Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

On September 21st, amidst the stunned uproar of the Spanish media, Li Ang once again appeared in Real Madrid’s starting eleven.

Not just in the matchday squad of eighteen—but the starting eleven.

The agent of the ”deadweight” attacking midfielder didn’t dare stir up trouble again. After Mourinho and the player had communicated directly, the agent knew better than to test the ”Special One” a second time.

Over the past two days, thanks to an almost alarming level of self-imposed extra training, Li Ang had drawn sympathy from many Real Madrid fans.

In images and videos captured by reporters and devoted supporters, the Little Lion was soaked in sweat, teeth clenched as he pushed through punishing drills.

It hit every Madridista square in the heart.

”You know, sometimes the aesthetic doesn’t matter that much. Does the Little Lion’s effort not deserve a starting spot? Even when Diarra returns from injury, I’d rather see him on the field fighting. He’s a real son of Castilla, and he’s the pride of all of us!”

”Compared to that German AM, I support Little Lion one hundred percent! Foreign stars are important, but doesn’t Real Madrid’s ’pure bloodline’ matter too? Remember Zidane and Pavón?”

”Renew his contract—now! He’s still on a ’youth contract.’ I’m less concerned about his starting minutes and more about proper compensation. Even if we can’t guarantee him games right now, we can at least pay him what he deserves!”

”Or loan him out after renewing. He’s developing fast, and the press is just piling pressure on him. Let him play somewhere with less media heat. What do you say, folks?”

Across social media, countless Real Madrid fans voiced their support for Li Ang.

Some rallied behind him, some openly criticized the German midfielder, and others urged the club to lock him down with a better contract.

For a moment, it felt like all of Madrid was rooting for their hard-working homegrown gem.

But Li Ang, though grateful, understood perfectly well—this wave of support wouldn’t change his situation.

Let’s be honest.

Fans have short memories.

They cheer now, but no single player is ever truly loved by all fans forever.

Only consistent excellence earns real loyalty.

After all, Li Ang had watched Raúl bid a tearful farewell to the Bernabéu just this summer.

And who was Raúl, if not the living symbol of Madrid?

Still, when his level dropped, he had to make way for newer, stronger talent.

Now that Cristiano Ronaldo was in full bloom, leading the charge in Madrid’s new attacking trident, how many fans were still waiting for Raúl to come back?

Li Ang wasn’t just some naive 19-year-old. He saw things clearly.

He would never let fan sentiment fool him into thinking he’d ”won” a permanent starting spot just because people were chanting his name online.

In the end, everything came down to ability—especially under a manager like Mourinho.

Pulling emotional strings?

Useless.

If Alonso got injured, and the deadweight attacking midfielder stepped up, the same fans would immediately start chanting for that guy to get more minutes.

That was the truth.

Brutal, unforgiving—but honest.

”Stay focused.”

Alonso’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Outside the player tunnel, the Bernabéu was roaring. Li Ang closed his eyes, shook his head once, and when he opened them again, they were filled with unshakable determination.

”Li Ang wins the tackle! The ball deflects to Callejón—Espanyol still has a chance—OH MY GOD, IT’S LI ANG AGAIN!! Back-to-back tackles!

He stopped a 2v1 counterattack all by himself! Callejón and García are both holding their heads—they can’t believe it! That’s the defensive pressure of the new ’Makélélé’!

He’s built a wall in front of Real Madrid’s back line!”

In the 22nd minute of the first half, Movistar’s commentator fired off words like a machine gun, overflowing with excitement.

Li Ang, playing as the lone shield with Madrid’s midfield caught upfield, had just singlehandedly killed a deadly counterattack.

That wasn’t easy.

His second tackle had been a gamble. If he’d missed the ball and only got Callejón, it would’ve been a yellow card for sure.

Thankfully, he clipped the ball first. With no follow-through or raised leg, it wasn’t a foul.

Still on the turf, Li Ang instinctively kissed the white wristband on his right hand—his ”damaged lucky wristband” from the system draw.

Maybe that little bit of luck really made the difference.

Most of the time, you couldn’t tell if it helped. But in a moment like this, with split-second decisions and everything on the line?

It mattered.

”You magnificent bastard! That was bloody brilliant! You’re a beast!!”

Pepe was the first defender to reach him, grabbing him in a bear hug.

Li Ang shrank away instinctively at Pepe’s wildly expressive face.

”Obedient JPG.”

And then the slaps came—on his head, his cheeks, his back, even his butt.

The defenders were fired up, showering him with praise and pain.

”Well done, kid!”

”You’re about to steal my starting spot!”

”Don’t tell me you’re not watching defensive film every night!”

”One more of those, and I’m treating you to the ’Red Rose’ tonight!”

”Shut up! Don’t corrupt my student!”

Marcelo’s sleazy whisper and Alonso’s mock scolding sparked laughter all around.

That moment, more than any goal, lifted the team’s morale.

The coaches and bench were up, applauding.

Madrid had been pressing hard, but if Espanyol had scored first on a counter?

All that pressure would’ve been wasted.

But thanks to Li Ang, the team could keep pressing without fear.

Cristiano clapped hard and shouted encouragement at the front line.

”Just a little more! Keep focused! We score early and take pressure off the defense. Don’t worry about their counters—we’ve got Little Lion back here!”

And sure enough, six minutes later, Ronaldo carved through the left wing, cut inside, and slid a perfect pass across the box.

Higuaín swept it home.

1–0.

Espanyol had to abandon their counterattack plan and step up to match Madrid head-on.

Big mistake.

With Alonso and Li Ang locking down the midfield, Espanyol’s central attacks were instantly shut down.

Khedira’s pressing became ”effective” again—thanks to two holding mids behind him doing all the cleanup.

Madrid’s defense was solid.

So they went back to fast-break football.

Alonso’s long passes were lethal, springing attacks over and over again.

In the 42nd minute, Di María received another pinpoint ball, sliced into the final third, and threaded a perfect diagonal pass to Cristiano Ronaldo, who beat the offside trap and scored.

2–0.

The Bernabéu turned into a sea of celebration.

Espanyol’s morale crumbled.

Even after the break, their attempts to rally fell flat.

Madrid’s bench players rotated in, and Benzema scored a header from another Di María cross.

3–0.

Another clean sheet. Another commanding win.

Madrid’s team balance was back. Defense and attack were humming.

And Li Ang?

He had shaken off all the previous week’s noise.

Once again, he was the star of every sports column—the ”defensive prodigy from Castilla.”

But just because Li Ang didn’t care about media noise didn’t mean he forgot who stirred it.

As he walked past the media zone after the match, he didn’t even pretend to smile.

He ignored the microphones, cameras, and questions, striding past as if they weren’t there.

Let them look awkward.

Let them squirm.

In a few months, he’d be gone. Maybe he’d return next year, maybe not.

”You think I care what they write about me?”

Please. He had results. He had talent.

He didn’t need their approval.

The next morning, at 9 AM, while most of the squad was still sleeping off the match, Li Ang had already used his free mid-tier stamina potion.

Refreshed and sharp, he stepped onto the training pitch at Valdebebas.

His warm-up was meticulous.

Then, alongside a pre-arranged fitness coach, he began working on balance and ball control.

No fatigue. No mental drift. Only focus, drive, and ambition.

He knew one thing for certain:

If I give everything I have in my best years...

I’ll never regret it.

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