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La Liga in the past decade has consistently been in its most explosive period. Three years ago, Spain won the World Cup, establishing a footballing kingdom. Real Madrid President Florentino Pérez's "Galácticos" policy and Barcelona's "Dream Team" era have allowed these two clubs to capture the vast majority of global attention.
A century of grievances has led to unending conflicts between the two best clubs in Spain. The stars change, but the names remain etched in history: Di Stéfano, Cruyff, Zidane, Ronaldinho. The sustained competitive level and the widespread fame of the current rosters have made this derby the center of the sporting universe.
As soon as the words El Clásico are mentioned, the world stops. It is the gold standard for rivalries.
One day remained until the match. In his villa, Lorenzo was training his core strength under the strict supervision of Pintus.
"Your main opponent tomorrow is Sergio Ramos," Pintus said, his gaze deep and analytical. "I have observed Ramos's technical indicators for years. His strengths and weaknesses are both very obvious."
Lorenzo paused his exercise, listening intently.
"His strength lies in his fierce tackling and his elite mental attributes," Pintus continued. "But his greatest advantage is also his disadvantage: his offensive desire is too strong. He started as a full-back and he still plays with that instinct. He often leaves massive defensive gaps behind him because he wants to join the attack."
Lorenzo nodded. Ramos is a legend, but his aggression often left the "back door" open.
"I wonder if Martino's smoke bomb will really fool an old fox like Ancelotti," Pintus mused. "In Italy, the legends about Ancelotti's tactical brain are everywhere."
Lorenzo wiped the sweat from his brow. "Ancelotti's plan will be designed for Leo and Neymar. In his mind, I don't exist as a threat. The low-key registration and the bench role against Granada protected that secret. In a clash of giants, the 'X' factor usually decides the game. Tomorrow, I am that 'X'."
On the outskirts of Madrid, at the Valdebebas training ground, the atmosphere was one of supreme confidence.
"That's it! Pepe, stay goal-side! Defend with your brain, not just your boots!" Carlo Ancelotti shouted from the touchline, vigorously chewing his gum.
On the pitch, the Real Madrid starters were finishing a high-intensity scrimmage. Sergio Ramos had just completed a brilliant, bone-crunching tackle on a youth player. As the vice-captain and the defensive general, Ramos was the man responsible for "greeting" Barcelona's stars. In previous years, he was the one sliding into Messi, tracking Iniesta, and closing down Xavi.
His partner, Pepe, was the "Warrior Monk," the man responsible for the physical cleanup. In terms of defensive skill, Ramos was superior; in terms of sheer ferocity, Pepe had no equal.
Álvaro Morata, having just been shoved aside by Ramos in a drill, shook his head. "My God, Sergio. I'm glad I'm not the one leading the line for Barça tomorrow. I might not leave the pitch in one piece."
Then, Morata looked toward his captain. "But seriously, you need to be careful with the kid they brought up. Lorenzo. He's a different kind of animal. If you let him turn, he'll open up the space for Messi before you even realize he's there."
Ramos and Pepe exchanged a confused glance.
"Lorenzo? Who is that?" Pepe asked, rubbing his bald head. "Isn't their striker Sanchez? Or are they playing Messi in the middle again?"
"They don't even have a real striker," Ramos laughed, dismissively waving his hand. "They play with a collection of wingers. We've been stopping that system for years."
Morata was stunned. "You actually don't know who he is? He's the starter for the Spain U-21s now."
"A youth team?" Ramos patted Morata on the shoulder nonchalantly. "Relax, kid. This is the Bernabéu. This is La Liga. The intensity here is something a seventeen-year-old can't even imagine. If Martino is desperate enough to play a child in a Clásico, then the game is already over."
Alonso and Modric walked over, having overheard the conversation. "Nacho and Fabinho talked about him," Alonso admitted, his tone clinical. "But youth team quality has no weight in a professional derby. He didn't even play against Granada. He's likely just depth."
Ramos shook his head. "If he were that good, he'd be starting. Sanchez is a threat we know. This Lorenzo? He's a ghost story for children."
August 24th. Match day.
The city of Madrid was a sea of white. Tens of thousands of fans poured into the streets, their jerseys dazzling under the afternoon sun. The air was thick with the scent of cigars and the sound of the fans' cheering.
The sound was a physical force, sweeping through the plazas and toward the legendary fortress at the heart of the city: the Santiago Bernabéu.
Inés Valdes, representing ESPN Sur, stood near the player entrance with her camera crew. She was surrounded by the roar of the Madridista faithful, her microphone barely picking up her voice.
"The atmosphere here is unlike anything I've seen in South America," Inés reported to the live feed in Buenos Aires. "The fans are arrogant, confident, and hungry. They've seen Bale and Cristiano destroy Osasuna, and they expect the same tonight. The big question remains: Is Tata Martino ready to face the most hostile stadium in Europe?"
A Madrid fan shouted into a nearby camera, "Messi is a crybaby! We have the BBC now! Bale will run circles around Alba!"
The Madrid fans were celebrating a victory they hadn't won yet, unaware that Lorenzo was currently sitting on the team bus, looking out at the white sea with the eyes of a predator.
The Bernabéu was ready. The Beast was coming.
[Status: Arriving at the Santiago Bernabéu.]
[Target: Silence the 80,000.]
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