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Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

Chapter 147: Chaos Unleashed—Atlético Charges In Swinging a Giant Blade · 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

True warriors fear nothing—they march steadily toward their goal, steadfast in purpose.

But the truly brave? They don’t just press forward; they burn their boats when facing stronger foes and fight to the bitter end.

Tonight, Borussia Dortmund showed they were that kind of team—a side worthy of every word of praise the German media showered them with after the final whistle.

Even after Li Ang’s near-deathblow of a winner, Klopp stood tall on the touchline, accompanying his players to the final whistle like a general leading his troops until the end.

Reus was on empty.

When the whistle blew, his body, held up solely by his willpower, gave way. His legs staggered mid-sprint.

Li Ang was the one who caught him—cool, steady hands, supporting the exhausted winger.

He even gave him a friendly pat on the head, drenched in sweat.

”You played great today, Marco. You can relax now.”

The words rolled off Li Ang’s tongue in fluent German, nearly making Reus jump in surprise.

”You lived in Germany?”

”Nope,” Li Ang grinned. ”I tried to talk to Müller last time we played Bayern, but he ignored me. So, I taught myself after that.”

A complete lie, of course—but one told with such charm that Reus could only chuckle.

Seeing Lewandowski approaching to check on his teammate, Li Ang handed Reus off and jogged away.

The Dortmund fans hadn’t left.

Sure, the 1–2 result stung. But as they looked down at their players—drained, collapsed, spent—they felt something else, too:

Pride. Genuine, roaring pride.

Last season, their return to the Champions League after years away had ended in heartbreak—a last-place group finish, not even a Europa League spot.

Their immaturity had shown. Their lack of European experience had been exposed.

One win, one draw, four defeats.

It had been a cruel reminder of what it took to climb the European ladder.

But now? Now, they had pushed the defending champions to the brink. Nearly snatched a point at home.

This young Dortmund squad had grown.

Signal Iduna Park burst into thunderous applause, starting from the famous South Stand and rolling across the East and West, until the entire stadium joined in.

Captain Kehl, despite being subbed off, walked back onto the pitch to rally his teammates.

Each of Dortmund’s young players—heads high, chests heaving—clapped back at their supporters in gratitude.

Klopp? He wasn’t mourning.

He stood proudly at the edge of the technical area, pounding his chest and pointing to the badge—not like a loser, but a champion in waiting.

Karanka, watching from the sidelines, felt a deep, emotional swell.

”If they don’t face us before the final,” he murmured to Mourinho, ”they might be our biggest threat to retaining the title.”

Mourinho was about to agree—until his mind flashed back to Bayern Munich.

The Bayern who had added Javi Martínez, refining their defense.

The Bayern who had crushed Schalke 04, the same Schalke who had just beaten Dortmund.

”Are they really stronger than Bayern?” Mourinho wondered.

A huge question mark hung over his thoughts.

Even the euphoria of winning three straight in the group stage was muted by that lingering doubt.

He gave the Westfalenstadion one last look, shook Klopp’s hand briefly, and returned to the tunnel.

Madrid’s players saluted their away fans and quickly returned to the dressing room.

Li Ang had thought about saying a few words to Götze, but he let it go.

”See you at the Bernabéu,” he muttered quietly as he walked off, boots crunching against the turf.

Time to enjoy the victory. No need to think too far ahead just yet.

※※※

The final match of the first leg of the group stage had been tougher than expected.

Dortmund, after two earlier tests, were finally hitting their stride. Their performance, despite the loss, was commendable.

Yet, come morning, neither Dortmund nor Madrid were the biggest story.

Because the real shock?

Ajax destroyed Manchester City 4–2.

That scoreline set the internet ablaze.

Three matches in, and Group D—already dubbed the ”Group of Death”—had truly descended into chaos.

Madrid stood tall with three wins, nine points, top of the group.

Dortmund, with one win, one draw, one loss—four points, in second.

Ajax, fresh off the upset, now had three points.

And City? One draw, two losses. Just one point, dead last.

Ajax fans, having joked all along about ”doing sit-ups after the upset,” finally got their moment.

They were still alive. And now, unbelievably, had a real shot at qualifying.

Manchester City, meanwhile—Premier League champions, media darlings—were on the brink.

No quarterfinals. Maybe not even the round of sixteen.

To go from confident favorites to bottom-feeding flameouts in one night—it was devastating.

The British press were already in mourning.

Across the sea, however, Spain was celebrating.

La Liga had brought four teams to the Champions League this season.

And all four were leading their groups.

Madrid, Barcelona, Málaga—three wins apiece.

Valencia, after an opening loss to Bayern, had beaten Lille and BATE Borisov to take top spot in their group, ahead of the German giants.

It was an unprecedented feat.

The Spanish press basked in the glory.

And of course, they focused their brightest spotlight on Real Madrid.

Three wins in a row. The reigning champions. Beating Dortmund away.

They were the face of La Liga.

There was a whiff of collusion, of course—a gentle alignment of narratives between La Liga and UEFA.

A few years ago, Barcelona had enjoyed that treatment.

They hadn’t capitalized, failing to defend their title.

But now, Madrid had risen again, and that momentum suited everyone.

From a business perspective, whoever won—Madrid or Barça—didn’t matter.

As long as Spain kept the crown.

Madrid’s players, however, had grown immune to the praise.

They’d seen what happened when the media turned.

So now, even as they grinned and basked in their win, they knew:

The hardest part of the journey was still ahead.

Every player at Real Madrid knew exactly how they won the Champions League last season.

Every ugly match. Every sacrifice. Every moment Mourinho said something brutally honest—it might have been harsh, but it was true.

He told them: ignore the media. Don’t get distracted. Just focus on the next goal.

And they did.

They tasted glory. The ultimate triumph. And none of them wanted to stop.

They wanted to feel it again. That rush. That euphoria. That domination.

This season? They were just getting started.

It was far too early to relax. The only thing that mattered now was maintaining momentum, adjusting their form, and hitting every benchmark Mourinho had set.

And with guys like Li Ang and Ronaldo in the squad—two relentless workhorses—it wasn’t even possible for the others to slack off.

The two had barely rested for half a day after returning to Madrid before chatting in the team group chat, scheduling a voluntary recovery session at Valdebebas.

The next morning, practically the entire squad showed up early.

Mourinho was stunned.

Luckily, none of the players were foolish enough to copy Li Ang and Ronaldo’s full training load so soon after a Champions League match. Most were just there for medical checks and recovery therapy.

But the training fields were buzzing. The physio rooms? Packed.

Karanka and Mourinho were thrilled. The mood in the squad was right. No one wanted to be left behind.

Between now and their next Champions League fixture on November 6 against Dortmund, Madrid faced two La Liga matches and one Copa del Rey game.

Four games in two weeks—a brutal schedule.

One game a week? Ideal.

Two games a week? You rotate.

Mourinho had no choice: the upcoming Copa del Rey match would feature a fully rotated squad.

Against a Segunda B side, he was confident. Matuidi and Modrić could handle it.

Li Ang could stay home and rest. No need to anchor the midfield this time.

On October 27, Jesé Rodríguez was officially promoted from Castilla to the first team.

His older Castilla teammates celebrated the move with him.

At just nineteen, Jesé was already the standout attacker in Castilla, with seven goals and four assists in just ten Segunda matches.

A goal involvement per game.

No wonder Mourinho had refused to sign another forward in the summer.

Jesé was the hidden gem in his own backyard.

He wasn’t ready to start over any member of Madrid’s attacking trio yet, but as a rotation option? He was perfect.

The Copa del Rey and regular rotation in La Liga would give him plenty of minutes.

On October 28, Real Madrid traveled to Mallorca for Round 9 of La Liga.

Mourinho fielded a half-strength lineup and still won 3–0 comfortably.

Jesé came on at halftime and played the full second half.

Before being subbed off, Li Ang surged into the final third, using Benzema’s off-ball movement to break into Mallorca’s box, then laid the ball off to Jesé.

Jesé, with supreme confidence, danced past Conceição, then squared it to the far post.

Ronaldo tapped it in for his second.

A smooth, flowing move. The Spanish commentators on Movistar said it best:

”This young man isn’t just showing us skill—he’s displaying raw, unfiltered talent.”

That’s what nineteen-year-old Jesé brought: flair and potential.

At that moment, everyone watching felt it.

Real Madrid had found another gem from their own academy.

Just like Li Ang back in late 2010.

Same age. Same story. Promoted by Mourinho himself.

Only Jesé looked even flashier. More technically gifted. And he was getting better treatment than Li Ang had received in his early days.

He had every gift. Every tool. He should succeed.

And after providing his first assist in the white shirt, the media and fans took notice.

On October 31, Jesé started for Madrid for the first time in the Copa del Rey against Alcoyano.

He played 70 minutes. Scored. Assisted.

Morata scored a brace.

Callejón and Modrić added one each.

Madrid thrashed their lower-division opponent 5–0.

Not surprising, given the gulf in quality. But the performance of the rotated squad delighted the fans.

Madrid had now gone sixteen matches unbeaten across all competitions.

Compared to last season’s insanity, this year felt more... stable.

Fewer blowouts. A couple of draws against Barça.

Not as flashy—but more mature.

Barça wasn’t faltering either.

As long as both giants kept winning, the points table stayed locked.

A race in parallel. A marathon of patience.

The real victims? La Liga’s mid- and lower-table teams.

On November 3, Málaga kicked off Round 10 against Rayo Vallecano.

They lost 1–2 at home.

Barça came next, cruising past Celta Vigo 3–0. Messi, with a goal and an assist, kept breathing down Ronaldo’s neck in the scoring charts.

Then came Madrid’s turn: a home match against Zaragoza, the current bottom dwellers.

No upset. Not even close.

Ronaldo scored a first-half hat trick.

Higuaín added a fourth.

4–0. Business as usual.

Even though Di María and subbed-on Benzema seemed a little lethargic, the job got done.

With the goal difference, Madrid leapfrogged Barça—back to the top of La Liga.

Both sides now had nine wins and one draw. Mirror records. Neck and neck.

It was becoming clear: this title race would go the distance.

But behind the dueling giants, a third force was rising.

Atlético Madrid.

Their record? Eight wins, one draw, one loss.

Simeone’s rebuild was working.

Since promoting Diego Costa to the starting lineup to pair with Falcao, Atlético had taken off.

They didn’t play like Madrid or Barça.

No high-scoring spectacles.

Instead, they brought hard-nosed, aggressive football to every match.

Only Madrid and Barça had scored more.

Only Madrid had conceded fewer.

Atlético were now defined by toughness and grit.

The era of La Liga’s all-out war had officially begun.

Atlético was coming—swinging a giant blade—charging at the gates of Spain’s two superpowers.

They weren’t here to watch.

They were here to cut themselves a piece of the throne.

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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