Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

”Don’t tell me you’ve been secretly sunbathing without us? That tan is way too even!”

October 14th, in the physiotherapy room at Valdebebas, Cristiano Ronaldo raised an eyebrow at Li Ang, who had just taken off his shirt to reveal his perfectly bronzed, evenly toned skin.

Li Ang shrugged lazily from the bench. ”You guys were off playing international matches, and I was grinding at the training base. When I got tired, I’d pull up a chair and nap under the sun on the pitch. Do that for ten days and... this is what you get.”

Pepe, lying on the next table getting a massage, turned his head in surprise.

”You really trained at the base the entire time? Every day? You seriously have no social life at all?”

Cristiano chimed in before Li Ang could answer, waving his hand with mock disdain. ”I asked him the same thing last time. I said, ’You’ve got to have a social life, right?’ So I asked him what kind of girls he was dating. And guess what he said? He told me he went to the museum near Paseo del Arte with Nacho and Morata two days ago.”

Li Ang frowned, clearly unimpressed. How was that not a social life?

In his previous life, he’d been so focused on academics that he barely had time to visit local museums or landmarks.

Now that he had a second chance at youth, why shouldn’t he take the time to explore and unwind with friends?

Cristiano, seeing Li Ang’s indignation, gave up trying to win the argument. In the end, he was more interested in Li Ang’s tanning results than debating social philosophy.

Pepe burst out laughing as Cristiano poked at Li Ang’s arm again. Then, unexpectedly, Li Ang fired a question back.

”So... last season, we played AC Milan in the Champions League, right? What’s your take on them now?”

Cristiano and Pepe exchanged glances. As much as they wanted to act like Milan wasn’t even on their radar anymore, both took a moment to think before answering honestly.

”They’re not easy to beat.”

Last season, Madrid and Milan had gone toe-to-toe in the group stage.

One loss and one draw. Despite Madrid’s higher market value and pre-match hype, they didn’t manage to outplay Milan.

AC Milan, with their baffling two-win, three-draw, one-loss record, had left their mark.

They could lose to Zürich and draw with Marseille, but they beat Real Madrid.

Second in the group? Sure.

Got battered by Manchester United 4-0 in the knockout rounds? Absolutely.

But they could still proudly say: ”We beat Madrid.”

Cristiano remembered Milan’s veteran defenders vividly.

He hadn’t played either leg against Milan due to a brutal foul he’d suffered against Marseille, but he’d watched both matches closely.

Bad luck and poor defensive cohesion had hurt Madrid.

But Milan’s defense?

Tough. Smart. Resilient.

This season, their veterans were a year older, but for defenders, that didn’t always matter.

Especially not when paired with a prime Thiago Silva.

Cristiano and Pepe took turns offering their insights, and Li Ang listened quietly as the massage continued, his eyes filled with thought.

October 16th, evening—Li Ang sat quietly on the bench and watched Real Madrid’s Matchday 7 La Liga game against Málaga.

Mourinho started a midfield trio of Alonso, Khedira, and That Guy.

Khedira, focusing more on defense this time, helped Madrid maintain a balanced structure even without Li Ang.

That Guy assisted Ronaldo twice, and Madrid cruised to a 4-0 win, bagging their second straight league victory.

A clean sheet and a dominant win.

The previously calm Spanish media began stirring again.

Li Ang was benched.

Madrid played well.

That Guy’s creativity gave Ronaldo more freedom and comfort.

The attack looked fluid. The goals were flowing. The defense held firm.

So...

Did Real Madrid still need a player like Li Ang?

A midfielder who only defended and lacked creativity in the final third?

The post-match press conference was swarming with these kinds of questions.

Mourinho nearly exploded.

After praising his players, he glared at the journalists and, with barely controlled fury, snapped back:

”Li Ang is a core part of Real Madrid’s future. He will continue to be developed. No more questions.”

Then he stormed out.

The Spanish reporters, now familiar with Mourinho’s temperament, didn’t take offense. If anything, they were delighted—he’d given them plenty to write about.

So, another media storm began to brew.

And just like that, it lasted three days.

Until the hour before Real Madrid’s next Champions League match against AC Milan.

Because when the official starting lineup came out and Li Ang’s name was there once again, the narrative changed.

That Guy and Diarra were on the bench. Li Ang, starting.

Mourinho had made it clear: Li Ang was a long-term priority.

And an hour later, standing in the tunnel before kickoff, that so-called ”future of Madrid” couldn’t stop himself from peeking sideways at the Milan players.

More specifically—

At Andrea Pirlo.

The long-haired, half-awake-looking veteran carried himself with effortless elegance.

Pirlo, sensing the repeated gaze, turned.

There he saw that young Asian player who’d been making headlines lately.

Li Ang’s gaze was intense—a little too intense, maybe.

There was curiosity, admiration... and something like satisfaction?

Strange, to say the least.

But Pirlo didn’t feel uncomfortable. Li Ang’s eyes were clear. It was respect, nothing more.

Pirlo nodded politely and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear.

Li Ang grinned to himself.

But ahead of him, someone had already noticed everything.

Alonso.

With a loud smack, he slapped Li Ang on the thigh.

”Focus.”

Li Ang winced and immediately stood straight, eyes forward, no more wandering.

Alonso gave a low grunt and stole a glance at Pirlo, still looking like he hadn’t slept.

Then he turned forward again.

”Coach? Coach...?”

Li Ang’s voice, barely louder than a mosquito’s hum, reached his ears.

Alonso said nothing.

So Li Ang didn’t dare say more.

But he knew.

Yeah... I probably ticked him off just a little.

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