Chapter 80: You're Already on Your Own Path
Leon's clearly tongue-in-cheek comment after the match didn't spark any media controversy.
After all, Real Madrid had already reached the Champions League semifinals last season—even without Leon.
So if this season they only managed to advance one round and fall in the quarterfinals, it would be seen as a failure.
And every football fan on the planet knew that since the launch of the new-era Galácticos, Real Madrid's Champions League ambition had always been the same:
La Décima—the club's tenth European crown.
Florentino Pérez hadn't spent astronomical sums bringing in superstar players, nor hired Mourinho, just to watch Barcelona dominate Europe.
So in a way, Leon's answer was modest.
Many Madrid fans online even encouraged him to be bolder next time—just say the goal is to win the whole damn thing.
Real Madrid had the swagger. The fans had even more.
Leon didn't give a definitive response to those comments. He knew the truth:
His real goal was to help Madrid get to the semifinals again.
Because if his addition to the squad couldn't even help them match last season's achievement, what kind of "upgrade" was he supposed to be?
As for whether they could win it all—Leon felt that kind of talk was better backed with action.
When the time came, he'd give everything.
The semis to the final? It's just three games.
If they won? They'd be kings—any narrative would work.
If they lost? Then it didn't matter whether they'd made the semis or dropped out in the round of 16.
In the end, all losers get mocked equally.
Mourinho shared the same mindset.
Everyone knew Real Madrid's ultimate goal.
All Mourinho could do was prepare with everything he had—and believe in his players.
Slogans about titles meant nothing at Madrid.
Here, not winning the trophy meant failure—period.
Of the last three seasons, only the previous one—Mourinho's first year—was even remotely tolerable for fans.
At least they won the Copa del Rey and made the Champions League semifinals.
For any other club, consistent UCL knockouts and top-four finishes would be a solid achievement.
But for Madrid's board and fans? That was a scar, not a success.
The same logic applied to La Liga.
Finishing second in the league three seasons in a row didn't feel like consistency.
It felt like being trapped under Barça's boot.
The suffocating frustration finally began to lift this season, as Madrid maintained a strong, stable start in the league.
So, the moment the Champions League group stage ended, Madridistas turned their eyes to the next objective:
October 2nd's La Liga fixture.
They wanted six straight wins.
They wanted to keep Barça firmly in their rearview mirror.
And so, carrying that weight of expectation—but also riding that wave of momentum—Madrid's squad arrived in Barcelona on the morning of October 2nd.
Callejón was buzzing with excitement, chatting non-stop with Leon about the city's landmarks.
He'd played three seasons with Espanyol, carving out a respectable career. When he retired, he'd be considered a club legend.
Other Madrid players? They weren't as fond of the city.
Even though they weren't facing Barça, just walking through streets lined with Blaugrana banners made them feel uneasy.
Barça players probably felt the same when visiting Madrid.
But when it came to Espanyol—Barça's local rivals—Madrid held no animosity.
In fact, they were usually cordial with Espanyol.
Last season, Mourinho had shown restraint in a 1-0 win here.
Against other La Liga minnows, Madrid regularly won 5-0 or 6-0.
Against Espanyol?
2-0 was often enough.
Tonight was no different.
Even though Pochettino had resigned after a solid eighth-place finish last season, and even though Espanyol had stumbled out of the gate this year, Madrid still respected the unwritten rule.
They scored two goals and called it a day.
Cristiano Ronaldo headed home a cross early in the second half.
Then Higuaín, coming off the bench, buried a one-on-one chance set up by Kaká.
Leon, meanwhile, had another steady, unspectacular outing.
Espanyol's attack wasn't threatening.
He and Alonso easily shut it down.
As the final whistle blew, Leon received a quiet system notification about more points earned.
He couldn't help but smile.
"Earning points is getting easier and easier."
After this routine win, Madrid's league streak improved to six straight wins.
Back in the locker room, as the team laughed and joked, assistant coach Karanka walked in with news:
Barça drew again—this time against Sporting Gijón.
The Madrid locker room erupted in cheers.
Mourinho tried to keep a straight face.
He failed.
A smile broke across his face too.
He couldn't help it.
After just six rounds, Madrid already led Barça by six points.
What did that mean?
Last season, after Matchday 10, Madrid trailed Barça by one point.
After the first half of the season (19 games), Madrid were down three.
By the season's end?
Still three.
The entire title race had been decided by those three points.
And now?
They had a six-point cushion already.
Last year, the widest gap Madrid ever had to chase was six points—and that only came in Matchday 30, near the very end of the season.
Now, they had flipped the script.
That's why the players—and Mourinho—were so happy.
If Barça could win the title last season with only a tiny edge over Madrid…
Then why couldn't Madrid do the same this season?
This dream start energized every single player.
Even Mourinho, who'd been worrying about the upcoming international break, relaxed a bit.
With this buffer, even if some players came back exhausted and dropped points in a future game, he could afford it.
Before dismissing the squad, Mourinho reminded everyone heading off to national teams to take care of their bodies.
But as his eyes scanned the room, they settled on Leon.
"What's your plan for the international break?"
Mourinho was ready—he expected Leon to say "training," at which point he'd step in with his usual cautionary demands and a list of things to monitor.
But to his surprise, Leon answered simply: he was going to rest and handle a few commercial obligations.
"I'm not a machine, after all. I've held up so far, but it's about time for a proper break. I'll rest for four days, maybe shoot one or two ads, then head back to the training center for some extra work."
Leon had already gone over the itinerary Mendes had sent him via email. With nothing to hide, he laid it out honestly for Mourinho.
To Mourinho's surprise, the coach actually nodded approvingly.
"Good. You've earned some rest. I used to feel bad that you didn't get to join the national team, but now? It's fine. Let them play. You take your break and recover.
If anything comes up, call me. If you want to return early to train, call me too."
Leon nodded patiently as Mourinho gave his usual barrage of instructions.
For many players around Leon's age, Mourinho's controlling style might have seemed smothering or annoying.
But to Leon, it felt... right.
From an Eastern mindset, Mourinho was a strict but responsible teacher.
He cared. He pushed his players because he believed in them. He wanted them to become more—not just physically, but mentally.
Sometimes he overdid it. But Leon could handle that.
Once vacation mode kicked in, Leon didn't rush off to the Spanish coast like some of his teammates.
Instead, he stayed home and reviewed all the match tapes he had of Juan Carlos Valerón.
Then, on the morning of October 5, he and his assistant drove to A Coruña.
In this city on the Atlantic coast, outside the once-legendary Riazor Stadium—home of the now-fallen Deportivo La Coruña—Leon met Valerón, who greeted him with a calm, warm smile.
Thanks to Raúl's connections with both Valerón and Casillas, Leon had landed this meeting.
This wasn't a random fanboy encounter.
This wasn't a whimsical request.
This was Leon seizing a chance to find answers to the questions that had been gnawing at him for weeks.
And the more he'd researched Valerón, the more convinced he was that only the man himself could answer them.
But he didn't bombard Valerón with rapid-fire questions.
They sat together in an old, slightly faded coffee shop near the stadium. After some polite chit-chat, Leon simply listened.
Valerón began his story from the beginning.
His early career, which many had doubted.
From Las Palmas to Mallorca, then Atlético Madrid, and finally to Deportivo—where fate tied him permanently to the city.
Valerón spoke calmly. Even when recalling Super Depor's glory years, his voice was soft and even, never carried away by emotion.
Just like his playing style. Just like his personality.
Calm. Humble. Steady.
Leon listened intently—not to a story about rising to greatness and returning to obscurity—but to a man who had lived a rollercoaster career and embraced "obscurity" with peace.
Valerón said he'd simply made the best choice he could at the time.
Now, he was happy, having returned to the core of the sport—just football.
There was no bitterness in his words. No resentment.
Leon was stunned.
Because in hindsight, Valerón's career might be seen as unfulfilled—even regretful.
No major trophies. No Champions League. No World Cup.
Despite the praise from Del Bosque, Iniesta, and so many of his peers, despite the unwavering love from Deportivo fans...
Among the wider football world, Valerón was fading.
His name wouldn't carry into the next generation.
He'd be questioned. Dismissed. Forgotten.
Leon imagined himself in Valerón's shoes.
He tried to picture the world treating him that way.
And no matter how he forced himself to remain calm, the very thought left him hollow.
But when he looked into Valerón's eyes, all he saw was peace.
"You really don't care about any of that?
Even if, one day, younger fans forget you... or mock you... you'd be okay with that?"
Leon finally asked.
Valerón, still smiling, shook his head.
"No, I don't mind. The Deportivo fans will always have a place for me in their hearts. That's enough.
Leon, do you remember why you wanted to become a professional footballer in the first place?"
Leon paused.
A flood of memories hit him all at once.
Was it to redeem a childhood regret?
Was it just something convenient after gaining his "system"?
Was it for the money? The glory? The trophies?
After a long moment, he said it.
"Because I love football."
Valerón nodded.
"Exactly. I used to chase glory too. And I chased the kind of résumé that looks grand on paper.
But in the end, I chose to stay here, even as Deportivo crumbled.
That was the path I believed in.
I didn't have the ambition that many others did.
I didn't leap at the chance to leave my comfort zone and chase greatness.
But I don't regret it—not once.
Because this was the road I chose.
And I walked it with no regrets."
Leon sat in silence, absorbing every word.
Then Valerón smiled and teased:
"But you? Don't follow my example just yet.
You're too young to be this philosophical.
Right now, your job is to fight. To compete. To win."
Leon laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head.
But Valerón placed a hand on his shoulder and asked one last question.
"Are you ready to stay on this path—no matter where it ends?
To keep going, win or lose, and start over again if you must?"
Leon nodded.
"I'm ready."
Valerón's eyes glinted.
"And if, in the end, you fall just short of your dream title...
Would you walk away from football?"
Leon didn't hesitate.
"No! Never!"
Valerón finally smiled wide.
"Then you're already on your path."
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