Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

The lively 2010–2011 season had come to an end.

With the Coppa Italia final taking place after most major European leagues and cup competitions—including the Champions League final on May 28—had already wrapped up, Milan’s cup clash on May 30 marked not only the final chapter of their campaign but also the official start of the off-season.

Leon bid his final farewell to the fans of Milan.

Just as Allegri had said—between him, Milan, and the Rossoneri faithful, it was nothing but beautiful, light-hearted memories.

A domestic double was a dazzling accomplishment. In every match he was eligible to play, Leon helped Milan finish on top.

There was no need to turn it into a sorrowful farewell. Even if there were tears, they were just fleeting notes in an otherwise triumphant symphony.

In saying goodbye to his teammates, Leon felt both reluctant and deeply thankful. The bonds he’d forged at Milan were precious, and they weren’t going anywhere.

When the plane finally took off, lifting him away from Milan, Leon forced down the emotions still swirling inside him and began thinking about his off-season training.

Initially, he planned to return home and rest for a week or two before finding a training ground and some professional personal trainers to start targeted off-season work.

But after asking his father to help him scout options in the provincial capital, the feedback he got made him reconsider.

The cost wasn’t the problem—he had plenty of money now, and the euro was still strong. Renting training grounds and hiring personal coaches in China for two weeks was well within his budget.

The problem was availability.

Leon’s requirements were simply too high. With the level of specificity he needed, the provincial capital had no suitable venues or trainers.

That left only two options: go to the capital city or head to the training base run by Coach Xu near Shanghai.

So his original plan? Scrapped.

During his one or two weeks of rest at home, he’d have to rework everything and decide where and how to carry out his off-season training.

”Damn,” he muttered, scratching his head.

Frustrated, he gave up on thinking altogether, closed his eyes, and opened up the system interface in his mind.

The reward points for winning Serie A and the Coppa Italia had already been deposited: 700 points in total.

He’d earned nearly 300 points from league wins alone. He’d only played two matches in the Coppa Italia, so his points there barely added up to 300 including some bonus points from goals and assists.

Luckily, he had about 350 points saved up already. With that, he had more than enough to unlock a diamond-tier Talent Shard Card.

However, he had already spent 200 points using the ”lock attribute” function to draw his last golden shard.

Now, if he wanted to use the same feature on the diamond shard, he didn’t have enough.

But just last night, while exploring the system’s interface, he’d discovered a gear recycling tab in the store.

He sold his ”damaged reinforced shin guards” at a low price and picked up 20 extra points, just enough to scrape together the total he needed.

With everything in place, Leon headed straight for the Talent Card Pool and bought one diamond-tier Talent Shard Card for 1,000 points.

Looking at the paltry 200 points left in his balance, he winced. Hard.

He took a deep breath and selected Stamina as the locked attribute for this draw.

The final 200 points vanished.

The card began to glow—a dazzling, almost translucent brilliance.

His heart pounded as he squinted at the card’s image. Then, his eyes widened in disbelief, and he nearly bit his own tongue.

”Pavel Nedvěd, 2002–03 Stamina Talent Shard

Talent Value: 98 (Max: 100, Current Stamina: 87)

Bonus Insight: ’How an attacking midfielder with defensive skills should balance stamina across both ends of the pitch.’”

Eyes wide, Leon opened them in real life and clenched his fists, suppressing the shout of joy trying to burst out of him.

Suddenly, all the stress about finding the right training ground or coaches melted away.

He had made up his mind.

He wouldn’t rest for two weeks. Ten days would be enough.

Then—straight to Spain.

Time to shamelessly ask Uncle Mou for help finding the best stamina coach money could buy.

It was grind time.

※※※

Leon spent ten days at home, resting his body—but not his mind.

Each morning began with light jogging and ball work, but beyond that, he avoided any structured training.

His muscles recovered, but his mind was under siege—by fame.

He’d barely been home a day when local officials came knocking.

With them were smiling leaders who praised and shook his hand so enthusiastically, it left Leon dazed.

Then came the city media for interviews. That was fine—local news, no big deal. Leon cooperated as best he could.

But then more reporters arrived. And more. And crowds. And fans.

By the fourth day, he’d had enough.

He and his parents packed up and drove to the countryside.

But not even two days later, officials from the township showed up at the rural house too.

It was relentless.

He didn’t even get to visit his childhood school. Ten days in, he grabbed his suitcase and bolted to the airport.

By the time the CCTV-5 crew arrived to do their special feature, Leon was already in a Madrid hotel, struggling through jet lag.

Mourinho hadn’t expected him so early.

And when Leon explained what he wanted, the Special One was genuinely surprised.

”You’re starting intensive stamina training tomorrow? You only just finished your season. Don’t you need to rest a little longer?”

”I’ve rested enough, boss. Do you know any top-tier stamina coaches I can hire? Money’s not an issue. I need a 20-day program, and I’ll pay well—better than market rate.”

”You’re sure you want the best?”

”Absolutely sure.”

Mourinho nodded slowly, still processing the request. Then he agreed to help—but with one condition.

Leon’s extra training would have to happen under strict medical supervision.

Mourinho would assign a team of professionals to run regular health checks.

If at any point the medical reports said Leon wasn’t fit to continue, the training would be halted immediately.

Leon didn’t hesitate to accept.

”Medical exams? No problem. Easy.”

He grinned.

Because this time, he wasn’t gambling or chasing glory.

He was building the next version of himself.

After Leon delivered his two-punch combo on the field and off, pro-Barcelona media outlets had no choice but to pivot their criticisms. With no performance flaws to target, they instead zeroed in on his supposed ”lack of respect” for Barcelona in interviews.

But let’s be honest: Leon came through Real Madrid’s youth academy. He’s now a vital starter for their first team. Why should he show respect to Barça in the media?

To avoid backlash from Madridistas? To open the door for a future move to Camp Nou?

Absolutely not.

He had no interest in either scenario. He was keenly aware of the fallout suffered by Luis Enrique and Figo, both of whom had their post-retirement legacies perpetually haunted by their connections to both clubs.

Leon didn’t need that kind of baggage.

So when pro-Barça outlets tried to stir up controversy, Leon didn’t even bother responding.

Call him a Madridista. Call him anti-Barça. Whatever. Let them talk.

As long as he never wore the Barcelona jersey, it didn’t matter what their fans thought of him. That perception would never impact his value or reputation where it counted.

He knew where his base was—and how to maintain it.

With the drama cooling off, Leon’s popularity among Real Madrid fans soared even higher.

What surprised him, though, was the wave of neutral fans who suddenly flooded his social media accounts.

”Wait, do they just like players with sharp tongues?” he muttered to himself, amused by the sudden spike.

If that was the case, he figured most of them might regret it soon enough.

He wasn’t like Diego Costa—he didn’t constantly play dirty or talk trash. But when he did say something sharp, it tended to cut deep. And no, he didn’t enjoy doing it regularly.

Leon considered himself a civilized, even-tempered player. Sarcasm now and then was fine—but ”daily drama?” Not his thing.

So he didn’t dwell too much on the rising follower count. Instead, he focused on something more important: his long passing training.

With La Liga taking a brief pause, he used the downtime to grind.

But for some reason, long passing just wouldn’t click.

It was strange—both short passing and ball control had been easier to master. They improved fast. But this?

Reaching a score of 80 from his starting point of 70 had taken an eternity.

Leon had begun working on long passes since the previous off-season. And now, after months of effort, he had just climbed from 72 to 79.

Compared to how quickly he had leveled up short passing, this felt like a slog.

Still, he wasn’t discouraged.

In fact, he felt like he was right at the edge. Just one small breakthrough, and he’d push past 80. Once that happened, he knew—from experience—a golden growth phase would follow.

”Maybe next match… or the one after that,” he mused after a training session on March 3rd, replaying his joint practice with Xabi Alonso in his head.

He felt close—very close.

He just needed a few in-game chances to really test it. Training was essential, yes—but nothing beat a match setting.

Standing nearby, Xabi Alonso watched Leon deep in thought, a small smile playing on his lips.

He could clearly see the progress Leon had made over the past few weeks.

Long passing was still Leon’s weakest technical area—but even without a numerical interface, Xabi could sense the change.

Leon’s early attempts at mimicking Xabi’s flat, fast long balls lacked accuracy. They had the shape, but not the precision.

Now, though, Leon wasn’t just copying the style. He was honing in on precision.

That was the word: precision.

He was starting to figure out when to play a skipping ball and when to drop a lobbed pass—and his control was improving.

Once Leon refined his technique further, especially in terms of how much power to apply in different scenarios, Xabi was confident he’d graduate from apprentice to master.

After that, it would just be about repetition, application, and gaining in-game intuition.

Physically, Leon already surpassed Xabi’s own prime. Their stamina and strength were about even, but Leon had better balance, speed, agility, and vertical leap.

All that left Xabi feeling... proud.

He gave Leon a firm clap on the back and offered a word of advice:

”Next game—if you see a chance, take it. Don’t hold back. Every skill you’ve learned, you’ve got to use it. If you don’t try, it’ll never become yours.”

Leon looked up, catching the encouragement in his mentor’s eyes.

He grinned and nodded hard.

March 4 – Matchday 26, La Liga: Real Madrid vs. Espanyol

It was already expected to be a spectacle.

Espanyol sat mid-table, clear of relegation and with nothing to lose. Their young coach, Mauricio Pochettino, believed in attacking football.

Those two factors, plus the always-friendly relations between Espanyol and Madrid, led Mourinho to greenlight a full-on attacking showdown.

Both teams lined up in classic 4-3-3s.

In Madrid’s attack: Cristiano Ronaldo, Gonzalo Higuaín, and José Callejón.

Midfield: Xabi Alonso in the holding role, with Leon and Di María flanking him.

On defense, Nacho once again filled in for the injured Arbeloa. Everyone else was the usual first-choice lineup.

Had Marcelo started instead of Coentrão, the attacking threat would’ve been maxed out.

But Mourinho played it safe—he trusted Coentrão to balance the left side with his defensive acumen.

With Di María on the left-center channel providing firepower for Ronaldo, Madrid’s left wing was

Leon forced a smile and nodded at Pintus. A moment ago, he’d been too exhausted to speak—now, he was too cold to say anything at all.

Only after finally finishing his ice bath and forcing down a ”hearty” post-training meal around 6 p.m. did he grab a ride home, leaving with nothing more than a half-mumbled acknowledgment of Pintus’s reminder not to oversleep the next day.

Originally, Leon had planned to stay after the stamina drills to get in a few sets of pinpoint long passing.

But now?

Yeah... no.

He needed rest. There wasn’t an ounce of energy left to squeeze out of his body.

Thinking back to how confident he’d been, smugly declaring he wouldn’t be pushed to the limit by a fitness coach, Leon could only laugh at himself.

Despite the hectic pace of the day, the total training time only added up to about eighty minutes. Most of the time had gone into warm-ups, stretching, and post-session therapy.

But those eighty minutes had drained him completely.

And when he remembered that the second phase of the training plan involved two-hour sessions?

His arms and legs involuntarily twitched.

That night, shortly after 8 p.m., Leon collapsed into bed and fell asleep instantly.

The next morning at 8:30, his alarm rang. Still feeling heavy and sluggish, he groggily sat up and rubbed his eyes.

Without hesitation, he used one of his medium-level stamina recovery potions. Once he felt his stamina rise to about 80–90%, his brain finally kicked into gear.

He washed up, ate quickly, and arrived at the training ground a few minutes before 9:30.

”Morning, Leon! You look pretty sharp today. Feeling any soreness?” Pintus greeted him with a grin.

”A little tired, but it’s fine. Let’s get started, coach.”

Leon’s upbeat energy caught Pintus a bit off guard, but also deepened his interest.

As the morning session ended, Leon’s limbs were trembling again. But he still managed to wolf down his recovery meal without puking or gagging.

That was progress.

After the afternoon session, another two-hour rotation of therapy and ice baths. Once he had dinner and bid Pintus goodbye, Leon returned home feeling like a deflated balloon.

At 8:00 sharp, he went straight to sleep.

Day three.

Day four.

Day five…

As the program continued, Pintus’s enthusiasm grew, and so did his expectations.

Leon, for his part, was feeling it—bit by bit, he was improving.

He used one medium and two high-level stamina recovery potions in the first ten days.

Each time he recovered to near-full strength, Pintus would ramp up the intensity again—and Leon would find himself sprawled out on the training pitch by the end.

Once the second phase began, training intensity ticked up another notch.

In the first five days of the new cycle, Leon only used one high-level potion, and the rest of the time he gritted through it naturally, determined to reach his next milestone.

Because his stamina stat had hit 89.

Just one more step to cross the golden barrier of 90.

Sensing the breakthrough, Pintus adjusted the training regime again.

Now they were doing shorter bursts at maximum output—brutal, condensed torture.

Leon came close to quitting several times. But Pintus screamed louder than even Leon’s doubts, urging him through every rep, every sprint, every second of hell.

And finally—on the evening of July 2nd, Day 18 of training—Leon did it.

His stamina stat broke through to 90.

The system notification chimed in his mind.

Leon dropped onto the turf and let out a wild, triumphant laugh.

He thought back to those two and a half weeks of pain, grit, and pushing beyond the brink.

The muscle burns.

The mental fatigue.

The sessions that felt like pure punishment.

But he’d made it.

”Worth it.”

He whispered it to himself, grinning. But as Pintus’s shout echoed across the field, he suddenly remembered—

He still had one more set left today.

Jumping to his feet with a sheepish apology, Leon hustled back to finish the session, now driven by pride more than pressure.

Pain had turned into joy.

Pintus, watching him push through the last drills with a renewed spark, briefly questioned whether the training had been hard enough.

But by the end of the day, when Leon lay collapsed on the ground like a beaten dog, Pintus was reassured.

The final two days flew by.

Leon used one last medium-level potion to recover, and the program concluded without a hitch.

When Pintus blew the whistle on Day 20, Leon’s eyes nearly filled with tears.

He rushed over and hugged the bald fitness maestro, mumbling thanks and awe.

Sure, he’d only raised his stamina by three points—but hitting 90 was a milestone many so-called top players never reached.

It was a qualitative leap.

Beyond 90, stamina could grow rapidly again if the work continued. If he stayed committed, Leon figured he could hit 93 or even 94 by the end of next season.

Next time, he’d go after 95.

So yes, he was truly, genuinely grateful to Pintus.

Without his strict training plan, without his guidance, there was no way Leon could’ve made this leap in just 20 days.

And who knew? Maybe next summer, he’d come crawling back to Pintus again.

It was only right to lay the groundwork now.

After a lavish dinner at a nearby hotel—Leon’s treat, of course—the two men shared a warm, heartfelt goodbye.

Leon added Pintus to his contacts.

Just in case.

Mourinho, who had been remotely overseeing Leon’s training progress, finally relaxed when Pintus called him that evening.

”The effect of the training is outstanding,” Pintus reported. ”But more importantly—his body held up.”

”That’s what I care about,” Mourinho replied.

Pintus chuckled. ”He recovers quickly. If not, I wouldn’t have dared push him with such intense regimens. Don’t worry—I had him doing therapy after every session. Give him three to five days, and he’ll be bouncing around Valdebebas again like nothing happened.”

And with that, Leon’s stamina arc was complete.

But his transformation was just beginning.

”That’s good to hear, Antonio. Thank you again for your help. And... about the proposal I mentioned last time?”

”I’ll need to go back to Italy and discuss it with my family. I’ll give you an answer before your pre-season camp starts, José.”

”Alright. I’ll wait for your reply.”

Hanging up the call with Pintus, Mourinho was in an excellent mood.

He was just about to dial Leon’s number to ask how his training was going when an unexpected caller flashed across the screen. His smile disappeared in an instant.

After a brief pause, he cleared his throat and answered.

”Mr. Mustafi, there’s really no room left to change my mind. Are you telling me you’re still holding onto hope, even after our conversation last week? So much so that you won’t even let your son call me?”

”Mr. Mourinho!” the man on the other end raised his voice in growing frustration.

”I thought I made myself clear during our last meeting,” Mourinho cut in, frowning. ”I had already made my decision then. There’s no point rehashing that same discussion—for either of us.”

”So what now? You’re telling me this call is meaningless too?”

”It’s unfortunate, but yes. Either you accept my decision, or you choose the second option. The club will not impose any restrictions.”

Mourinho braced himself for what was coming next.

A burst of heated background chatter came through the line, voices arguing, cutting over one another. Then, a younger voice replaced the father’s—emotional, bitter.

”Boss, is this really all I am to the team? I played off the bench all season without complaint. When Kaka took my place, I didn’t say a word. I ended the season as La Liga’s top assist provider. The fans love me! So why—why would you still take away my starting role next season?! How is a one-dimensional defensive midfielder more valuable than me?!”

There was silence on Mourinho’s end.

He could handle a player questioning tactics. Discussing lineups was part of management.

But what he couldn’t tolerate—was having a player belittle another. Especially not Leon.

He exhaled slowly, his tone icy, decisive.

”Mesut, you’re a good player. I’m sorry we have to talk like this, but you need to understand one thing.”

”Leon’s loan to Milan last year was his decision. As far as I’m concerned, he’s always been the more suitable starter. You didn’t win his place—you filled a gap. I allowed him to leave only because he asked for it.”

”To any manager, you’re a quality player. My opinion of you hasn’t changed. But right now, I only want Leon.”

On the other end, silence.

Then came the sound of labored breathing, followed by a sharp click—the line cut off.

Mourinho placed his phone down, shaking his head.

He no longer felt the need to call Leon. Instead, the next morning, he went to visit him in person.

Photos of Mourinho and Leon laughing together over lunch in Madrid’s city center quickly went viral.

Real Madrid fans were thrilled.

Leon’s stellar loan spell at Milan had exceeded all expectations. Now, he was back—and with him, Madrid’s midfield was looking stronger than ever.

But not everyone shared that excitement.

Someone was still seething.

Faced with Mourinho’s two options—and unwilling to sit on the bench—there was only one road left to walk.

July 6th. Just as Real Madrid was preparing for pre-season, a bombshell dropped out of Paris:

The La Liga assist king—yes, that same attacking midfielder—was now linked with a transfer to PSG.

Photos of his father (also his agent) meeting with PSG president Nasser Al-Khelaifi circulated across the French capital.

Madrid’s PR machine scrambled into action.

They issued multiple denials, declaring the player ”not for sale”, and reaffirmed he was part of the club’s long-term plans.

July 7th. Parisian journalists reported that a personal agreement had already been reached. All that remained was Real Madrid’s green light.

Madridistas who had once scoffed at the rumor now began to panic.

July 8th. Real Madrid’s official Twitter account doubled down:

”He is not for sale.”

”He remains in our plans for the future.”

Fans breathed a sigh of relief—then immediately turned their anger toward French reporters for spreading ”nonsense.”

But then, July 9th. The ground shifted under their feet.

Photos surfaced of the player himself arriving at PSG headquarters.

That afternoon, Le Parisien dropped the scoop:

”Real Madrid and PSG have agreed to terms. The deal is done.”

Madrid fans were stunned.

Before they could even react, both clubs issued official announcements at 1:00 PM.

Within hours, Le Parisien followed up with another bombshell:

”€40 Million! La Liga’s Top Assist Provider Joins Paris!”

From July 6th to July 9th, the entire transfer saga was resolved.

Four days.

That included club-to-club negotiations, contract talks, and personal agreements.

€40 million for a 22-year-old playmaker who had only played one full season at Madrid?

The speed of the deal was unreal.

France was in shock. PSG’s new Qatari owners had only just taken the reins—and this was their first power move.

Forty million euros just like that?

For now, French pundits held off on calling it a steal. But across Spain, there was only one opinion:

Real Madrid had made a killing.

And while Mesut Özil was headed to Paris, the fans who once chanted his name… now had only one name on their lips:

Leon.

According to the transfer data leaked by various media outlets last summer, Real Madrid had only spent around €15–18 million to bring in that attacking midfielder. And now, after just one season, they sold him for €40 million. Even after deducting his salary, Madrid had made a clean profit of around €17 million.

It was a massive win.

While waves of protests and complaints from Madrid fans grew louder after the sale, Mourinho had already taken the initiative—bringing Leon and several standout players promoted from Castilla into early pre-season training.

July 11th, 9:00 a.m.—one by one, Real Madrid’s first-team players arrived at Valdebebas. After over a month of silence, the training complex was alive with noise once more.

Under the envious gaze of Morata and Jesé, Leon—barely older than either of them—was already blending seamlessly with the senior squad, warmly greeting his teammates.

”Hey, little lion! I missed you, man! Ever since you left, I haven’t had one satisfying forward run!”

Marcelo came bouncing over with a grin the moment he finished his medical check.

”Bro, take it easy! How much weight did you gain this summer? Aren’t you afraid the boss will make you run laps?” Leon joked, barely able to stay on his feet as Marcelo pulled him into a giant bear hug.

Sergio Ramos was the next to arrive. He greeted Leon with a knowing smile.

”Little lion! Long time no see.”

”Hey, Sergio!” Leon answered, clapping hands and embracing him warmly.

Soon after, Pepe, Cristiano Ronaldo, and Coentrão—the team’s new signing from Benfica—also came over.

Leon could hardly catch his breath from all the greetings.

”Pepe, you look younger than ever.”

”Cristiano, that tan is immaculate—you look sharp.”

”Ángel! How was the vacation? You had a great season.”

And finally, he turned to Xabi Alonso.

”Coach!”

No formalities between them. The two had been in constant contact over the break. When they embraced, it was like nothing had changed.

”Had a good year at Milan?” Xabi asked with a smile.

”It was good… but still not as good as playing alongside you,” Leon replied cheekily.

”You little punk.” Xabi laughed, giving Leon a hearty slap on the shoulder. He noticed that Leon’s body had noticeably filled out—more solid, stronger than it had been six months ago. He nodded in approval.

Whatever distance they’d expected after half a season apart disappeared under Leon’s charm and easygoing nature.

Once medicals were done, Mourinho led the team onto the club’s official bus, headed for the airport.

Pre-season had officially begun.

The schedule was similar to last year: a U.S. tour first, then two warm-up matches back in Europe, and finally a visit to Leon’s homeland—China.

From a purely training perspective, the U.S. and China legs were inefficient. Mourinho likely didn’t enjoy them. But from a commercial standpoint, they were essential.

So Mourinho could only coordinate as best he could between football needs and club promotional obligations.

For the players, the trips weren’t exactly vacations, but they weren’t grueling either. Between sessions and matches, they’d get time to explore cities, see sights, and enjoy cultural experiences far from Europe.

When they arrived in Los Angeles, the squad stayed in the same hotel as last year. Even the training ground hadn’t changed.

Leon, back on familiar turf, felt completely different from the young man he had been the last time he’d stepped here.

Back then, he was itching to leave. When Nacho had tried to talk him out of it, he’d secretly thought: ”Even if I have to leave Madrid for good, so be it.”

Who could have imagined that, one year later, Mourinho would personally name him a starting midfielder for the new season?

”If only Nacho were here this time. I’d love to see the look on his face,” Leon mused with a smirk, unable to hide his growing excitement for La Liga and the Champions League.

July 12th, afternoon—Real Madrid held their first official training session of the summer.

Marcelo and Higuaín, who had failed fitness checks, were sentenced to lap-running.

The rest of the squad worked through a recovery session. Meanwhile, they were all stunned by how fresh Leon looked—as if training hadn’t affected him at all.

”Don’t tell me you kept up your match-level routine all summer?” Di María asked, narrowing his eyes.

Leon simply smiled and said nothing. His silence said it all.

Even Cristiano Ronaldo, the most obsessive of fitness freaks, shook his head in disbelief.

He wouldn’t have kept up match-level intensity during the break—no way. But Leon had. Even if it was only for ten days, that was serious commitment.

After a full season of competitive wear and tear, to keep training without rest was borderline insane.

Leon had earned a new level of respect.

With a role model like him in the squad, the entire training atmosphere improved dramatically.

New midfield arrivals Hamit Altıntop and Nuri Şahin, both expecting to compete for minutes, quickly shelved their ambitions—at least for now.

Because based on form, they were nowhere near Leon’s level yet.

And judging by Mourinho’s attitude, Leon and Xabi Alonso were the undisputed starting midfield pair.

Competing with the manager’s hand-picked starter was hard enough.

But when that starter also defended better than you?

It was a tall mountain to climb.

The two newcomers began to quietly observe Sami Khedira instead—looking for signs of weakness, perhaps. But even Khedira felt the pressure and upped his game, throwing himself into defensive drills with renewed vigor.

The first five days of pre-season flew by.

July 17th—Real Madrid’s first pre-season match against LA Galaxy.

And for the first time in over six months, Leon started in a Real Madrid shirt again.

This time, he wasn’t tentative.

He wasn’t trying to prove he belonged.

He knew he did.

He was ready.

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