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Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

Chapter 88: Nine Matches, Eight Points Behind—Barça, You Screwed Up! · Nov 11, 2026

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Chapter List (401)

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51 Chapter 51: A Header That Toppled Lazio 2026-11-11
52 Chapter 52: Unremarkable, But Good Enough 2026-11-11
53 Chapter 53: The Champions League Rekindles 2026-11-11
54 Chapter 54: Between Holding the Line and Breaking Down, There’s Only One Li Ang 2026-11-11
55 Chapter 55: Healing the Wounds of the Champions League in the League 2026-11-11
56 Chapter 56: The First Big Test of the Second Half 2026-11-11
57 Chapter 57 - 57 2026-11-11
58 Chapter 58: I Heard You Were the Loudest One Cheering? 2026-11-11
59 Chapter 59: Tonight, Italy Belongs to AC Milan! 2026-11-11
60 Chapter 60: Eliminated from the Champions League, Still Fighting on Two Fronts 2026-11-11
61 Chapter 61: Rekindling Milan’s Glory—Our Unshirkable Duty 2026-11-11
62 Chapter 62: The Sooner We Clinch the Title, the Better—Let’s Set It for April 16th 2026-11-11
63 Chapter 63: Before the Final Battle—Let’s Set a Small Goal First 2026-11-11
64 Chapter 64: Now, the Sky Over Italy Is Red and Black 2026-11-11
65 Chapter 65: System Upgrade and a Glorious Title-Winning Reward 2026-11-11
66 Chapter 66: Hotfixes, New Card Mechanics, and Mourinho’s ”Official” Praise 2026-11-11
67 Chapter 67: A Farewell Through Victory – Forza Milan! 2026-11-11
68 Chapter 68: You’re a Good Player, But I Only Want Leon 2026-11-11
69 Chapter 69: What If I’m the One Covering for Kaká—How Will the Opponents React? 2026-11-11
70 Chapter 70: The Man Behind the Superstars Is Back 2026-11-11
71 Chapter 71: Stick, Pull, Harass—Messi, Don’t Run, I’m Your Fan! 2026-11-11
72 Chapter 72 - 72 - See You Next Half? Like Hell I Ever Want to See You Again! 2026-11-11
73 Chapter 73: I Told You I Know How to Beat Barça—You Just Have to Trust Me! 2026-11-11
74 Chapter 74: Mourinho’s Second Year—The Year of Champions, Time to Pull Barça Off That Damned La Liga Throne! 2026-11-11
75 Chapter 75: The Performance That Won Over Every Real Madrid Fan—Time to Talk Big Contracts 2026-11-11
76 Chapter 76: Mendes’ Expectations—Aiming for the Golden Boy Award 2026-11-11
77 Chapter 77: The Curse Isn’t Mine—I’m the Special One, Too 2026-11-11
78 Chapter 78: I Track Back More, Tackle Harder, and Only Score with Bullet Headers—But I’m a Damn Good No.10 2026-11-11
79 Chapter 79: Champions League Goal? Let’s Aim for the Semis First 2026-11-11
80 Chapter 80: You’re Already on Your Own Path 2026-11-11
81 Chapter 81: From Castilla to the Bernabéu—The Twin Defensive Stars 2026-11-11
82 Chapter 82: Twilight of the Gods—This Era Belongs to Real-Barça-Bayern 2026-11-11
83 Chapter 83: When We Let Cristiano Shoot Enough, We Win 2026-11-11
84 Chapter 84: Kid, Come to Madrid—Let’s Win a Lot of Titles Together 2026-11-11
85 Chapter 85: The New Castilla Five Eagles 2026-11-11
86 Chapter 86: From “Little Makelele” to “Little Alonso”—He Did It in Just One Year 2026-11-11
87 Chapter 87: Nine Matches In and Already Eight Points Behind? Barça, You Blew It! 2026-11-11
88 Chapter 88: Nine Matches, Eight Points Behind—Barça, You Screwed Up! 2026-11-11
89 Chapter 89: The Peach Blossom Shadow Casts the Flying Sword—Move Fast, Look Sharp! 2026-11-11
90 Chapter 90: Mr. Messi, All Encounters in This World Are Reunions After Long Partings~ 2026-11-11
91 Chapter 91 - 91 2026-11-11
92 Chapter 92: Iberia, Your Old King Has Returned! 2026-11-11
93 Chapter 93: Real Madrid’s A and B Squads Debut Early — The Core of the B Midfield, Leon! 2026-11-11
94 Chapter 94: The New Golden Boy Making Headlines in England 2026-11-11
95 Chapter 95: Because We Were Afraid of Getting Wrecked, We Racked Up Seventeen Straight Wins 2026-11-11
96 Chapter 96: Iron-Blooded Tradition Lives at Real Madrid — We Have the Toughest Midfield in Europe! 2026-11-11
97 Chapter 97: If Leon Doesn’t Collapse, the Winning Streak Doesn’t End! 2026-11-11
98 Chapter 98: Conquering Europe Begins in the Frozen Lands 2026-11-11
99 Chapter 99: The Winning Streak Ends, But a New Start Begins with a Lighter Load 2026-11-11
100 Chapter 100: Here Comes the Champions League King, Rolling Through in a Dump Truck! 2026-11-11

Guardiola stared helplessly at the frozen scoreboard at full time.

1-1. Granada led, Barça equalized.

A late goal in the 88th minute off a set piece sent Los Cármenes into total frenzy.

The substitutes, the coaching staff, even the ball boys were charging the pitch in celebration.

The home crowd roared, veins bulging, faces red with euphoric disbelief as they screamed at the stunned Barça players.

Those Barça players?

They were exhausted.

Physically, mentally, emotionally spent.

And humiliated.

Because they’d just been held—no, equalized at the death—by a team sitting third from bottom in the league.

And worse, they didn’t even have time for a final comeback push.

In the dressing room, there would be no mystery as to where they went wrong.

Alexis Sánchez might blame himself for missing a one-on-one in the first half.

Pedro might regret taking a selfish shot instead of laying it off for Villa, who was wide open.

And Dani Alves?

He could only curse himself for not tracking Uche on the fateful corner.

If only he had stayed tighter—no flick-on, no equalizer from Mainz, no disaster.

But in truth?

This wasn’t the first time.

And like every time before, they’d reflect, regret, and fail to learn.

As Messi trudged off into the tunnel, his mind involuntarily replayed a pair of eyes.

Eyes burning with defiance.

And the words that still made him wince.

”I may lose to you today, Leo...

But today’s winner will be Real Madrid!

And I’ll chase you until the last minute—

The last second!”

Leon’s words.

They echoed.

And for the first time, Messi understood.

Barça had become... soft.

Too many titles.

Too much comfort.

The desperation—the edge—was gone.

They could cruise through easy games, sure.

But when a match turned tough?

They cracked before their opponents did.

He thought back to that Supercopa match.

To Leon, who, even after Messi beat him repeatedly in the second leg, kept charging him down, teeth clenched, lungs burning.

For the first time, Messi found himself thinking thoughts that boded very badly for Barça.

And Pep?

Pep was worried.

Because deep down, he wasn’t sure anymore.

Could they still beat Madrid when it really mattered?

Meanwhile, in Madrid...

”We’ll overtake Barça this season.

Not just in points—but in mentality.”

Mourinho’s tone was firm during the post-match tactical meeting.

”The match against Barça in Round 16—that’s the most important league game of the season.

We beat them at the Bernabéu, and we put a 10+ point gap between us.

We don’t just break their body—we break their spirit.

That’s how dynasties fall.”

There were nods around the room.

Mourinho continued, pointing to the upcoming schedule.

”To get there, we don’t need to win every match—but we can’t lose.

We drop points now, and we give them air.

We don’t want them breathing easy—we want them gasping for it.”

”Got it.”

The staff all responded in unison.

And when Mourinho relayed the strategy to the players, he didn’t sugarcoat it.

”This run of games will be hard.

You will have to give up individual stats.

You will be tired.

But we need to keep the gap.

We need to keep the pressure on them.”

In previous seasons?

Some egos in the locker room might have pushed back.

But now?

Not a single complaint.

This was Mourinho’s Madrid, and it was working.

They had already beaten Barça in a cup final.

Now they were eight points ahead in La Liga after just nine matches.

No one was about to argue with the man leading them there.

Not Cristiano.

Not Benzema.

Not Ramos.

And certainly not Leon.

Because Leon?

He’d seen the rise and fall of Barça’s Dream Team firsthand.

He knew how fragile even the greatest teams could be.

And he also knew: Mourinho was right.

This was no time to coast.

This was a time to go all-in.

”Grab the titles while you can.

Fight like hell now—

And if you fall short, you fall with no regrets.”

That was his mindset.

And this season?

Madrid had the best chance they’d had in years.

Leon didn’t believe in that fateful penalty shootout from his past life.

Not anymore.

He believed in the now.

In this team.

In this coach.

And in himself.

And he wasn’t the only one.

Every trophy was up for grabs.

And they were going to take every one of them seriously.

No resting players.

No looking ahead.

Just war—match by match.

Because they weren’t playing to compete anymore.

They were playing to bury Barça.

Forever.

At the very least, Leon would fight until the final minute—the real final minute—of every match he played.

With psychological preparation complete and tactical instructions unified, the entire Real Madrid squad threw themselves into intense training for their next battle.

La Liga Round 11: Madrid, with their full starting lineup, were heading to San Sebastián to face Real Sociedad.

As one of the Basque Country’s two famously tough sides, La Real had long been a headache for both Madrid and Barça.

In fact, Barça had already dropped points here this season, drawing 2-2 in Round 3.

Madrid players had analyzed that game during their film sessions.

And one thing stood out—Sociedad’s brutal tackles, relentless pressing, and a tactical style that relied heavily on fouls to break rhythm.

Leon had joked that maybe someone like Everton from the Premier League would be better suited to tame them.

”Let’s see what happens when iron meets iron,” he said.

But jokes aside, there was no cavalry coming to discipline Sociedad’s aggressive tactics.

If anything, Madrid would be the ones getting the first taste of ”hard football” in this round.

If they could survive this test, then upcoming games against Sevilla and Atleti would be manageable.

If they couldn’t?

And worse, if they lost players to injury?

That would be a disaster.

Luckily, Mourinho already had a plan.

He would not approach this the same way Barça had, trying to out-pass and out-skill Sociedad head-on.

No.

Mourinho was going to fight fire with fire.

Magic with magic.

October 29, 9:00 PM.

At a roaring Anoeta Stadium, beneath a deafening wall of jeers and middle fingers, Mourinho stood on the touchline with arms folded, looking absolutely unbothered.

Nearly 30,000 Sociedad fans were howling in rage at Madrid’s starting formation:

a half-field-retreating 4-5-1, parking the bus from the opening whistle.

But Mourinho didn’t flinch.

He’d come prepared.

Across the pitch, Sociedad manager Philippe Montanier frowned deeply.

He had underestimated Mourinho’s will to win.

Had misjudged how far Madrid were willing to go to protect their lead over Barça.

Unlike Barça, who had foolishly tried to ”outplay” Sociedad in their own backyard and nearly paid for it with their bones, Madrid had no qualms about dropping their pride.

Montanier had hoped to pull off the same script against Madrid.

But Madrid wasn’t taking the bait.

Mourinho had already kicked the chessboard.

”This guy has no shame!”

Montanier cursed in his heart.

With a grimace, he signaled his players to begin their probing attacks.

And the moment they did?

Disgusting.

Sociedad captain Xabi Prieto had barely crossed into Madrid’s half before Leon was clattering into him from behind.

Tangle. Snap. Whistle.

Free kick.

No card.

Leon dusted himself off and walked away as if nothing had happened.

Two minutes later, Carlos Vela was hacked down by Lass Diarra near the sideline.

Now Sociedad understood.

Madrid weren’t just parking the bus—they were running the lumberjack playbook.

Every attacking rhythm, broken.

Every buildup, chopped down.

The boos intensified.

And Mourinho?

Mourinho grinned.

He had fielded a truly bizarre five-man midfield:

Lass, Leon, Alonso, Nacho, and a pushed-up Khedira.

No one could agree what this formation actually was.

Was it a 4-5-1?

A 4-2-3-1?

A 4-4-1-1?

It didn’t matter.

Because what Mourinho had sent out wasn’t a formation—it was a grinder.

Sociedad loved to disrupt, fracture the flow, win ugly?

Madrid would out-ugly them.

Montanier was furious.

His hardman tactics had just been stolen and thrown back at him tenfold.

He sent in his converted defenders—usually reliable midfield muscle.

But Madrid had Nacho, converted from defender to DM, and Leon, a relentless midfield wolf.

The middle of the pitch turned into a battlefield.

The tackles were bone-rattling.

The fouls came fast and without apology.

Journalists watching grimaced.

Teeth clenched.

Pens trembling.

Even Barça players, watching from their post-match film room, were stunned.

”If Madrid play like this in El Clásico... what do we do?”

Keita asked, half-serious.

Silence.

Iniesta and Xavi exchanged a long, grim look.

They weren’t afraid of hard tackles.

They weren’t afraid of physical matches.

What scared them was Madrid’s mindset.

This Madrid—this snarling, grinding, bloodied version—would sacrifice stats, ignore style, throw their bodies on the line just to win.

And that made them dangerous.

Mourinho, meanwhile, was fired up.

”We’ll crush Barça this season,” he told his staff later that night.

”Round 16. At the Bernabéu. That’s the game. We win there, we go ten points clear. We don’t just beat them—we break them.”

His logic was ruthless.

No letting up.

No rest.

If they dropped even one match before Round 16, it gave Barça hope.

And you never give Barça hope.

”If we can’t win a match? Then draw it.

But we don’t lose.

The rope is in our hands—tighten it.”

No one in the staff disagreed.

Then he turned to the squad.

Laid out the stakes.

No stat-chasing.

No complaining about rotations.

Only one thing mattered now:

”Hold the line.

Beat Barça.

Kill the title race before it begins.”

Not a single player objected.

Because Mourinho had delivered.

He’d beaten Barça in the Copa del Rey.

He had them eight points behind.

And now?

He was going for the throat.

Leon?

He nodded in quiet support.

He knew what it was like to face an empire.

And now, he was part of the force trying to bring one down.

”We’ll take every trophy we can.

We’ll fight for every second.

And this time... we’re not falling short.”

Thank you for the support, friends. If you want to read more chapters in advance, go to my Patreon.

Read 20 Chapters In Advance: /johanssen10

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