Chapter 84: Kid, Come to Madrid—Let's Win a Lot of Titles Together
It felt really damn good to have a world-class forward sitting in front of you, carrying the team's scoring load.
Leon finally understood why players—whether they had played with peak Ronaldo or peak Messi—almost always spoke highly of them, even if they barely shared minutes on the pitch.
Yes, both of them were ball-dominant, selfish with their shooting rights, and absolutely the center of attention.
But—they scored goals.
And in football, goals are everything.
That moment when the ball hits the back of the net? It ignites the crowd, lifts spirits, changes everything.
From the start of the season, every time Cristiano had a decent chance in the final third, Leon felt at ease.
He trusted Ronaldo.
And Ronaldo, with his consistent and prolific finishing, had made life so much easier for everyone behind him.
All Leon had to do was defend, hold the midfield, and occasionally chase hard to win back possession and start counters.
It wasn't always easy—sometimes it meant burning through the lungs to apply pressure and recover the ball just to give the team one more breakaway.
But more often than not, it felt like clockwork.
Hold the line, get the ball, and then just watch Ronaldo or one of the forwards crack the deadlock.
Like right now: with Cristiano having already scored the opener, Leon, Alonso, and Callejón were sitting deep, forming a stable interception screen across midfield.
Leon didn't have to do anything fancy—just maintain defensive pressure.
They were setting the net, waiting for Málaga to step into the trap.
Pellegrini was starting to see it too.
That last goal—Cristiano's ridiculous angle shot—had shaken him.
If Pellegrini were still Madrid's coach, he too would have prioritized funneling the ball to Cristiano, letting him fire at will.
Now realizing Mourinho's plan, Pellegrini quickly ran through several tactical counters:
Cut off the link between midfield and Cristiano?Double-mark Ronaldo, denying him space to cut inside?Switch to a double pivot and shadow Ronaldo wherever he drifted?
He thought about them all.
Then dismissed them.
Because he knew this Madrid squad too well.
Cristiano could do more than score—his passing was good enough to beat a double team and set up teammates.
And Madrid had Di María and Higuaín. You couldn't just treat them like glorified decoys.
After a moment's reflection, Pellegrini changed his approach.
If you couldn't contain Ronaldo directly, then maybe the key was in Real's launchpad—their midfield and defense.
So, ten minutes later, Málaga pressed forward with renewed boldness.
Not just aggressive offense—but targeted counter-pressing.
Mourinho and his players were surprised, even confused, by the sudden change in tempo.
Pellegrini wasn't giving up.
He wasn't falling apart.
He had a plan.
Málaga now pressed like Barcelona did: immediate counter-pressing after losing the ball, and if they couldn't win it back, tactical fouls to stop play.
Alonso and Ramos became primary targets.
They usually had a second to look up, gauge the run, make the pass.
Not anymore.
Now, Málaga's midfielders swarmed them. They didn't even give them half a second.
Leon, sitting a bit deeper, saw it all clearly.
This was a risky tactic. It demanded high effort, huge stamina.
But for now—it was working.
Because Leon, even with his recent training boost, still hadn't reached the level of Alonso when it came to long passing.
He'd drawn the Frank de Boer long-pass talent shard, yes.
But his number was still only 77.
Usable—but not yet elite.
He could hit clean passes, even pretty ones.
But he couldn't consistently launch 40-meter counterattacks under pressure like Alonso could.
So what now?
Leon looked ahead—at Di María and Callejón.
Seconds later, Mourinho made his move.
He was faster than Pellegrini expected.
Madrid changed shape—from a 4-3-3 to a 4-4-2.
Alonso and Leon dropped into a double pivot.
Di María and Callejón pulled way back to become true wide midfielders.
Suddenly, Madrid's attack shifted from direct launch play to twin-wing build-ups.
Alonso transformed from the midfield maestro into a sweeper enforcer, like Leon.
Intercept, redistribute wide—let the flanks run the show.
Pellegrini's pressing plan?
Obsolete.
High-pressing central midfield worked when your opponent funneled play through the middle.
But now?
You had to chase Madrid's wingers, and that was a different nightmare.
Especially with Di María.
He might've been dabbling as a midfielder this season, but at his core?
He was still one of the world's deadliest pure wingers.
Now, back in his natural habitat, Di María came alive.
Within five minutes, he roasted Apoño twice on the flank.
Apoño had to bring him down—hard—earning a yellow card just to keep Madrid from bursting in.
Pellegrini couldn't sit still anymore.
He paced the sideline, fuming.
But truth be told—he wasn't great at in-game adjustments.
Pellegrini's strength had always been in preparation, in training, in building flowing attacking systems.
What he had just done—counter-pressing like Barcelona—was already pushing the limits of what he usually tried.
And now?
Madrid had changed again.
The game had slipped away.
Watching the goal machine up front work his magic? It was bliss.
Leon finally understood why so many players—whether they'd played with peak Cristiano Ronaldo or peak Messi—always had good things to say about them, even when they barely shared the pitch.
Yeah, they hogged the ball. Yeah, they monopolized the spotlight.
But—they scored goals.
And in football, that's the whole damn point.
Nothing fires up the blood like the moment the ball hits the back of the net.
Nothing shifts a match like a clinical finish.
Since the start of this season, Leon had developed a certain comfort—every time Ronaldo got into a good position, he trusted him to score.
And Ronaldo repaid that faith with a steady stream of goals, lightening the load for everyone behind him.
Leon's job? Defend. Control the tempo. Occasionally run like hell to win the ball and give the attack another chance.
But most of the time?
It felt like he was just clocking in, working calmly in the background, waiting for Ronaldo to do what he does best—break the game open.
Like right now.
With Ronaldo having already scored, Leon and Alonso, along with the always-diligent Callejón, built a strong midfield screen.
There was no need to push up recklessly. Just hold the line, wait for Málaga to overextend.
On the other sideline, Pellegrini was piecing things together.
That Ronaldo goal? It was borderline disrespectful.
If he were still managing Madrid, he'd do exactly what Mourinho was doing: feed Ronaldo like a machine gun.
Once he'd figured out Mourinho's intention, Pellegrini ran through a dozen ideas.
Cut off the supply to Ronaldo?Double-mark him to deny those inside runs?Drop to a double pivot, shadow him with a DM and a fullback?
Plenty of options.
But in the end?
He shook his head.
Because he knew this Madrid team too well.
Ronaldo wasn't just a scorer. He could pass. If they boxed him in, he'd simply feed Di María or Higuaín, both of whom were lethal.
He thought for another moment.
Then decided—maybe the key wasn't Ronaldo, but the engine room behind him.
If you wanted to shut Madrid down, you had to stop the transitions.
So about ten minutes later, Málaga changed again.
No more half-hearted attacks. They pushed high. They went all-in.
Madrid's players were stunned.
Even Mourinho looked up, eyebrows raised.
What is Pellegrini thinking now?
Turns out, Pellegrini wasn't panicking.
He had a plan—a gamble.
He mirrored Barcelona's pressing strategy: press hard where the ball is lost. If you can't win it back, tactical foul.
He targeted Alonso and Ramos—Madrid's long-pass merchants.
Normally, those two had just enough time to look up and hit a dime.
Now? Málaga sent two men at them the moment the ball hit their feet.
No time. Not even a half-second.
Leon, sitting deeper, saw it all clearly.
This approach? It was risky.
It burned stamina like crazy. But in the short term, it was working.
And Leon knew his limitations.
Yes, he'd drawn Frank de Boer's long-pass talent shard.
But his rating was still only 77. It was solid—but not elite.
He could ping a ball, sure. But he couldn't be the new Alonso. Not yet.
So he instinctively looked toward Di María and Callejón.
Mourinho made his move fast—faster than Pellegrini expected.
He changed Madrid's shape: from 4-3-3 to 4-4-2.
Alonso and Leon sat deep.
Di María and Callejón pulled wide into midfield.
No more long ball build-up. Now? It was wing overload.
Alonso became less of a quarterback, more of a bulldog like Leon—win the ball, send it wide.
Pellegrini's entire press collapsed.
You could press the middle. But pressing the wings?
That's a whole different beast.
And Di María was a beast.
He was supposed to be a midfielder this season. But really? He was still one of the world's top-tier explosive wingers.
Now back on the flank, he went berserk.
In five minutes, he torched Apoño twice.
Apoño had to take a yellow just to stop him.
Pellegrini couldn't take it anymore. He stood, pacing.
But in-game tactical shifts? Not his strength.
He was a prep guy—training, teaching, scripting movement.
That he'd managed to counter Madrid once was already a surprise.
Now?
Madrid were loose again.
A few minutes later, Leon and Callejón broke down the flank.
Callejón was no trickster, but that made him more dangerous—direct, disciplined, predictable in a good way.
He carried the ball to the edge of the box, pushed it past Málaga's fullback, and whipped in a fast, flat cross.
It was a decoy.
The defense and Higuaín all rushed the near post.
But Ronaldo stepped back—just a yard—and then exploded forward.
The ball came in low.
And the final assist?
Leon, sitting at the top of the arc, feinted like he'd shoot…
And slid in a perfect through ball, splitting two defenders, into Ronaldo's path.
"Leon at the top of the box! Touch-pass—Cristiano shoots—GOAL!!!"
"What a beautiful setup! Ronaldo finishes low near post—Leon's quick feed was picture perfect!"
In the late-night CCTV-5 studio, commentator Duan Xuan clenched his fist in joy.
Ronaldo goal. Leon assist.
If there was anything better, it would've been Leon scoring himself.
Ronaldo jogged over, beaming, throwing an arm around Leon's shoulders.
"I knew you'd pass it, Little Lion. Your passing's getting better every week."
"Of course I passed. Now remember to fatten up my assist bonus, will ya?"
"Hahaha! Done!"
They celebrated with wide grins.
With the score now 2–0, the match was more or less decided.
Madrid's players surrounded the pair, all smiles.
Málaga? They were broken.
They had hoped to go toe-to-toe at home.
Now?
Couldn't attack, couldn't defend.
They'd settle for a consolation goal, if they were lucky.
Málaga's players were crushed. But Pellegrini wasn't done yet.
At halftime, he pulled off Joaquín, sent on the younger Fernández, and had Van Nistelrooy start warming up.
He changed to a 4-4-2.
Rondón and Fernández up front.
Cazorla and Isco wide, feeding them crosses.
It was a good idea. In theory.
But Mourinho had other plans.
He subbed Higuaín off, brought in Kaká, and switched to a 4-2-3-1.
Isco and Cazorla? Locked down.
Then, in minute 61, Cristiano struck again.
Kaká to Cristiano.
One touch inside.
Curl.
Far post.
Boom.
3–0.
Silence.
Ronaldo's hat trick ended all debate.
Mourinho gestured: pull back.
That was enough.
In minute 76, Lass replaced Alonso.
In minute 82, Benzema came on for Ronaldo.
As for Leon?
Mourinho never even considered subbing him out.
The anchor stayed on.
Young legs. Solid engine. No problem.
As long as Leon was there, Mourinho felt safe.
Without him? Trust Lass to screen the back line?
Mourinho's anxiety would spike to the moon.
The final minutes were calm. Málaga had no more bite.
Final score: 3–0.
Another clean, brutal display of dominance by Real Madrid.
Leon, seeing a dejected Isco after the final whistle, approached and offered to swap shirts.
They hugged. Leon patted him on the back.
And then whispered a single line that made Isco's heart skip a beat.
"Kid… don't stay at Málaga too long.
Come to Madrid. Let's win a lot of titles together."
Thank you for the support, friends. If you want to read more chapters in advance, go to my Patreon.
Read 20 Chapters In Advance: patreon.com/johanssen10