Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

Zlatan Ibrahimović’s public defense of Leon came at exactly the right time.

Because the ever-dramatic Italian media had already started mocking the Spanish press for their coverage of the ”No.10 controversy.”

Several prominent Italian football writers published scathing opinion pieces, openly mocking the Spanish media’s lack of understanding regarding the value of a top-tier defensive midfielder.

And they made a point: with the way Leon had shown signs of developing deeper organizational abilities during his stint at Milan, it was only a matter of time before he began transitioning toward a Xabi Alonso-type role.

Even if he never became a world-class deep-lying playmaker, combining his already-elite defensive gifts with just above-average distribution would still make him one of the top holding midfielders in world football.

So what if he wore Madrid’s No.10 shirt early?

Was it really that outrageous?

While the Spanish media were still rallying to coordinate their rebuttal, internal rifts had already formed.

Pro-Madrid outlets went on the offensive first, attacking rival sports papers and gossip rags for starting this pointless media frenzy.

Other neutral outlets quickly picked a side, and before long, an all-out media war erupted.

The end result?

Leon’s name echoed louder and farther than ever across the footballing world.

Watching the storm unfold, Jorge Mendes went from worried to delighted—scrapping his carefully prepared PR strategy.

Leon, for his part, immediately called his Madrid teammates and Ibrahimović to express his thanks.

During his call with Zlatan, however, Leon quickly noticed something—Zlatan sounded... off. A little subdued.

Leon, having kept tabs on Milan’s rocky start to the new season, didn’t mention football.

Things were messy at Milan, and not just in terms of results.

Leon, knowing just how deep the rot would run in the years to come, could only offer a few words of comfort.

He couldn’t say more than that.

It wasn’t his place.

After hanging up, Leon turned his focus back to La Liga and the upcoming Champions League fixtures.

Barça had just drawn again, this time at Valencia.

Two draws in their opening six games put them third in the table.

Madrid, on the other hand, had opened a four-point lead, and the squad was absolutely buzzing.

For Matchday 6, they faced Rayo Vallecano, a side not much stronger than Santander.

Mourinho wasn’t about to start rotating heavily just yet. The core starters got their rest occasionally—and that was enough.

If you don’t take full points from the ”easy games” early, when will you?

Once the calendar gets congested and the real wars begin, you need that cushion.

Madrid went all out once more—and Rayo barely resisted.

By the 20th minute, Madrid were already up 2–0, and the Bernabéu faithful knew they were in for another rout.

Cristiano didn’t score a hat-trick, but he got his first goal on the board. More importantly, he turned playmaker, picking up two crisp assists.

He looked relaxed, expending minimal energy.

Benzema was ruthless—scoring twice in the first half without missing a beat.

Higuaín, who replaced him in the second half, added another.

The Movistar commentator joked mid-match:

”Mourinho’s biggest headache right now is a happy one—both of his strikers are on fire.

Who do you bench?”

The final score? 6–1.

Madrid’s fifth straight win in La Liga.

They sat top of the table with 15 points, the only undefeated team left with a perfect record.

Barça, with three wins and two draws, sat second with 11 points.

Across Europe’s top leagues, only Manchester United had also opened with five straight wins—but even they were held to a draw in Matchday 6 by Stoke City.

Which meant, at that moment, Real Madrid were the only team left in Europe chasing a six-game winning streak.

Sure, long-term it might not matter.

But in the short term? The boost to morale was massive.

This momentum, especially in the context of Real’s intense rivalry with Barcelona, meant everything.

Sometimes, the difference between ”good enough” and ”unstoppable” came down to nothing more than a single extra ounce of belief.

Mourinho believed that.

He said it himself during the preseason wrap-up meeting:

”We didn’t lose La Liga by three points last season—we lost it because they had three points’ worth of grit that we didn’t!”

It sounded dramatic. But the players believed it.

And now, they were fighting with something more than tactics or talent.

They were fighting for validation—for the right to say they were just as good as Barcelona, if not better.

Every win added pressure to Barça.

Every goal stretched the psychological gap.

This streak?

It was a sword and a shield.

A burden—but also a driving force.

And for Real Madrid, the only path to dethroning Barça was to walk through that burden—through pain and pressure—and keep walking.

Every player believed it now.

They were Madrid.

And they were already deep into the long road of thorns.

※※※

September 26—the Champions League resumed.

Among the second group of matchdays, there was only one real ”clash of titans” on the fixture list:

Bayern vs. Manchester City.

Everyone else? Facing weaker sides.

For Real Madrid, Ajax wasn’t exactly a pushover, but the gap in quality was clear.

Media coverage across Europe was the same:

”All the giants are expected to win.

If they lose? That’s the story.”

Madrid had nothing to fear.

They had dismantled Ajax in both group matches last season, and Leon had been a part of that.

So this time, with Ajax back at the Bernabéu, the Spanish side had complete psychological control.

Ajax players walked back into the tunnel after warm-ups looking stiff, nervous.

That’s when Leon spotted Frank de Boer, the same coach whose long-pass talent shard he had drawn earlier.

Grinning, Leon walked straight over.

”Coach De Boer! I’m a big fan!”

De Boer looked puzzled, but smiled politely and chatted for a few moments.

And under Leon’s avalanche of flattery—

”I grew up watching you play!”

”Your passes were art!”

”Your left foot is legendary!”

—De Boer laughed and signed Leon’s paper, even giving him his personal phone number.

Both squads looked on, puzzled, as Leon jogged back to the locker room like a giddy schoolboy.

Meanwhile, De Boer scratched his head.

”Is he really my fan?

Why didn’t he ask for my autograph last year?”

He thought for a moment—then shrugged and laughed.

Leon’s joy had looked too genuine to fake.

Why would he lie?

Right?

”Got it! I’ll text him later.

Then I’ll slowly bring up how I modeled my long passing after him...

And from there…”

Leon grinned the whole way back to the dressing room.

His plan to learn directly from Frank de Boer was now officially in motion.

And once Mourinho stepped in, Leon snapped back to focus.

In the electric atmosphere of the Bernabéu, as national broadcasters across Europe went live, Chinese broadcaster CCTV-5 had its own team ready.

Duan Xuan and Xu Yang were on commentary.

Even though it was already 2:40 AM in China, both men were full of energy.

As the players lined up, Duan Xuan set the stage, then handed over to Xu Yang.

”Alright, Xu Yang, take us through the starting lineups.”

Xu Yang didn’t even glance at his notes—he rattled off the names confidently.

”Tonight, Real Madrid are playing a more aggressive 4-3-3, not the hybrid 4-4-2 we’ve seen before.

Iker Casillas starts in goal.

Across the back: Coentrão, Ramos, Pepe, Arbeloa.

In midfield: Xabi Alonso as the anchor, with Di María on the left and Leon on the right.

Of course, we know Leon’s role is fluid—he’ll shield Alonso in defense and push up to support the attack when needed.”

When defending is needed, Leon can drop back into a double pivot with Alonso, forming a shield in front of the back four. How exactly he plays depends on Mourinho’s tactical choices during the match.

Up front, Ronaldo played on the left, Benzema in the center, and Callejón on the right.

As for Ajax, De Boer had lined up…

Xu Yang’s slightly monotonous commentary was still ongoing as the players quickly filed past the opening ceremony. Chinese viewers, most of whom were battling sleep in the middle of the night, relied on the stirring Champions League anthem to jolt themselves awake.

But once the match kicked off, everyone sobered up—especially when the camera followed Leon sprinting to the wing to receive a pass from Alonso.

Ajax opened the match with aggressive pressing, pushing both forwards high into Madrid’s half and sending three midfielders to swarm the ball.

With a 3-5-2 formation, De Boer certainly had the midfield manpower for it.

Madrid, on the other hand, didn’t panic. They didn’t resort to a long ball right away. Instead, they calmly invited Ajax’s midfielders forward.

Leon, after receiving from Alonso, immediately returned the ball to Arbeloa, signaling for it to go on to Pepe.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a familiar-looking figure sprinting past him.

It was a young Ajax midfielder—Christian Eriksen.

Last season, Leon had already gone head-to-head with Luis Suárez during their group stage battles.

But this was his first encounter with Eriksen. The Dane had only been a Champions League substitute the previous season.

Leon couldn’t recall exactly when Eriksen broke into the global spotlight, but he remembered that Tottenham signed him using money from the Bale sale.

In other words, Eriksen was entering a phase of development that would eventually make him a star big enough for the Premier League.

His peak was still ahead—but Leon was already itching to give him a lesson.

”Time for you to get a little taste of Premier League-level pressing, Eriksen.

You’ll be heading there eventually—better to get used to it now, eh?”

Leon chuckled to himself and dropped back to help Alonso and the defense circulate possession.

As expected, Ajax’s midfield became disjointed after Madrid’s composed ball movement drew them out.

Sergio Ramos, spotting a gap, launched a precise long ball forward.

Callejón received it, controlled it cleanly, and surged down the left wing.

But Jan Vertonghen was alert, matching Callejón stride for stride and winning the ball with a smart interception.

Ajax immediately transitioned into attack.

Though they weren’t as vertical as Madrid, their quick ground passing allowed them to push into the final third in seconds.

Eriksen received the ball near midfield and hesitated—scanning for runners.

But before he could do anything, a white blur stormed into his zone.

”Oh! Leon steps up with a decisive press! Eriksen tries to shield and dribble sideways—oh dear! The difference in strength is massive!

Leon not only pokes the ball away, he knocks Eriksen down with it! What’s the referee saying?

No foul! Play on!”

Duan Xuan rattled off the commentary so fast that Xu Yang barely had time to jump in with a simple ”Exactly!”

Leon didn’t give Ajax’s midfield time to regroup.

He took two touches forward, then threaded a razor-sharp through ball down the right channel—hugging the touchline, but staying in play.

Ronaldo was already in full sprint.

The Bernabéu erupted.

The pass. The timing. The chemistry. Leon and Ronaldo in perfect sync.

Ronaldo burned past Siem de Jong, cutting inside immediately upon touching the ball.

Alderweireld, realizing the threat, abandoned Benzema to cut off Ronaldo’s angle.

That was exactly what Ronaldo wanted.

With a gentle tap toward the center, he released the ball into the box.

Anyone else? Ronaldo might have gone solo.

But this was Benzema.

And Ronaldo always passed to Benzema.

”Don’t ask why. Ask who’s his favorite.”

Even though Benzema had butchered his fair share of Ronaldo’s setups over the years, Ronaldo still trusted him to be in the right place at the right time.

Tonight, Benzema was locked in.

He adjusted after the pass, controlled it quickly, and slotted a low-driven shot past the keeper.

Vermeer didn’t stand a chance.

Just seven minutes in, Madrid led 1–0 at home.

The Bernabéu exploded.

And Leon?

He stood in place, casually tilted his head to the side, shrugged with both hands open, and then strolled over to join the goal celebration with a grin.

Chinese fans, watching the match deep into the night, burst out laughing at Leon’s celebration.

The Spanish media had spent the week mocking his No.10 jersey, writing sarcastic articles, translated and reposted across all the major Chinese sports forums.

Some fans had even hopped the firewall to join the online war against Spanish pundits.

Sure, Madrid’s senior players had backed Leon.

Sure, Zlatan had defended him.

But the fact that Leon himself hadn’t responded left some fans a bit disappointed.

Now, they understood.

He had been waiting for this—his on-field response.

That nonchalant shrug, paired with a surgical through ball?

A slap to every reporter’s face.

”Yes, I track back more, tackle harder, and only score with bullet headers.”

”But I’m a damn good No.10.”

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