Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

”Of course, now is the time we can openly talk about winning the title. There’s no point in pretending there’s still suspense left in the league. At least after tonight, that suspense is gone.”

”I’m really happy to have won such a tough battle alongside my teammates. Inter Milan is undoubtedly a top team. They’ve dominated Serie A for years, but today we beat them. I think every Milan fan can be proud of how we played!”

”My body feels fine. Compared to Beckham? No, I’m not quite as tireless as him yet. That said, I’ll definitely need a good rest tonight—I feel like I could sleep for an entire day~”

”No, no, I have full respect for Fiorentina and Sampdoria. When we clinch the title depends on when we get the points we need. We’ll take it one game at a time. You’ll all witness it in the end.”

After the intense battle ended, and his emotions began to settle, Leon stood on the sidelines giving interviews to the gathered Italian media.

He was in a great mood, so he lingered a bit longer with the journalists, chatting casually.

But when a few of them clearly started digging for controversy, he kept his guard up, offering vague, well-measured answers.

After all, saying within the locker room that the team planned to win out and take the title was one thing. Saying the same in front of cameras? That was arrogance.

Fiorentina and Sampdoria had their pride too, didn’t they?

Even Uncle Max, in his interviews, still made sure to praise both teams respectfully!

This was just how things worked—everyone saved face. That way, when the final rounds came and things played out fairly, no one felt obligated to go down swinging just out of spite. Play hard, sure, but don’t die on that hill.

But if you tore that courtesy to shreds? Then you better be ready to face teams throwing themselves into every block, every tackle, out of pure spite.

Leon quietly made mental notes of which reporters were looking for trouble and declined further interviews, joining his teammates to thank the fans in the stands.

Back in the locker room, after treatment, hydration, and a quick bite, time had already crept toward midnight.

The Milan starters, having gone all out, all opted to head straight home.

Leon too drove back and collapsed into bed.

The medium-level stamina recovery potion wasn’t nearly as powerful as the high-grade one. He was wiped. He slept all the way through to noon the next day.

For the following two days of rest, Leon didn’t return to Milanello for extra training. He stayed home and focused on full recovery.

Of course, he still had his dream-based training session and simulation match every five days, which helped maintain his sharpness, so there was no fear of rust.

After two relaxing days, on the morning of April 5th, Leon was the first player to arrive at Milanello.

After his physical checkup, he immediately began recovery training under the supervision of the fitness coach.

By the time the rest of the squad started trickling in around 9:30 AM, Leon had already wrapped up his morning routine.

The rest of Milan’s veterans weren’t surprised at all. They cracked a few jokes at Leon’s expense, then settled into their own checkups and training.

Meanwhile, Allegri and his assistant were seriously reviewing each player’s medical report.

Unsurprisingly, Leon, Boateng, and Ibrahimović were once again rated by the medical staff as ”strong as bulls.”

But not everything was good news.

Seedorf and Nesta were both flagged for muscle fatigue, and the medical staff recommended excluding them from the starting lineup for the next league match.

Allegri sighed. He had no choice but to rely on ”super striker” Bonera again.

Bonera promised, hand over heart, that he wouldn’t mess up during these final, crucial matches.

But no one—from the manager to the players, to the fans—really believed him.

After all, Bonera saying he wouldn’t slip up in defense was about as reassuring as Amauri last season promising he’d score in the next game for Juventus.

Maybe they believed it. But no one else did.

Following five days of focused preparation, Milan departed early in the evening of April 9th for Florence—”Firenze,” the cradle of the Renaissance.

It was a beautiful, art-soaked city, welcoming and friendly to tourists.

But the team they were about to face didn’t share the city’s refined temperament.

Fiorentina had been consistent this season. After 31 rounds, they had 10 wins, 12 draws, and 9 losses—almost perfectly balanced.

They also held the highest number of draws in Serie A and boasted the fifth-best defense in the league, a testament to their gritty, organized play.

Stubborn, resilient, and backed by a quality back line—they were just the kind of team Milan didn’t want to face this late in the title race.

Fiorentina wasn’t chasing European spots anymore, nor were they in danger of relegation. They’d entered that ”nothing-to-lose” zone of the season.

And that was dangerous.

If they parked the bus tomorrow, defending deep with no real desire to attack, would Milan take the risk and push forward to force a goal?

That question hung heavily over both the players and coaching staff.

After a restless night of preparation, Milan arrived at the Stadio Artemio Franchi on the evening of April 10th.

Seeing Fiorentina’s official starting lineup, Allegri’s expression grew tense.

They were going with their favored 3-5-2.

This formation, which shrunk into a compact five-back, three-midfield wall when defending, was a nightmare to break down. Allegri had no choice but to activate his plan B: press and attack with full force.

Only after shattering the deadlock could Milan afford to think about tightening up defensively.

But just when the Milan camp had mentally prepared for the worst, something unexpected happened—Fiorentina didn’t park the bus.

What kind of team starts a match trying to park the bus, but then opens up their formation from the kickoff?

Turns out, with nothing left to fight for, Fiorentina had tossed their mental burdens aside. They wanted to play.

And Milan, having already committed to their attacking game plan, found themselves accidentally aligned with their opponent’s intentions.

From the opening whistle, the game exploded into an end-to-end shootout.

Reporters who had come expecting a dull tactical slog were left wide-eyed and speechless.

Allegri couldn’t pull back the strategy now—it would risk chaos and mixed signals among his players.

Besides, if Fiorentina was brave enough to push forward against them...

Then why should the most potent attacking side in Serie A this season hesitate to fire back?

Ibrahimović led the charge, probing deep into Fiorentina’s half and hunting for space to break into the box.

Cassano was itching to get involved. Boateng looked ready to explode.

Together, Milan’s front three quickly began wreaking havoc around the edge of the area.

Leon, for now, hung back to support Pirlo and absorb Fiorentina’s central pushes.

But even with less forward involvement, Ibrahimović’s brilliance still shone through.

In the 27th minute, he latched onto a pinpoint through ball from Cassano and rifled a shot past Boruc to open the scoring!

With that goal, Milan settled down. The midfield began to flow.

Then, in the 36th minute, Zlatan struck again.

This time, he muscled past Gamberini in the box and powered home a header—a brace!

Unfortunately, just four minutes later, Fiorentina pulled one back.

Gilardino took advantage of a clever lob from Montolivo and slotted a low shot into the corner.

Milan’s two-goal cushion had vanished.

Leon was frustrated—he’d failed to cut off Montolivo’s escape.

So in the second half, he ratcheted up the pressure, practically shadowing Montolivo from the halfway line onward.

Montolivo could barely take two steps into Milan’s half without Leon sticking to him like glue.

With their midfield creativity stifled, Gilardino became isolated up front.

His strike partner Santana got shut down completely by Antonini, and without support, Gilardino faded into obscurity.

Meanwhile, Milan’s offense kept building momentum.

For once, Allegri didn’t adjust at halftime. He let his stars run free.

After all, being willing to defend didn’t mean they wanted to.

They thrived on attacking.

In the 68th minute, Cassano picked up speed on the wing, dazzling two defenders with a burst of flair.

He didn’t try to shoot. Instead, he squared it to Ibra near the edge of the box.

Then—without hesitation—he sprinted into the penalty area.

Zlatan, grinning, sent a low through ball into his path.

It was so slick, so perfectly timed, that even Leon—just arriving from midfield—couldn’t help but applaud.

Cassano delicately chipped the ball over the keeper—goal number three.

Now up 3–1, Allegri finally signaled to shut it down.

Milan fans in the stands could breathe again.

The score held. No more goals. Final: 3–1 Milan.

With another victory under their belt, Milan was now one step away from claiming the Scudetto.

And Leon knew that only five or six matches remained before he’d leave Italy.

Mourinho had already called again—he was expected to report to Valdebebas as soon as preseason began.

Real Madrid had officially declined Milan’s request to buy out his contract.

The decision brought a strange sense of peace… and also a quiet sadness.

”Maybe… I should leave something behind for this city.”

As he waved to the singing Milan fans alongside his teammates, Leon silently made himself a promise:

”Do everything I can to help Milan win the domestic double this season.”

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