10 Small Cards

No one expected the second team to stubbornly drag the deadlock all the way to halftime.

Fans, who had originally anticipated a one-sided match, grew excited instead, embodying the spirit of spectators who enjoy a good spectacle. As the young players from the second team left the field, they were enthusiastically cheered on with shouts of encouragement. The youngsters, visibly moved, lifted their heads and waved, only to become so dazed they lost their way, until Karl yanked them back on track.

Yet among the crowd, some voices of panic surfaced: "They can’t really win, can they? This just isn’t right!"

How could the first team fail to outplay the second team in the German Cup knockout stage? If the second team upset the first, only for the first team to then be easily undone by another strong opponent, it would be devastating.

Still, most were unfazed: "They won’t lose, they won’t. But these younglings are fighting tooth and nail. This kind of match is exciting—what’s wrong with that? If they surrendered at the start, they wouldn’t be Bayern kids. Now, they’re playing with spirit and style. Especially that young captain—isn’t he the one the media praised? Seems like he really is something special."

"Maybe he’s the next Philipp Lahm," people said with relief. "The youth academy truly breeds talent. Even on this lousy pitch, good seedlings can grow. That’s the spirit of Bayern!"

Schweinsteiger listened in shock and confusion as he realized both he and Lahm were left warming up on the sidelines. Magath had not yet decided to bring them on, instead locking in Ballack, who had volunteered to step in. Ballack wasn’t angry about being called upon in such a situation; rather, he looked eager, warming up with a smile and waving to the fervent fans along the sideline.

He looked fierce, but when he smiled, there was a boy-next-door innocence to him. The cool guy’s smile was more stirring than a sweetheart’s, and even the usually haughty faithful couldn’t help but cheer wildly. Now that Ballack was coming on, everyone was even more excited.

Wouldn’t this mean some spectacular goals?

Though watching football isn’t just about stars, having stars on the pitch is undeniably thrilling.

The news that Ballack was coming on also reached the second team’s locker room. Karl, who was mid-discussion about tactics with his coach, paused and wiped sweat from his brow, feeling a heavy burden. Everyone knew how strong the opposition was on the field. But the more he thought it, the more he masked it with calm resolve, stumbling momentarily before returning to discuss his ideas with the coach, who looked even more worried.

“Ah, Michel’s coming on? That’s a lot of pressure. We’re really up against it.”

“It’s tough to begin with. Whatever happens,” Karl said, his pre-match tension giving way to a serene acceptance as he spoke to teammates and coach alike. “Holding them goalless for half the match is already great. We’ll keep trying in the second half. Let’s push to score. Even if we lose at the end, at least we give it our all.”

Yet deep inside, he hoped they could maintain their form and keep fighting. If they managed that, even with Ballack on the pitch, they shouldn’t be powerless.

Football is a game of luck after all; it’s round. Without persistence until the end, who knows how things might turn out?

Knowing that adding pressure to nervous teammates could only hurt, he instead tried to soothe them.

The team’s attacking midfielder was a devoted fan of Ballack and foolishly wondered, “Playing alongside him is amazing. If I accidentally touch him, would he throw me to the ground? Would that count as a dive?”

Laughter erupted.

The mood lightened, and the coach’s tactical talk became easier. Karl observed the opposition’s offense for a while and found their approaches quite fixed—probably treating the second team as mere sparring partners to practice tactics. Even if the first team used all three substitutions in the second half, they would likely rely on individual star power to break through rather than changing their strategy.

Otherwise, it would be too humiliating—

Would Magath get angry in the locker room, blame players, and scramble formations just because the second team was giving them a tough time? He had already chosen a large rotation; to be slapped back suddenly would be self-defeating. Karl bet Magath wouldn’t do that.

Whether the first team was being humble or arrogant, they had given an opportunity, and the second team had seized it for a full half. Karl didn’t want to give up now.

The coach used magnetic red and blue round markers on the blackboard to explain tactics. They hoped to try attacking in the second half, but not by pushing forward recklessly from their own half. The best plan was a defensive counterattack, using fast players on the wings to sprint forward. Fullbacks would overlap, delivering passes to wingers or strikers, aiming to shoot within three touches.

They had practiced this before; the team’s left fullback was genuinely fast, suited to this style.

They hadn’t used it regularly because the defensive midfielder excelled at interceptions but was mediocre at distributing the ball. A single defensive midfielder who could defend well was already decent; if they had great passing skills, they would have been fast-tracked to the first team by Uli Hoeneß, not languishing in obscurity. If his distribution was weak, relying on counterattacks meant the ball would be lost quickly, so much responsibility fell on Karl.

Though playing center-back, Karl’s fundamentals were well-rounded; he had worked hard since childhood and never slackened, so his passing accuracy was very good. But in modern football, defenders rarely initiate attacks, as it would leave the team too deep and under heavy pressure. Poor defense and chaotic offense would be a net loss.

Roles were clearly defined within the team. The midfield acted as the metronome, so such tactics were regarded by the coach as a novel but not entirely serious trick.

But at present, they had no better ideas; a fresh tactic was necessary.

Bayern’s second team usually had some fight in matches, but today they were especially hapless, forced to crouch and absorb punishment while searching for chances. This was not their usual style, but for victory, there was no shame. After quick tactical adjustments, they returned to the pitch.

Compared to the start of the match, when the first team looked friendly yet dismissive, now they truly sized up the second team with eyes no longer purely kind. Most starters were substitutes, their status insecure; a poor showing could see them transferred at season’s end, possibly replaced by these young second-teamers.

At halftime, Magath was restless and unable to vent his frustrations openly. Hoeneß remained calm, and they could faintly hear his loud laughter from outside, possibly having spotted a promising second-team player, much like when he discovered Schweinsteiger.

This undoubtedly sowed jealousy and unspoken pressure.

The player substituted off for Ballack covered his face, nearly refusing to return to the sideline, mortified.

Players’ nerves tightened, but the fans were jubilant, many fetching beers at halftime, already toasting. With Ballack coming on, the first team’s victory seemed assured, and good football was promised—a perfect scenario. So the fans began singing the team anthem boisterously on the sideline.

Both teams could take the song as their own.

---

Ballack’s entrance immediately brought intense pressure. He seemed disinclined to cooperate with teammates, shifting from a playmaker to the focal point of attack. Even Karl, mentally prepared, was startled, thinking the opposition was cosplay-ing Miroslav Klose as a towering striker. This aggressive style remained threatening because Ballack was not only strong but technically gifted, smoothly advancing into the second team’s penalty area. Within five minutes, he created three dangerous chances and fired a shot on goal.

The crowd’s passion ignited instantly, roaring and waving arms from all directions.

Karl had never felt such pressure in his defensive zone—almost humiliating. The opponents came and went as if entering a public space, tearing apart his defensive area. Although Karl managed to maintain safety through defense and double-marking, the discomfort was palpable.

He was a man of order, a natural defender; seeing opponents invade his space was like cockroaches crawling over an open cookie bag—his mental alarm bells rang wildly.

This was the strongest adversary he had faced on the pitch, so overwhelming he struggled to breathe. When locking eyes with those fierce, deep gray eyes, he barely distinguished the color—was there a hint of blue or green? It was maddening; he was painfully nervous.

Yet the pressure sharpened his focus like never before. He could even see the opponent’s pupils clearly while running at speed. Though physical clashes left him staggered and nearly off balance, his anticipation and thinking accelerated, keeping him from conceding ground despite his clumsiness.

Applause and praise were also directed at this young player, who had performed excellently and tenaciously throughout the match.

Hoeneß, resting his chin on his hand at the sideline, looked intrigued. Media keen on reading his expressions tried to interpret his thoughts. The game’s pace quickened, but this time the excitement wasn’t from Ballack’s exploits. Instead, unexpectedly, the second team launched an attack, initiated precisely by Karl, who had looked so harried under Ballack’s pressure.

This time, instead of passively defending and clearing, Karl anticipated Ballack’s run, tracking him cleverly in a double-mark. His action worked; Karl was so desperate to secure the ball he felt as if he had grabbed Ballack’s arm to steady himself.

The referee ignored the minor physical contact, and Karl, after gaining possession, didn’t rush to clear. Instead, he spun around, deftly dodged Ballack’s fierce challenge, then unexpectedly changed direction, flicking a backheel pass straight to the flank.

There, the left fullback, suppressed for fifty minutes, burst forward like lightning.

This surprise move raised Ballack’s eyebrows. He stopped chasing Karl, gently pushed him away, spun sharply, and sprinted back to defend. If a star ran like that, the first team’s players dared not slack, chasing after him. But they pressed too high, leaving their half nearly empty. The second team’s left fullback seemed to soar along the sideline, reaching the danger zone in under ten seconds.

So smoothly, without obstruction???

He didn’t hesitate to shoot, but Kahn, who had been frustrated all half, dived to parry, clutching the ball with one arm and rising to roar in anger.

The young left back almost froze in shock, standing dumbfounded.

Difficult! He had forgotten the goalkeeper wasn’t a substitute but the genuine Golden Lion of Bayern.

Oh no, Karl, he’s so scary-looking—he’s not going to eat me, is he?

Though the shot failed, there was a second chance. After two similar attacks, Magath had to make another substitution—not Lahm on the left, but right-back Willy Sagnol—to block the second team’s unchallenged infiltration on the left flank. Otherwise, he feared Kahn might lose it and start hurling hot water bottles at him.

But no one expected the scene that followed: as soon as the right back came on, blood seemed to flow freely down Bayern’s left side.

No one anticipated such a twist—German television regretted not choosing this match for live broadcast, while the few Munich sports channels airing it saw viewership soar. The commentator shouted in shock:

"What am I seeing, gentlemen? Another attack launched from the center-back position. Remember this name: Karl Heilmann. The young second team captain continuously shows his strength on both ends of the pitch. This time, he delivered a long pass to the right winger, who found space perfectly as the opponent retreated—completely unmarked! Though Kahn saved again, the following striker was perfectly positioned to score on the rebound!!!

Bayern Munich’s second team leads the first team 1-0! My God! The crowd is stunned, clutching their heads like me. Coach Magath’s face is ashen, and Chairman Hoeneß is shocked! Who could have imagined that a group of young players worth barely a few million euros combined could defeat the mighty Bayern first team and take the lead!!!"

Lahm politely asked Magath, “Coach, should I go on?”

He ran a few laps to keep warm every few minutes.

Hoeneß had shifted his gaze from the field to Magath. Since the previous coach Hitzfeld was unceremoniously dismissed at a family dinner, the team had performed reasonably well under Magath—who would have guessed they’d falter against a youth squad? Hoeneß’s mind was a muddle, sweat pouring from his brow and back. For a moment, he couldn’t decide whether to bring Lahm on to shore up the left or add a forward to push for a goal.

But two seconds later, clarity returned.

He was mad! Now trailing, they should be pushing to score. Losing here would be utterly humiliating.

Yet having exhausted all three substitutions and finally forcing a key attacker onto the pitch was a dire situation... As he agonized, the match took a sudden turn. Ballack seemed to have had enough, or realized he wasn’t benefiting from attacking the young center-back. He withdrew to his usual midfield role, swiftly turning his flustered teammates into an effective supporting cast.

His orchestrations and attack-building far surpassed Karl’s clumsy, opportunistic passing, pushing the second team’s defense to retreat en masse.

His shooting within range overwhelmed the goalkeeper, who was already nursing a sore wrist.

Within minutes of conceding, the first team equalized!

“Damn it!” the crowd roared, both excited and angry. “A match against the second team this thrilling? What’s going on? Are the first team’s substitutes just freeloaders?”

Fans suspected the truth was finally exposed: without Kahn guarding the net and Ballack coming on early, the scene could have been much uglier.

Magath promptly brought on a striker to try to end the match quickly. But it was already the 76th minute. Often in football, once less than half an hour remains, the plot becomes unpredictable. While the first team should be serious and press for victory, the second team’s perspective was to block everything physically, delay as long as possible.

If it ended in a draw, then penalties and defeat would be another matter.

---

They absolutely could not lose!

And as if the divine playwright delighted in human folly, at the 87th minute, the second team earned a set piece.

It was created by Ballack’s biggest fan—though not by sneaky fouling but by suffering three consecutive tumbles while defending, so exaggerated even Ballack looked shocked. Honestly, despite many surprises this match had produced, this was the most astonishing—a fragile young player genuinely existed who fell that dramatically.

Rolling on the ground like that—was it really necessary?

Though he raised his hands instantly to prove innocence, the referee, swayed by the young man’s screams, reluctantly issued a yellow card and awarded a free kick. By now, the official felt the pressure of this internal derby’s judgments; if the first team lost, would he be blamed? But with the second team so small and weak, repeatedly thrown to the ground and nearly carried off, denying a free kick would be unfair.

He strove to remain impartial.

Bayern—first or second team—win on their own merits. Don’t blame this outsider!

Absolutely fair. Absolutely!

He blew the whistle and pointed to the spot.

Ballack spread his hands and muttered a curse.

Karl, standing near the goal and trying to read the ball’s trajectory, didn’t anticipate what would unfold in the next moments. Life is full of unexpected twists—like returning home to find your father with another woman, your mother losing her mind and threatening violence; or your mother pretending to be angry but actually not hurting anyone, suddenly announcing you’ll have a little sister, though not your father’s; or standing before your parents as they ask who you want to be with.

Then there are moments like this: Lila’s first word was “brother”; being tapped on the shoulder by a boy with tousled curls who smiles brightly; carrying a teammate across snowy streets feeling guilt, only to discover it was a false alarm and sharing a tearful bite of strawberry cake; opening your always-empty locker and suddenly feeling love emerge from within.

Sometimes, like now, the football bounced off the wall and flew away, but still within reach. Karl chased after it, his mind blank, his vision narrowed so severely that if he collided with someone and fell tumbling, it wouldn’t be surprising.

But no. The pointer of fate aimed straight ahead. Victory often arrives not after hardship but with surprising ease and clarity. This was Karl’s easiest touch all match—unguarded, unblocked, he leapt high and flicked the ball toward the goal. Kahn’s view was blocked by the wall; only thanks to sharp dynamic vision and instinct did he turn to catch the ball’s path—but too late. The ball brushed the goal line and post before nestling into the net.

“A miracle, a real miracle!!!”

The commentator and crowd fell silent for two seconds before leaping to their feet, ignoring the fact that on camera he appeared half in a suit, half in floral shorts. Clenching his fists, he shouted:

“We stand at the center of a miracle! Seventeen-year-old Karl Heilmann! A winning header, a last-minute goal!!! Celebrate, children, celebrate! Cry, children, cry! The mighty Bayern Munich has crumbled in the German Cup quarterfinals, defeated by their own youth academy! The first team is shocked, pale, and humiliated—this is the price paid for arrogance in football!!!”

At the sideline, Lahm sighed softly. Compared to the embarrassment and head-holding among many teammates, he remained calm and dignified, standing to applaud and embrace every departing player.

Those first-team players who had mocked the second team in the locker room before the match now faced reality. Some were ashamed; others, furious, spat more insults, but their anger fell on deaf ears, and soon they fell silent.

Karl lost track of time celebrating, feeling as if a few hairs had been pulled out and his shirt chafed his neck. But he was ecstatic, tears of joy streaming down unknowingly. At this moment, they didn’t think about appearing on the front pages of newspapers tomorrow or the scouts and Hoeneß on the sideline. They were immersed purely in the victory and joy born of competition and effort. The match-winning miracle brought everyone to tears.

“We won!” they kept repeating in disbelief, then cried again, tears flowing like a faucet as they embraced tightly.

What followed was chaotic. Karl found himself talking to over twenty acquaintances and strangers, chased by a dozen reporters. Lahm and Schweinsteiger came over to hug and congratulate him. When Ballack glanced his way, Karl was too scared and ran off.

Yet nothing compared to the moment, just minutes after entering the locker room, when the youth director called him out again—an instant frozen in his life, stamped with an indelible mark. Twelve years later, as Karl contemplated early retirement, he would still dream of this moment.

Pressed on the back, he was led to a higher suite. The door opened, and there sat Hoeneß, who had been at the sideline, now complaining to someone at the window. Seeing Karl enter, he turned his chair, appraised him, then smiled and spread his hands.

“Sit, child.”

The other man turned around. Karl recognized him as Rummenigge, who seemed displeased with Hoeneß’s impulsive behavior but still smiled kindly before nodding.

Karl sat between them.

That seat became his for many years. Fate had brought him here but had not yet revealed what lay ahead. The young Karl, dusty, sweaty, nervous, sat stiffly, not wanting to dirty the chair.

Hoeneß said, “You know, Karl, when the match ended, I went crazy. I stood up and shouted, ‘Who was that bastard who cost us the game?’ Then my assistant told me, ‘Calm down, Uli, it’s our own kid.’ That’s when I realized I’d truly lost it.”

His eyes twinkled with laughter. “I asked Michel what he thought of you. He said he doesn’t like you—but you know what? It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t. I like you, and that’s enough.”

Rummenigge grumbled but couldn’t help snorting a laugh.

Karl stared at Hoeneß, who laughed heartily, kicked his chair forward, and extended his hand.

“I know you already have a well-off, happy family—I met your father just last week. But I want to ask, would you want another family? Though you seem to be here already, this is a more formal invitation. Join Bayern. You might face many challenges, but this will be another lifelong family always with you. If you say yes, your life will change forever. Do you understand? By the end of this month, I’ll offer you a contract. Think it over. Joining the first team means the badge on your chest will bring you glory—or pain—I can’t promise either. Following Big Karl’s idea (Rummenigge snorts), you could be loaned out first. But whatever you choose, you’ll have a formal contract. And you, child? I feel I’ve babbled too much. Look into your eyes—I know you’ll sign. I never get it wrong. See you in my office, Karl. You know where it is—take the elevator to the top floor. It’s time to leave the underground rooms!”

Thus began a new chapter.