Chapter 291: Little Lion, Are You Seriously Going for the Golden Boot?!
"Of course I'm going for it! What, are you guys feeling the pressure? Tired from the rotation schedule this season?"
Leon's question cut through the cool air of the training ground.
The rest of Chelsea's squad shook their heads in unison.
To be honest, it was hard to complain.
This season, even the veterans were getting regular rest,
and most of the starting players hadn't gone through any crazy stretches of three matches in six days.
Only Leon—Chelsea's midfield workhorse—had been thoroughly overworked by Mourinho.
And yet, even he had enjoyed more rest than he did the previous year.
All in all, Chelsea's coaching staff had built a rotation system that was far more scientific and reasonable.
Injury-prone players had their minutes strictly managed.
Veterans rotated out after two matches.
Bench players had clearly been given more time than last season, allowing starters to conserve energy for big matches.
And on the pitch, the result was obvious:
winning streaks had become almost effortless.
With no injury crises and no fatigue buildup,
Chelsea's players naturally began to dream bigger.
But until now, no one had dared to say anything out loud.
They simply approached every match with a calm, focused mentality.
That kind of grounded attitude brought stability—
no extra pressure on players, no unnecessary expectations on coaches.
But now? Leon had shattered the silence with one bold declaration:
"Let's go undefeated this season and win all four trophies!"
And with that, pressure came flooding in—
but so did hunger.
"Without pressure, how do you expect to unlock your full potential?
Every year, Europe sees a new superpower emerge.
Barça, Madrid, Bayern—those are the names that have defined the last five years.
But if you zoom out, look back a full decade,
Chelsea was always right there—one of the elite.
That's when I fell in love with the Blue Lions.
That era of blood, steel, and resilience—it's still fresh in my mind.
Ten years later, here we are.
Gathered in the same kit, under the same badge.
We can't let it all pass like a dream.
We have to right the wrongs of the past.
For Didier, for John, for Frank, for Petr, for Zlatan…
And for ourselves.
Let's set this goal together.
Let's carry the hopes of every Chelsea fan.
This time—we will reach the summit of Europe!"
Leon's speech, delivered right there on the training ground after the session, was electrifying.
It lit a fire under the "old boys" of Chelsea—
and the younger players stared at Leon like they were looking at a living legend.
Leon believed he was right.
He'd once again expanded his teammates' vision—awakened their ambition.
And when a motivational speech doesn't work?
It's probably just bad timing—or not enough of it.
Leon figured this was the perfect moment—and he poured it on.
He wasn't worried about whether the team's seasoned veterans would rally behind him.
He knew they would.
Mourinho, watching from the sideline, actually thought Leon's speech was excellent.
But seeing the younger players getting a little too fired up,
he stepped in and gave Leon a firm kick—literally.
"Alright, that's enough. Back to work!"
Leon ran off holding his backside, while the rest of the players quickly sobered up.
The meeting had both fire and laughter—
but no matter what, Leon's words had left a mark.
Not just on the players, but on the staff.
Even Mourinho.
Before that moment, even Mourinho hadn't dared dream of an undefeated, four-title season.
It was a crazy idea. Just thinking about it was bold enough.
But the idea itself… was intoxicating.
Still, Mourinho didn't share his thoughts with the assistants.
Instead, during their next tactical meeting, he was stricter than ever.
And Chelsea's next opponent?
Sunderland—the "Draw Kings" of the Premier League—became the unlucky recipient of this renewed focus.
On November 29th, Chelsea traveled to the Stadium of Light.
Facing a team barely hovering above the relegation zone,
Chelsea showed no mercy.
When Sunderland boss Gus Poyet saw Chelsea's full-strength starting XI an hour before kickoff, he froze.
What was this?
You rotated against Manchester United, but not against us?
From a certain angle, Chelsea's decision to start their best was a show of respect.
But for Sunderland fans, it felt like the opposite.
"Who the hell wants your respect?! Send your B team, you bastards!"
Of course, Mourinho wasn't hearing any of it.
And Chelsea's starters weren't holding back, either.
From the opening whistle, they pushed past the halfway line and dominated possession.
Kroos didn't sit deep today—he was up near Leon, pressing Sunderland's box.
Leon occasionally slipped into the penalty area himself for a late run.
Poyet, on the sideline, was losing his mind.
He waved frantically, trying to get his players to push Chelsea back to midfield.
But Sunderland's midfielders could only roll their eyes.
Sure, they were playing a 4-5-1. On paper, they had numbers.
But look at the other side!
Chelsea's midfield three included Kroos—the human metronome.
He hadn't missed a pass all match.
Leon? He spun with the ball like he was dancing.
He turned three pressing players into spectators with a single pivot.
If they pressed harder, Kroos would lay it back to Matic—
who'd fire a diagonal long ball straight into the feet of Hazard or De Bruyne.
Suddenly, Chelsea were in Sunderland's final third again.
Double team? At this point? What's the use of swarming in five midfielders to press when Chelsea's long passes get to the wings faster than your legs ever could?
Relying on fullbacks to consistently shut down one-on-one attacks against Hazard and De Bruyne?
Might as well pray that both of them have a shocker today.
The truth is, if there were defenders in the Premier League right now who could shut down Chelsea's wingers one-on-one,
they sure as hell wouldn't be playing for Sunderland.
Poyet finally caught on. After watching his players push up only to get burned behind again and again, he wisely shut his mouth.
"Alright then… Might as well let Chelsea camp at our doorstep and keep organizing attacks. Maybe if we shrink the defense a little more… it'll help. Maybe?"
It was a textbook case of choosing the lesser evil.
Sunderland were quick to compress their shape—but expanding again to counterattack? That was a whole different problem.
Parking the bus?
Chelsea had mastered this game long ago.
Hazard and De Bruyne started drifting further inside, operating mainly in the half-spaces.
They gave up the flanks entirely, handing that space to the overlapping Bertrand and Azpilicueta.
Now, with Leon and Kroos pushing up as well,
Chelsea had at least seven players in Sunderland's half linking passes and joining the attack.
From the touchline to the half-space to the center, Chelsea had attackers everywhere.
And with their sharp passing and fluid movement,
Sunderland's backline couldn't hope to hold a perfectly sealed defense.
In the 19th minute, Kroos received a return pass from De Bruyne and switched it to the left with laser precision.
Hazard, who had been expected to stretch the flank, instead made a sudden move inside.
Just as he exchanged passes with Bertrand, he slotted the ball into the gaping space in Sunderland's right half-space.
Who was waiting there?
Leon, who had just moments ago been meandering through the middle, now perfectly timed his run into the chaos.
His arrival into the final third sent Sunderland's defense into a panic.
Right-back Billy Jones and center-back O'Shea closed in immediately, trying to buy time for Cattermole to track back.
But Leon wasn't reckless—he didn't force a shot.
Instead, he nudged the ball to his left, opening a perfect path for Bertrand,
who had continued his overlapping run and now cut inside smoothly.
With defenders drawn to Leon, Bertrand had space and time.
He whipped a powerful low cross across the face of goal.
Ibrahimović, tangled with Wes Brown, stretched his long leg and got a toe to it!
But Pantilimon dropped fast, just barely managing to deflect the shot with his foot.
The ball spun awkwardly toward the right side of the box—
but Leon was already there, pouncing with a full-power follow-up shot!
O'Shea's outstretched leg was too slow.
Pantilimon, still rising from the grass, could only watch the ball fly past him into the net.
1–0!
Not even twenty minutes in, and Sunderland's defense had been breached.
Poyet stood on the sidelines, looking like he'd been hit by a truck.
Sky Sports' commentator couldn't help but yell,
"Leon's on fire! He's absolutely on fire!"
After Leon overtook Cavani to lead the Premier League scoring charts,
most people thought he'd slow down. After all, he's a midfielder. Surely he couldn't really challenge for the Golden Boot?
But now, with another goal—his 12th in 13 matches—
Leon was not only still top of the charts, he was scoring with frightening consistency.
And this match wasn't even over.
At this pace, he was about to push his average to one goal per game—an elite striker's level, from midfield.
Meanwhile, Cavani had gone three straight matches without scoring.
Still stuck at 10 goals.
If both trends continued, Leon might genuinely become the first midfielder in Premier League history to win the Golden Boot.
Leon, of course, wasn't keeping track.
He wasn't comparing himself to Cavani.
He was just happy to have put his team ahead.
But with Sunderland behind now, their defensive approach was meaningless.
Unless they wanted to play like cowards in front of 40,000 home fans.
Poyet, for all his tactical flaws, wasn't about to let that happen.
He might not be world-class, but he knew when to pivot.
Keep parking the bus after going behind? That's how you get fired before Christmas.
To save his job—and Sunderland's dignity—he told his players to push up and fight.
It was the right call.
But it didn't go well.
In the 36th minute, De Bruyne broke down the right off a long pass from Kroos.
Leon's forward run drew the defense out of shape.
Ibrahimović, lurking at the far post, shrugged off O'Shea and buried De Bruyne's cross.
2–0 at halftime.
Chelsea were cruising. Sunderland were reeling.
In the second half, Sunderland grew more frantic, their tackles more reckless.
Kroos and Leon both picked up on the tension—and began funneling the ball to Hazard.
And Hazard delivered.
In the 64th minute, after tearing through Billy Jones multiple times,
Hazard finally drew a blatant foul in the box.
Jones yanked him down.
No red, but the penalty was clear as day.
This time, Leon didn't pass it up.
He stepped to the spot, spinning the ball in his hand,
and then smashed it into the net with confidence.
Pantilimon dove the wrong way, pounding the turf in frustration.
Leon raced toward the corner flag, beckoning his teammates for a group knee-slide celebration.
Sky Sports' commentator shouted,
"THIRTEEN goals in thirteen league games! Chelsea's Lion King isn't just chasing the top scorer title—he's serious about it!"
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