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Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

Chapter 140: Messi Drops Deep Early—A Smarter Barça · Nov 11, 2026

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Chapter List (401)

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101 Chapter 101: Formation Core Leon — Bringing the XJBT Tactic to Real Madrid 2026-11-11
102 Chapter 102: You Can Be Better Looking Than Me, But Dirtier? Never—Because I’m the True Defensive Midfielder! 2026-11-11
103 Chapter 103: Don’t Panic, Xiao Ping—Barça Will Deliver 2026-11-11
104 Chapter 104: Breaking Through the Long Pass Barrier, Filling the Shortcomings 2026-11-11
105 Chapter 105: A Gift for Everyone—So No One Gets to Laugh at Anyone Else 2026-11-11
106 Chapter 106: When It’s a Friend, You Hit Even Harder 2026-11-11
107 Chapter 107: The Meaning of Real Madrid Is Victory—It Is Championship 2026-11-11
108 Chapter 108: They Came to Madrid Saying They Were Here to Win—And Got Beaten 3–0 Again 2026-11-11
109 Chapter 109: This Is Mourinho’s Trump Card—The Midfield Beast Trio PLUS Edition! 2026-11-11
110 Chapter 110: Barcelona, Salute This Season’s La Liga Champions! 2026-11-11
111 Chapter 111: A World Apart—You Can’t Turtle Up Against Bayern, Turtling Won’t Save You 2026-11-11
112 Chapter 112: I Told You—Leon Would Be the Key to Breaking Bayern Down! 2026-11-11
113 Chapter 113: On the Battle for Possession—Mourinho Says, “You’re All Trash Compared to Me” 2026-11-11
114 Chapter 114: Real Madrid’s Championship Aura Can’t Be Hidden Anymore—So They Won’t Hide It! 2026-11-11
115 Chapter 115: Barcelona’s Dynasty Has Ended—And Real Madrid Is Climbing to the Summit! 2026-11-11
116 Chapter 116: There’s No Shortcut to This Championship—Only Unity, Only Sacrifice 2026-11-11
117 Chapter 117: Equalized by a Header? We’re Not Bayern Munich! 2026-11-11
118 Chapter 118: Few Teams Are as Resilient as You—But I Just Want to Win 2026-11-11
119 Chapter 119: Let the Whole World Remember Our Names—We Are the Greatest Mourinho-Era Madrid! 2026-11-11
120 Chapter 120: When You Gaze Upon the Crown, Bow Your Head—And Salute the Treble Winners 2026-11-11
121 Chapter 121: In a Summer Window of an Arms Race, Madrid’s Selling Strategy Feels Out of Place 2026-11-11
122 Chapter 122: A New Era Begins—When the Young Replace the Old, Football Marches On 2026-11-11
123 Chapter 123: The New Generation Replaces the Old—A New Era in Football Has Arrived 2026-11-11
124 Chapter 124: We’re Still Growing—Real Madrid Is Still Growing! 2026-11-11
125 Chapter 125: If Anyone Forces Me to Pick a Side—I’ll Flip the Damn Table (Part 1) 2026-11-11
126 Chapter 126: There’s No Need to Overcomplicate Things Against Barça – Just Stick to Counterattacks and Aerial Balls 2026-11-11
127 Chapter 127: Watch Out—Here Comes Real Madrid’s Aerial Attack Squad! 2026-11-11
128 Chapter 128: Why Does That Number Ten Keep Charging Into Our Box?! 2026-11-11
129 Chapter 129: Luka, You’re My Natural-Born Midfield Partner 2026-11-11
130 Chapter 130: Winning a Trophy as Soon as You Arrive—So This Is What It Feels Like to Be at a Big Club? 2026-11-11
131 Chapter 131: The Fifth Trophy of the Year — Kings of Europe 2026-11-11
132 Chapter 132: The Birth of a New Midfield Duo — Twin Turbo Engines Engage! 2026-11-11
133 Chapter 133: So You Guys Are the So-Called New Kings of the Premier League? 2026-11-11
134 Chapter 134: You’re Not Vieira, and You’re Not Even Close 2026-11-11
135 Chapter 135: Li Ang Isn’t in the Top Five Defensive Midfielders—He Just Beat Two of Them 2026-11-11
136 Chapter 136: This Season’s ”Father-Son Match” Came Awfully Early 2026-11-11
137 Chapter 137: Sometimes, Charging Forward Is the Best Way to Break the Game 2026-11-11
138 Chapter 138: I Can Choose Not to Shoot—But You Don’t Dare Not to Defend 2026-11-11
139 Chapter 139: Farewell to the Jia Mansion—Same Atmosphere, Same Opening 2026-11-11
140 Chapter 140: Messi Drops Deep Early—A Smarter Barça 2026-11-11
141 Chapter 141: Wait, What? You Both Chickened Out? Just Fight Already! 2026-11-11
142 Chapter 142: Header Equalizer! Li Ang Only Scores in Clutch Moments! 2026-11-11
143 Chapter 143: Götze’s Hunger to Compete—The Battle of the ’90s Generation Stars 2026-11-11
144 Chapter 144: Come On—Show Us What You’ve Got, Challenge the Defending Champions! 2026-11-11
145 Chapter 145: Don’t Break Down—It’s Just That I’m Better Than You 2026-11-11
146 Chapter 146: We Are Here—Real Madrid Is Right Here! 2026-11-11
147 Chapter 147: Chaos Unleashed—Atlético Charges In Swinging a Giant Blade 2026-11-11
148 Chapter 148: Want to Advance? Now You Have to Look at Real Madrid’s Face 2026-11-11
149 Chapter 149: The Madman’s Temper—Public Opinion Erupts! 2026-11-11
150 Chapter 150: If You Can’t Get Past Li Ang, You Don’t Deserve to Face Pepe and Ramos 2026-11-11

In the stands of Amsterdam Arena, over 40,000 Ajax fans let out a collective sigh of recognition and frustration.

It had been two straight years—four group stage beatdowns at the hands of Real Madrid, each with a goal differential of no less than three.

They thought maybe this year would be different.

But as soon as Ronaldo completed his hat-trick and the scoreboard read 0–3, they knew: same story, same ending.

Facing Real Madrid in the Champions League had become a cruel ritual. Ajax were starting to feel like points donors, not competitors.

In the past two seasons, at least they’d managed to finish third in their groups, dropping into the Europa League.

But this year? After two straight defeats, even that was starting to look unlikely.

Many Ajax supporters were already pessimistic about their chances in Europe. And really, who could blame them?

Just because Real Madrid looked comfortable against Manchester City didn’t mean they could expect the same.

City, after all, had wrestled the Premier League title away from Manchester United the previous season. Their squad and financial firepower far exceeded Ajax’s.

This group draw? A nightmare. The fans were starting to spiral.

That dream scenario—narrow loss to Madrid, draw with Dortmund, steal a win over City—was crumbling fast.

Now it was back-to-back defeats. And the descent from optimism to despair had taken just two weeks.

Had Li Ang seen the Dutch media’s pre-season headlines predicting Ajax could challenge for knockout stages, he would’ve burst out laughing.

He might have even pulled one of those reporters aside after the match and asked:

”Hey, did you copy those slogans from our media ten years ago? The ones that jinxed us into oblivion?”

Because this whole situation reeked of false hope.

If the press had stayed humble—if they hadn’t puffed up Ajax’s chances—maybe they would’ve scraped a draw against Dortmund in the opener.

But there were no redos in football. Now, all Ajax could do was charge headlong into Madrid’s defense and hope for a miracle.

And to their credit, that’s exactly what they did.

Down two, they still pressed high. Still committed bodies forward. Still believed they could claw their way back.

And Real Madrid? They responded the only way they knew how—with full force.

No one showed more respect than Cristiano Ronaldo, who had already scored twice in the first half and nearly assisted Di María for a third.

In the 56th minute, he completed his hat-trick—the first of the Champions League campaign.

Frank de Boer just slumped.

Two key defenders gone in the summer. A backline still in transition. And now they had to deal with a supernova version of Ronaldo?

He didn’t even have the manpower to triple-mark CR7.

Alderweireld was barely keeping up with Benzema. Throw in Ronaldo and Di María slashing in from both sides? Forget it.

The only mercy came from Mourinho himself, who clearly had no intention of running up the score.

After Di María and Benzema missed a few golden chances, Mourinho started pulling his stars.

Ronaldo, Di María, and Alonso were all subbed off early.

Mourinho was already looking ahead to the upcoming El Clásico.

The final score: 3–0.

That all-too-familiar three-goal margin had Ajax fans shaking their heads in resignation.

To make matters worse, City and Dortmund drew 1–1, meaning Ajax’s group stage outlook was now even bleaker.

Both Dortmund and City looked evenly matched. And in this group of three ”big brothers,” Ajax were quickly being reduced to the ”little brother of little brothers.”

In the next round, they’d face a frustrated, winless City—at home.

Good luck with that.

The players were feeling it too.

Any trace of their early confidence had vanished. Now, there was only pressure and anxiety.

After the final whistle, Li Ang sought out Christian Eriksen to offer some words of encouragement.

But he didn’t go the route of empty flattery or polite career advice.

Eriksen, at twenty, was already making good on his promise. Big clubs were watching him—he didn’t need Li Ang to tell him that.

So Li Ang chose something better:

”I hope we get to face off again—on a bigger stage. Maybe in the knockout rounds? What do you think?”

They swapped shirts with smiles. Eriksen stood quietly afterward, watching Li Ang walk off to join his teammates and salute the away fans.

”Hey, Christian. Time to go.”

Alderweireld, looking a bit down, called over.

Eriksen glanced back, then replied with a strange smile.

”Yeah... it really is.”

※※※

As Real Madrid wrapped up their win in Amsterdam, the rest of the Champions League fixtures concluded as well.

Round two of the group stage was in the books.

It had everything—heavyweight clashes, blowout wins, and stunning upsets.

Bayern Munich and PSG became the butt of jokes after poor showings.

But Real Madrid and Barcelona? They kept on winning.

Both teams defended the honor of ”La Liga’s Super Duo,” further reinforcing their status as Europe’s most dominant clubs.

At this point, Real and Barça were the only ones looking like safe bets to top their groups.

Manchester United, who also had two wins in Group H, hadn’t looked convincing.

A 1–0 squeaker over Galatasaray, followed by a come-from-behind 2–1 win over Cluj? Not exactly terrifying.

Compared to the clean, dominant wins from Real and Barça, United looked a tier below.

Meanwhile, all across Europe, the buzz surrounding El Clásico was building.

October 7—the third showdown between the two clubs this season was just days away.

Yes, they’d already met twice in the Spanish Super Cup, but this would be their first La Liga clash of the campaign.

And Barça were taking it very seriously.

The fans? Quiet. No trash talk this time. No war of words on social media.

After a full year without beating Real Madrid, there wasn’t much they could say.

Their best result recently had been a draw.

It was hard to talk tough when you hadn’t won in over twelve months.

This season, Barça’s early performances hadn’t been spectacular—but their results were excellent.

And their calmer, more grounded mindset might have been the secret weapon they’d been missing.

Maybe it was Madrid’s dominance last year that had reawakened Barça’s hunger for glory.

The fight was back.

Xavi, Iniesta, Busquets—the midfield trio was still pulling the strings.

And with Messi up front, they had the ultimate weapon.

They’d already snatched six extra points with back-to-back late winners—those last-gasp goals had energized the entire club.

Which is why, as matchday approached, Real Madrid ramped up their focus.

There were no interviews. No quotes. No bold predictions from either side.

It was all business.

Both sides knew exactly what was at stake.

The Clásico wasn’t just a match—it was the barometer of power in world football.

And this time, Messi was dropping deeper.

Barça weren’t just motivated.

They were smarter now, too.

The unified silence from both teams’ players had made this the quietest El Clásico in nearly three seasons.

But the calm only made the atmosphere more tense—because when players stay quiet, the media speaks for them.

And they speak loudly.

On the evening of October 7, Real Madrid’s full squad boarded the team bus and departed from their hotel, headed toward Camp Nou.

Along the way, they were greeted by familiar scenes: heckling from the roadside, taunting signs, and crowds of Barcelona fans singing provocative chants.

The tension was back—and so was the feeling.

This was what El Clásico was supposed to be. This was the pre-match ritual of war.

The silence from Barça fans earlier in the week had felt unnatural. Now, with the roaring atmosphere back in full force, Madrid’s players felt at home.

Li Ang cracked a smile and, on impulse, pulled back the curtain and waved cheekily to the Barça fans outside.

That was it. A hornet’s nest had been poked.

A crowd of Barça fans swarmed toward the bus, many of them raising some very creative ”international hand gestures” toward Li Ang.

The ever-hungry reporters finally had something to capture.

Ten minutes later, as Madrid arrived at Camp Nou, photos of the scene hit the internet. Every major sports outlet in Spain uploaded the images immediately.

The entire footballing world took notice.

Suddenly, a fresh wave of online debate flared up, fueled by Li Ang’s wave and the fans’ ”response.”

Some accused Li Ang of needlessly provoking the crowd. Others blasted Barça fans for lacking class and trying to rattle the Madrid squad.

But there was one thing everyone agreed on:

Li Ang’s composure was unreal.

The now-iconic image of Li Ang smiling in the face of a thousand hostile hands went viral across football platforms worldwide.

And the man himself? He was in the visitor’s locker room at Camp Nou, calmly changing into his warm-up gear like nothing had happened.

Did he feel offended? Not even a little.

He understood that this was part of the job. And frankly, it didn’t faze him.

After all, when Barcelona had come to Madrid for the first leg of the Supercopa, they had received plenty of ”warm welcomes” too.

If a professional footballer couldn’t handle that, they had no business going pro.

When he walked out of the tunnel to warm up with his teammates, Li Ang was again greeted by a wall of boos.

And oddly enough, he kind of enjoyed it.

”Hey, Cris,” he joked, tugging on Ronaldo’s sleeve, ”don’t you think we’ve been playing better away than at home? You think our fans deserve some credit for that?”

Ronaldo blinked.

”Uh… I think maybe it’s just because our coaching staff prepares us well for away games. And Little Lion—don’t ever say that in front of the press. Ever.”

Nearby, Alonso nearly slapped Li Ang on the back for saying something so outrageous.

Grinning, Li Ang jogged off before anyone could catch him.

After warmups, he returned to the tunnel with the others, this time no more gestures, no more waves. The fun was over. It was time to go to work.

In both locker rooms, the atmosphere had changed completely. Mourinho and Guardiola were giving final tactical instructions, rallying their troops for the biggest match in Spain.

Across Europe, fans gathered around their screens.

In Eastern Europe, it was prime time.

In Central Asia, it was midnight.

In East Asia, it was deep into the night.

Millions were tuning in.

In the commentary booth, He Wei and Xu Yang were back together, ready to call yet another Clásico.

As the players emerged from the tunnel behind the referees, He Wei quickly ran through the lineups:

”Real Madrid will stick with the 4-2-3-1 formation that has brought them the most success against Barça.

Casillas in goal.

Defense: Marcelo, Ramos, Pepe, Arbeloa.

Double pivot: Alonso and Li Ang.

Essien at attacking mid.

Ronaldo and Di María on the wings.

Benzema leading the line.”

Xu Yang picked up right after:

”Barcelona are going with their classic 4-3-3.

Valdés in goal.

Backline: Alba, Song, Mascherano, Alves.

Midfield trio: Busquets holding, Iniesta and Xavi on either side.

Front three: Fàbregas, Messi, and Pedro.”

Xu Yang added context about injuries: Piqué was out, meaning Alex Song had to partner Mascherano in central defense.

On the bench sat Marc Bartra, but Guardiola wasn’t about to start the young center-back in a match of this magnitude—not yet.

For Madrid, Coentrão was still recovering, so Marcelo got the nod at left-back, despite concerns about his defensive reliability.

That’s why Mourinho had moved Li Ang back to the left defensive midfield slot—to support Marcelo and contain potential threats down that flank.

Tactically, Mourinho had chosen stability: let Essien disrupt the middle, and if Messi played false nine again, Li Ang would pick him up just like last time.

Same plan. Same structure.

But Guardiola?

He had learned.

When the match kicked off, barely two minutes passed before the entire football world sat up in shock.

Messi wasn’t playing false nine.

He wasn’t a 9½ either.

On paper, yes, he was positioned between Fàbregas and Pedro.

But in real play, he dropped all the way into his own half, often lining up alongside Xavi to help orchestrate buildup.

Iniesta moved wide.

Fàbregas pushed high to draw Madrid’s center-backs.

Pedro stretched the field on the right.

And suddenly, Li Ang had no one to mark.