But just then.
"What's so funny?"
Manager Coleman, newly appointed this season, fixed his gaze on the two men.
One was 28-year-old defensive midfielder Mikel Aranburu.
The other was 34-year-old Darko Kovacevic.
Both were veteran players on the team, known for their immature personalities that didn't match their age.
To put it bluntly, they were famously childish. In particular, Kovacevic, who was Serbian, was notorious for his childish temperament.
"Ah, you wouldn't know since this is your first year, Coach. Until two years ago, we had a Korean player on our team. They used to call him the Korean Beckham. Heh."
"So?"
"Haha. Do you know what that kid said during his signing interview?"
"He said his dream was to raise his value and move to Real Madrid. Completely out of line."
"Puhahaha! Know your level, right?"
Mikel Aranburu chimed in, and Kovacevic burst out laughing.
But Coleman didn't find it funny at all.
"Why are you bringing that story up now?"
"Pardon?"
"I don't get it. What does that have to do with our current situation?"
The coach was out front, passionately explaining tactics, and yet these two were disrupting the mood from the side.
As a young manager from Wales, Coleman couldn't even imagine this kind of behavior.
This wasn't a school, after all.
"This is driving me insane."
Having taken over two months ago, he was determined to restore discipline to the team.
He didn't intend to change anyone's personality, but to lead effectively, he knew he had to set the tone.
But it wasn't as easy as he'd hoped.
Coleman was 37, only three years older than Kovacevic.
On top of that, the Spanish league players had fiery temperaments. Any attempt at tightening discipline usually ended in friction.
It was a major challenge for Coleman, who was used to British culture.
He had made it this far thanks to relentless effort, but when he first arrived, the team atmosphere had been a total mess.
There was a reason they were relegated last year.
The team's problems were obvious.
Severe cliques and rampant selfishness.
Aranburu and Kovacevic were dragging the team down.
Coleman would have loved to kick them out immediately, but he couldn't.
They were still top players in terms of ability.
So, he compromised.
"The ones who laugh are the ones who win. There's plenty of time to laugh after a win."
"Hm?"
"I'm telling you, focus. Ho-young is not someone you can underestimate just because he's young. Based on individual ability, he's already one of the best in the league. That kid."
Coleman's serious tone made Kovacevic sit up straight.
"I know. Even a stray dog on the street knows how good that kid is."
"Then I'm curious how you can act so relaxed."
"This is my 17th year as a professional. That kid's been pro for what, two months?"
Kovacevic's face turned serious.
He tapped his temple with his index finger.
"He might be good at football, but up here, he's still a child. And I know Koreans well. Very hot-blooded. That's the angle we go for."
"Don't speak in riddles. Tell me your plan."
"A plan? Just leave it to me."
It was the composure and confidence of a veteran.
Kovacevic was sure of himself.
"This is a good opportunity to show him what it means to be a pro."
September 12.
"Ugh."
A strained voice echoed through the Castilla training center at Valdebebas.
It was Ho-young, groaning during training.
"Pha!"
Muscle training focused around the knees.
It was all about injury prevention.
For a player whose main weapon was dribbling, injuries were always a threat. And for a youth player, caution was even more crucial.
Especially since he had shot up in height over the past year, now approaching 180 cm. He had to pay extra attention to posture correction and body balance.
That's why Ho-young had consistently followed various muscle training programs since last year, including body balance correction.
Naturally, his physical talents had developed significantly.
The customized training programs from the club helped, but even more valuable was Zidane's tutoring.
In just one year with him, Ho-young had acquired over 10 talents.
Of course, Zidane was now too busy to train with him personally, but Ho-young had already absorbed almost all A-level talents from him.
It had been an incredibly productive year.
And in the Segunda División, there were plenty of B-level talents among the pros. Every match was a chance to absorb something new.
It was like a training ground in itself.
In short, he was following the best possible path at this stage.
There didn't seem to be any major pitfalls ahead.
"There are four main reasons why promising players fail," he recalled from an article he once read online.
1. Getting too full of themselves and constantly changing their hairstyle.
2. Getting a taste of money and flaunting it.
3. Dating glamorous women more than four years older.
4. Meeting a terrible tutor or coach.
The so-called "Roots Theory."
It was meant as a joke, but the logic made sense when you thought about it.
Fortunately, none of that applied to Ho-young.
He was deliberately cautious about all those pitfalls and focused solely on football.
And today.
The results of that focus finally began to show.
A few weeks ago, he had absorbed Riquelme's playmaking. Then came the fusion process with Kaká's playmaking.
Today was the day that process completed.
[Playmaking of the Football Crown Prince (U) and Playmaking of the Rebel (U) have successfully fused.]
[You have acquired Playmaking of Absolute Purity (W).]
[W (World) grade is a unique and unparalleled talent in football history. No one has ever replicated it.]
[Your current capacity is insufficient to fully contain Playmaking of Absolute Purity (W). However, the Football Prodigy (S) talent makes it possible.]
[Time required to fully absorb the talent: 180 days → 90 days.]
[During this period, you cannot absorb any other talents.]
A one-of-a-kind U-grade talent.
And now, fused into a W-grade.
Its uniqueness was said to be unmatched in football history.
"Whew."
Ho-young's chest swelled with emotion.
Excitement and anticipation.
It felt like discovering a new continent.
But the feeling didn't last long. A creeping tension and vague fear began to rise.
The burden weighed heavy on him.
"Absolute."
It wasn't something to be taken lightly.
No matter how perfect it was, if he couldn't utilize it properly, it could be a flawed blessing.
The important question was coexistence.
Kaká's playmaking, rooted in rapid transition and directness.
Riquelme's playmaking, defined by the beauty of slowness.
Two polar opposites.
Whether these extremes could harmonize rather than clash would determine the success or failure of this fusion.
So, there was no answer just yet.
It would come at a cost.
Effort.
"No point overthinking it."
Ho-young didn't dwell on these kinds of problems anymore.
He knew what he could do.
Just go for it.
September 16.
Castilla's squad arrived at Estadio Anoeta for Round 4 of the league.
And they weren't alone.
Despite the five-hour drive, many Castilla fans had made the trip.
After all, their opponent was Real Sociedad, who were in La Liga just last season.
Although they'd lost some firepower after relegation, they were still a strong team.
The match promised to be exciting.
The supporters roared.
"¡Vamos!"
"Castilla!"
"¡Vamos!"
"Castilla!!"
¡Vamos, Castilla!
Backed by passionate cheers, the Castilla players stepped onto the pitch.
One by one, the names of the players were called, and then it was Ho-young's turn.
[Numero 43, Ho-young Woo!]
"¡Vamos!"
"Castilla!"
"¡Vamos!"
"Castilla!!"
Attack!
The shout made every player raise their hand to the left side of their chest.
When they placed their hand beneath the emblem, the crowd went silent.
Madridismo.
Dignity. Discipline. Honor.
It was the noble spirit that defined Real Madrid.
While Castilla's players were bonding with the crowd.
"He's acting like a clown."
A mocking voice came from the right.
Ho-young turned his gaze in that direction.
A man wearing a blue and white striped kit was muttering crude words.
[Darko Kovacevic]
[Possessed Talents: Superior Jumping Power (A-), Excellent Heading (B+3), Smart Positioning (B+), High Work Rate (B+)]
(You can obtain one talent by meeting the required conditions.)
(Condition 1: Win the match)
(Condition 2: Provoke and enrage the opponent)
(Condition 3: Record at least one attacking point)
Target man Kovacevic.
As they shook hands, he spoke.
"You're better off in a school uniform than a kit, you reeking little rookie."
An open provocation from the get-go.
It slightly caught Ho-young off guard.
He had never experienced something like this before.
"Don't mind him, Woo. He's always like that."
It was advice from team captain Miguel Torres.
But Ho-young had already decided to ignore him.
'Does he really think that kind of cheap provocation will work?'
Maybe he should grow a beard or something.
To be taken more seriously.
Ho-young's eyes turned cold.
An eye for an eye.
Let's see what you've got.
At the halfway line.
Kovacevic stared back at Ho-young with narrowed, snake-like eyes.
Though he looked sloppy on the outside, Kovacevic was a master at this game.
His specialty was provoking opponents into getting red cards.
Plenty of youth players had fallen victim to him.
'Just thinking about it drives me crazy.'
He couldn't wait to break Ho-young.
He wanted to shatter the kid's mentality and watch him cry.
He was determined to show what 17 years of professional experience meant.
The moment he had waited for finally arrived, carried on the crisp autumn wind.
Whistle!
Right after Ho-young and Kovacevic locked eyes in midair, the referee's whistle echoed across the field.
Kick-off to Castilla.
Tap.
José Callejón rolled the ball to Ho-young.
And as if waiting for that moment—
"!"
Kovacevic charged like a starving wolf.
Grinning.
He knew it was too far to steal the ball, but it was enough to instill fear.
Or so he thought.
That was pure delusion.
Kovacevic's grinning face suddenly collapsed.
"...!"
Ho-young, who had been timing his move, hit a feint in a rhythmic samba motion, drawing Kovacevic into a mistimed step.
"Grr…"
With bewitching footwork like a dancing snake, Ho-young completely toyed with him.
It happened in the blink of an eye.
Kovacevic lost balance and toppled sideways.
Ho-young calmly turned the ball out wide, having protected it perfectly.
Bang!
A man of fiery temperament indeed.
Kovacevic slammed the turf in frustration, his face showing on the big screen.
"Shit!"
He had grand plans, but instead, it was Ho-young's creative individual skill that turned the tables and provoked him.
"That brat still has milk on his breath…"
He sneered.
But Ho-young curled one corner of his lips.
He didn't speak out loud, but his expression said everything.
Get up, bastard. This hasn't even started yet.
And someone from the stands was quietly observing that moment.
"Didn't even budge. Provocation is useless. Cheap mind games won't work."
A man with a distinct M-shaped hairline.
He had flown in from Catalonia for a fated clash.
(To be continued.)