt walked over, patted a locker, and said, "Are you all ready, ladies? Time to entertain our guests!"
"Don't worry, Captain, I'll make the Italians tremble with pleasure," Schulz responded with a crude joke.
Vogt's single sentence got everyone in a good mood, and they were all chatting and laughing. The stadium announcement began playing the entrance prompt, and the atmosphere in the locker room instantly became serious.
Nagelsmann stood in the center of the locker room, his voice steady, delivering his final address: "Remember our tactics: control the tempo, patiently look for opportunities. Genoa likes to press high, but their defensive line is slow to turn, and that's our breakthrough point."
The players gathered in a circle, and Vogt extended his hand, "Hoffenheim!"
"Go!" everyone shouted in unison.
As he walked out of the player tunnel, Oliver's ears were instantly overwhelmed by a cacophony of sound. The lights of the Rhein-Neckar Arena were dazzlingly bright, and the stands were already more than half full. Even though it was just a friendly match, Hoffenheim's fans were still highly enthusiastic.
"Who's number 17?" a fan asked, pointing at Oliver.
"Must be a new guy, haven't seen him before."
"Asian face? Japanese or Korean?"
"Neither, I just checked. He seems to be of mix descent, English nationality, transferred from Paris Saint-Germain's youth academy."
Oliver pretended not to hear these discussions and followed his teammates to the bench. As per custom, the starting players lined up on the sideline, waiting for the referee's signal. Genoa's players were already standing opposite them. Oliver glanced over, recognizing a few familiar Serie A faces: Perrin, Rossi, Lazovic… Their expressions were relaxed, clearly not taking this friendly match too seriously.
The referee blew his whistle, signaling the players to enter the field. Oliver took a deep breath and stepped onto the grass. The match was about to begin. The referee's whistle cut through the roar of the Rhein-Neckar Arena, the ball was gently tapped, and the match officially kicked off. Oliver stood on the right wing, hands on his knees, slightly hunched over, his eyes fixed on the midfield battle.
For the first 25 minutes, Nagelsmann's tactical setup was very clear: probing pressure, looking for gaps in Genoa's three-center-back system. Grillitsch dropped deep in the defensive midfield to orchestrate possession, while Amiri frequently pushed forward, looking for receiving points between the opponent's midfield and defensive line. Genoa's defensive formation was compact, but Oliver quickly spotted a problem: their left wing-back Lazovic liked to push forward, and left center-back Rossettini was slow to turn. Whenever Gnabry cut inside on the left, Genoa's defensive Center of Gravity would unconsciously shift to that side, and space on the right would quietly emerge.
In the 12th minute, Oliver touched the ball for the first time. Grillitsch sent a diagonal long pass to the right wing. Oliver chested the ball down, then smoothly flicked it past the onrushing Lazovic. A gasp rose from the stands, but Oliver didn't try to force it, instead calmly laying the ball back to the overlapping Kaderábek, whose cross was cleared.
"Beautiful!" Nagelsmann applauded on the sideline, then made a gesture, his right hand cutting across, his left hand pushing forward. Oliver immediately understood: the coach wanted him to continue attacking the flank.
In the 23rd minute, the goal arrived. Amiri received the ball in midfield and looked up. Oliver suddenly burst forward, diagonally cutting into the gap between Genoa's left center-back Rossi and wing-back Lazovic. Amiri's pass was surgically precise, the ball threading through two defenders and rolling into Oliver's path. Everything felt like slow motion. Oliver gently guided the ball with the outside of his right foot, smoothly dribbling into the penalty area. Goalkeeper Perrin had already come out, closing down the near post. Oliver didn't hesitate, pushing a low shot with the instep of his left foot. The ball slipped under Perrin's armpit and rolled into the net, just grazing the far post!
1-0!
The stadium instantly erupted. Oliver froze for a second, seemingly not yet realizing he had actually scored. He instinctively ran a few steps, pumped his fist, his expression even a bit bewildered. This overly simple celebration amused his teammates.
"Hey! Oliver, is that all the creativity you've got?" Gnabry laughed as he rushed over and threw an arm around his neck.
"I… I haven't thought of a celebration yet," Oliver said with an embarrassed smile.
"Next time, remember to at least do a knee slide!" Amiri ruffled his hair.
On the sideline, Nagelsmann uncharacteristically jumped up, pumping his fist in celebration. He turned and said something to his assistant coach, and the two exchanged smiles. In the stands, a few scattered fans began shouting "Oliver! Oliver!" Although the pronunciation was awkward, it was enough to warm Oliver's heart. After taking the lead, Hoffenheim played with more composure.
From the 26th minute, Nagelsmann adjusted his tactics. The defensive quartet executed a "false high press" defense, with Hübner responsible for pressing and intercepting, and Vogt dropping back to cover. Genoa's attacks were repeatedly snuffed out in their infancy. At the same time, Oliver's performance became increasingly active.
In the 31st minute, he executed a series of changes of direction on the right wing, using a Cruyff turn to get past Lazovic, then delivered a cut-back pass. Unfortunately, Hoffenheim's midfielder, Rupp's shot, went just wide.
"Good play! Keep going!" Nagelsmann shouted from the sideline, gesturing forward with both hands.
Genoa's players started to get agitated. Their midfield maestro Veloso frequently dropped deep to demand the ball, but each time he received it, he was met with tight pressing from Amiri.
In the 38th minute, Veloso reluctantly opted for a long pass, which Hübner headed back to midfield. Grillitsch quickly distributed the ball wide after gaining possession, and Oliver sprinted again. Unfortunately, his final cross was blocked for a goal kick.
In the 41st minute, the second goal arrived. Gnabry stood at the left corner flag, took a run-up, and struck the ball. It curved with a strange trajectory, directly spinning towards the near post! Genoa goalkeeper Perrin misjudged it, his hand shape wrong during the save. The ball slipped past his fingertips and into the net!
2-0!
"Ooooooh!!!!!" Gnabry spread his arms, imitating a plane gliding as he ran towards the corner flag. His teammates swarmed him, and Oliver also joined the celebration, laughing. This time, he finally learned his lesson, jumping up to chest-bump Gnabry in celebration, though his movements were still a bit awkward. On the sideline, Nagelsmann's eyes narrowed into slits as he smiled, turning to high-five the players on the bench. He specifically checked the timer; there were still 4 minutes left in the first half. This score perfectly matched his tactical expectations.
In the final few minutes, Genoa tried to counter-attack, but Hoffenheim's defense was watertight. Oliver even dropped back into his own half to participate in defense, making a clean sliding tackle to dispossess Pandev, which drew applause from the stands.
When the halftime whistle blew, Oliver wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked towards the player tunnel. As he passed the sideline, Nagelsmann reached out and patted his back, "Well played, kid. I have a feeling your debut performance can be even better."
Oliver nodded, then suddenly heard a child in the stands shout, "Number 17! You're awesome!"
He looked up and saw a small boy with an Asian face, excitedly waving a Hoffenheim scarf. Oliver smiled at him and waved back. At that moment, he suddenly felt that he might truly be able to establish himself here.