Chapter 298: Hype Helps, but Performance Is What Truly Matters
At the awards ceremony, Cristiano Ronaldo didn't seem particularly upset—even though he hadn't made the Ballon d'Or top three this year.
At first, Leon thought Ronaldo had expected this and was simply unfazed by the result.
During their earlier chats, Leon hadn't sensed any signs of disappointment or resentment.
But it wasn't until they sat down for afternoon tea that Ronaldo revealed the real reason behind his indifference.
"Messi came third, I came fourth… in the end, we were just extras. If we're talking individual performance, you should've won it, Little Lion. Of course, Ribéry deserved it too."
Leon filtered out the praise—he'd gotten used to Ronaldo being blunt and direct.
What struck him more was the insight into Ronaldo's mentality.
To Ronaldo, Messi was his only real rival.
If neither of them had won the Ballon d'Or, the competition from last season didn't matter all that much.
Ribéry's win wouldn't change the hierarchy at the very top.
As long as Messi wasn't first, Ronaldo could live with being fourth.
Their brief time together was open and relaxed.
Ronaldo, true to form, didn't hold back—asking about the current state of the Premier League,
Manchester United's situation, and even venting about his strained relationship with Real Madrid's upper management—namely Florentino Pérez.
Privately, Leon had always sided with Ronaldo in that conflict.
Even a season and a half after leaving Madrid, Ronaldo still treated Leon as one of his closest friends.
After all, in matters of loyalty and trust, where you stand often matters more than how right you are.
Leon had always played his role well—never leaking information, always managing locker room politics with tact.
He got along with both the Spanish core and the Portuguese camp.
Not just because he spoke well, but because he listened, understood, and kept his mouth shut when it mattered.
That's what made him so reliable—what earned him the trust of those around him.
"Sometimes… I really wish you were still on the team, Little Lion. James is good. He's really good… but you were different. I miss playing with you."
Just before parting ways, Ronaldo gave Leon a heartfelt hug and let it out.
It wasn't the first time he'd said this.
After Madrid's bitter Champions League semifinal loss to Atlético last season,
he had voiced similar sentiments in an interview with Marca.
Atlético fans had mocked him for it, claiming he was being a sore loser.
But deep down, not one of them dared to say they'd still have beaten Real if Leon were still around.
Ronaldo's regret echoed that of every Madridista.
Leon couldn't remain silent.
He patted Ronaldo on the shoulder.
"I miss those days with you guys too…"
They exchanged a smile.
And just like that, the topic was laid to rest—unspoken but understood.
They walked away from Zurich in different directions, still friends,
but also now rivals for football's highest honors.
Their battle wasn't over.
But one day, it might be.
Ronaldo was six years older.
Time would eventually shift his priorities.
In football, nothing is truly impossible.
Who's to say they won't team up again someday?
※※※
Leon returned to London carrying the honor of Silver Ball winner,
but the English media welcomed him with the fanfare reserved for a Ballon d'Or champion.
To the casual observer, it might've seemed like Leon won the Ballon d'Or, not Ribéry.
The attention was so over-the-top that Leon couldn't help but sigh.
But he understood.
This was the highest individual honor won by a Premier League player since Ronaldo's Ballon d'Or in early 2009.
Six years. That's how long England had waited for a player with a real shot at the crown.
Of course the press went wild.
But all that noise also stirred resentment.
A vocal portion of fans—especially from Bayern and Ribéry's camp—weren't pleased.
Leon had performed brilliantly last season, and his stats this year were phenomenal.
But Ribéry had led Bayern to a historic treble.
And while Europe praised Ribéry's success, the English media spun narratives with a hint of arrogance,
diminishing his achievement in favor of hyping their own.
Understandably, that sparked backlash.
Amid the chaos, many Bayern fans lashed out—not just at the press, but at Leon himself.
Chelsea fans, predictably, fought back.
Sensing a PR storm brewing, Leon's management team quickly stepped in.
They launched a subtle campaign to de-escalate tensions.
But Leon? He remained silent.
He'd been through this kind of media frenzy before.
He hadn't entered the game expecting universal love.
As a footballer, public image can be shaped by press and hype.
But respect from fans—that's earned through performance.
Good headlines can't match good football.
A flashy run of form can't replace year-round excellence.
Play well. Win big. Deliver when it counts.
That's how you silence doubters.
For Leon, that part was easy now.
What he didn't need was exaggerated praise.
He tuned it all out, focused fully on preparing for the fixtures ahead.
Winning the Silver Ball thanks to last season's success was a huge morale boost—not just for him, but for Chelsea as a whole.
The mood in training changed.
Mourinho could see it.
He didn't need to give speeches.
No more motivational talks.
Old and young players alike had one shared focus:
keep going.
Keep proving they belonged at the very top.
Last season, Chelsea were still some way from the top of European football.
But they'd come far—further than many expected—and this season, they had strengthened significantly.
One painful failure was enough. The sting of regret had only made them more determined to climb even higher.
Now, for Leon and for the entire Chelsea squad, there was only one goal left:
To stand atop the football world.
With that singular ambition pushing them forward, they completed their final three days of training and returned to Premier League action.
On January 17th, Mourinho led his team to Swansea for Matchweek 22.
Swansea had been impressive early in the season, at one point climbing into the top six.
But as the brutal holiday fixture pile-up hit, their form dipped just like so many other mid-table sides.
After three straight winless matches—a draw and two losses—they had fallen from sixth to tenth.
Worse yet, the winter schedule had left their lineup severely weakened due to injuries.
And it looked like more hard times were ahead.
Chelsea, however, showed no mercy.
With a full week of rest behind them, Terry and Ibrahimović returned to the starting lineup at full strength.
The younger starters were even more energetic—completely refreshed.
Lining up in a 4-3-3, Chelsea stormed the Liberty Stadium from the first whistle, imposing their will on the hosts.
Compared to their first meeting earlier in the season, Swansea boss Garry Monk had become far more pragmatic.
He no longer hoped for miracles.
Back then, with a full-strength squad, Swansea had still struggled to match Chelsea's dominant midfield.
Now, with both of their starting defensive midfielders—Ki Sung-yueng and Jonjo Shelvey—injured,
Monk had no choice but to play for the counter.
But even after lowering their tactical stance, Chelsea refused to let up.
Leon didn't even bother defending much in this one—he focused entirely on breaking down Swansea's backline.
With Matic and Kroos more than capable of neutralizing Swansea's limp counters,
Leon turned all his attention toward attack.
And it didn't take long.
In the 13th minute, Leon received a pass with his back to goal,
spun away from Sigurdsson—who was awkwardly playing out of position as a holding midfielder—
and sent a precise through ball slicing into the box.
Hazard made the run, latched onto it, and buried a low shot into the near corner.
Fabianski couldn't stop it.
He wanted to yell in frustration—until he remembered:
his captain, Ashley Williams, was out injured too.
The curse of the winter schedule.
Commentator Jian Jun celebrated the goal, but couldn't help sympathizing with Swansea:
"...their entire midfield and defensive line is riddled with injuries.
No Ki, no Shelvey, and no Williams. It's no wonder they can't contain Chelsea's attack."
If the fixture list were more reasonable,
if one of the domestic cups was scrapped,
a side like Swansea might still be pushing for top six, maybe even a Champions League spot.
But reality was harsh.
The winter grind had broken them.
In England, surviving the chaos was the only path to glory.
Endure, and you might become Leicester.
Collapse, and you're just Swansea.
The home fans winced at every wave of Chelsea pressure.
But Leon?
He showed no mercy.
He hunted.
Relentless.
In the 22nd minute, he struck again.
This time, on the right side of Swansea's box,
he faked a shot, pulled the ball back, and embarrassed young Tom Carroll.
Then, before center-back Amat could step in,
Leon scooped the ball delicately into the center of the box.
Ibrahimović, perfectly timed, held off Fernandez and smashed a volley past Fabianski.
Two assists in less than thirty minutes.
Chelsea fans were in heaven.
Leon was conducting the match like a maestro.
And though he didn't add to his tally before halftime,
everyone knew—this match was his.
Then came the 68th minute.
Ibrahimović dropped deep to receive the ball and laid it off to Leon.
With a burst of speed, Leon charged into the penalty area.
Amat, afraid of a thunderous shot, rushed over to block—
only for Leon to calmly square the ball to the back post.
Ibra tapped in his second goal of the night.
Assist hat trick.
At that point, the media storm around Leon vanished.
It didn't matter what people had said.
It didn't matter who had tried to stir things up.
It didn't matter what fans of Ribéry or Bayern thought.
Talk is cheap. Performance is gold.
Leon had let his feet do the talking.
And they spoke loudly.
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