Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

The night of February 26, 2013—an electrifying, triumphant night for Atlético fans.

And a sleepless, heartbreaking one for countless Barcelona supporters.

That night, the phrase ”Madrid’s twin titans” echoed across Europe.

Atlético’s knockout of Barça in the Copa del Rey once again announced their formidable rise to the continent.

Last season, Real Madrid had reasserted their dominance by defeating Barcelona head-on and laying the foundation for their revival.

This season, Atlético had followed suit.

Barça had become the stepping stone for both Madrid giants.

For fans who, just over a year ago, could confidently claim to stand above the rest of Europe—this was a reality too cruel to swallow.

But the facts were plain:

The legendary coach had departed.

The squad’s rotation depth was shallow.

They tried to fight on three fronts—and failed on all of them.

Most crucially, after all those hard-fought Copa matches, not only had they ended up empty-handed, their core players were now running on fumes.

There was no time to recover.

The league and the Champions League were both entering their final, most intense stretches.

So Barça faced a question—another brutal one:

Do they give up the Champions League to focus on La Liga, hoping Real Madrid might falter as they chase Europe?

Or do they fight for a miracle comeback against Milan and continue battling on both fronts?

Before they could decide, an even bigger test loomed.

They had to travel to the Bernabéu—to challenge the league leaders: Real Madrid.

In the build-up, Mourinho no longer instructed Madrid to stay silent in the media.

This, as far as the coaching staff was concerned, was a league-deciding battle.

A victory would put Madrid five points clear of Barça—even with one game in hand.

Assuming they win the make-up match, that lead could grow to eight points.

That kind of gap would create massive pressure.

It was the same strategy as last season. When Madrid held a three-match lead, Barça began unraveling on their own.

If Guardiola were still at the helm, Mourinho might have been more cautious.

But Vilanova?

Mourinho acknowledged his tactical fit for the Barça system, but the man lacked the commanding presence to rule that locker room.

He could handle things when the wind was at his back.

But when the storm came, Vilanova wasn’t built to steer the ship.

Mourinho knew he could win this war.

True leaders were rare in world football.

Vilanova would need three seasons of rebuilding, purging egos, and making the squad his own.

So Mourinho turned to his greatest strength—media warfare.

He started applying pressure early—publicly, directly, and aggressively.

Madrid players followed suit in interviews, echoing the manager’s iron confidence:

”I know Barça are preparing hard too. But they need to accept the fact that they’re no longer among Europe’s elite.

That’s the nature of football. Every few years, new powerhouses rise.

The former kings fall—from elite to strong, from strong to second-tier.

A few years ago it was Inter Milan. Now, it’s Barcelona.

This season, I think there are only two and a half truly elite clubs: Real Madrid and Bayern Munich.

Dortmund is half an elite team. They still need to mature.

Barça? They’re not at that level anymore. Sad, but true.

Even if I don’t want to say ’Barça can’t match Madrid or Bayern,’ the truth doesn’t change.”

That explosive quote came straight from Li Ang.

And just like that, he was once again the center of attention—not just in Spain, but across global football.

Plenty of insiders had quietly said that Barça’s level had dropped.

But for a young superstar like Li Ang to say it publicly? To state it so bluntly?

That was a first.

Given his previous sharp-tongued jabs at Barça and their fanbase, this only added fuel to the fire.

Barça fans were furious.

”He did it on purpose! That Madrid-loving bastard!”

”Don’t let his words shake us. Let’s make them regret it at the Bernabéu!”

”We need to protest this! Send letters to Sport! Li Ang is smearing Barça’s reputation!”

”Get on his social media and spam him!”

”How dare he say we’re no longer elite! The nerve!”

The backlash came fast and loud.

But Madrid fans were ready.

They countered every insult on Li Ang’s social media, defending their star with full force.

As for the Barça-friendly press?

Even they lacked the conviction to slam Li Ang outright.

The truth was hard to ignore:

In the last two seasons, Barça had only beaten Madrid once—and that was a meaningless Supercopa win.

No bragging rights. No dominance.

With no results to back their rage, even Barça’s media lacked the teeth to bite.

For Li Ang, the noise was nothing more than a mosquito buzzing by his ear.

And Mourinho?

In his press conference, he fully backed Li Ang’s words—publicly.

Catalan reporters were fuming.

Some turned green with rage.

Others were loving the show—and quickly wrote the moment into their match coverage.

Chinese journalists didn’t sensationalize the scene.

But they did send back pictures of Mourinho’s verbal sparring with the Catalan press.

Back home, that was all fans needed.

The internet exploded with memes and edits.

What started as jokes quickly turned into viral posts.

By the morning of the match, Chinese social media was buzzing with headlines like:

”Mourinho ruthlessly mocks Barça’s fall from greatness!”

The originators of the memes had to come forward just to clarify it was satire.

Surfing online, Li Ang couldn’t help but laugh.

He reposted a fan’s fake-news disclaimer, adding a meme he’d made himself—a panda face with a tearful smile.

That image?

Went viral instantly.

Forget the quote.

Forget the press conference.

Now, everyone just wanted that panda meme.

Comments flooded in asking for a high-res, watermark-free version.

Seeing how popular it was, Li Ang happily uploaded it again—unwatermarked.

By the end of the day, that meme had taken over Chinese internet.

Weibo, forums, group chats—wherever you looked, there it was:

Li Ang’s sad panda laugh-cry emoji.

He hadn’t meant to go viral.

But once again, Li Ang found himself at the center of a cultural moment—

bringing even more attention to El Clásico from Chinese fans.

The president of La Liga smiled broadly as he watched the international viewership numbers surge steadily from the moment the match began that night.

Right now, Li Ang and Real Madrid were raking in the lion’s share of value from the Chinese market, and the entire La Liga organization was just tagging along and drinking the soup behind them.

But even just this ”soup” was more than enough to make La Liga feel stuffed.

After all, unlike Li Ang, who was still picky with endorsement deals—turning down massive offers that didn’t align with his personal brand—La Liga basically followed a policy of ”take everything that comes.”

Chinese sponsors paid quickly, made simple demands, and La Liga clubs across the board were starting to get jealous watching the cash roll in.

On that point alone, Li Ang’s presence was like a guardian force behind La Liga’s rapid expansion into the East Asian market.

Even if they were still trailing behind the Premier League in raw numbers, La Liga’s brand value in China was entering an explosive growth phase.

And that wasn’t just brand index growth.

That was piles and piles of actual money.

So, naturally, certain accommodations began to emerge.

Not blatant favoritism or biased refereeing for Madrid—just a guarantee that they wouldn’t suffer from absurdly one-sided decisions.

At the Bernabéu, they’d get the home-field whistle. That was all La Liga needed to do.

Tonight’s Clásico was a perfect example.

Referee Mateu Lahoz—known for his ”card-happy” style—surprised everyone by blowing the game with a loose, lenient standard from the opening whistle.

Madrid players picked up on Lahoz’s tone quickly, and started pressing with zero fear of overcommitting.

Barça’s midfield, after a few painful bumps, tried to pressure the ref into changing his approach.

But Lahoz wasn’t having it.

His standard was set—and it applied equally to both sides.

If anyone questioned him, well, he could still bring out the cards.

Xavi was the first to realize the shift, hurriedly dragging Busquets and Alves away from the ref’s proximity.

Jordi Alba, slower to react, was called over and hit with a firm verbal warning—completely baffled.

In that moment, every Barça player realized—

Lahoz was setting an example.

Anyone who tried the usual mob-the-ref nonsense tonight would pay for it.

Even the Movistar commentators noted that Barça needed to cool it with the small tricks.

Getting the home whistle at the Bernabéu was perfectly normal.

Just like how Barça got theirs at the Camp Nou earlier this season.

It was time to focus on the game.

Tito Vilanova was shouting from the sidelines, urging his players to stay composed.

Mourinho, cool as ever, signaled his team to keep pushing.

With the ref’s style established, Madrid could press freely.

Hard tackles. Pressing. Counterattacks. Locking down Messi.

Step by step, Madrid executed the trap Mourinho had designed—just waiting for Barça to exhaust themselves.

Last time, under Guardiola, Barça tried pulling Messi deep to initiate attacks.

But that trick was no longer viable.

With Modrić on the bench tonight, Li Ang started as the central attacking midfielder—or more accurately, a roaming free agent up front.

With Matuidi and Alonso anchoring behind him, Li Ang went straight for Messi—face-marking him the moment he entered the midfield.

No shame. No hesitation.

The mission was simple: shut down Barça’s only real attacking engine.

Barça fans were losing their minds.

Li Ang even chatted Messi up mid-match.

Messi, exasperated, could only glare at him.

What else could he do?

Barça’s attack hinged on Messi carrying the line.

Sure, he could still beat Li Ang and make passes, but his teammates?

They weren’t finishing.

Villa, once so reliable, had lost both form and tactical standing at the club.

Barça’s forward line had been a problem all season—and it showed.

Messi had hoped for reinforcements in the winter window. Aguero never arrived.

Guardiola left. The club signed no one.

Tito inherited a mess he couldn’t fix.

Most teams didn’t have a player who could man-mark Messi.

That’s why Barça could still dominate most games.

But Sevilla and Madrid?

They had Medel and Li Ang—two midfielders who made Messi miserable.

When Messi struggled, the whole attack seized up.

Madrid locked down the middle.

As soon as they won possession, they hit Barça with rapid-fire counterattacks.

It was Mourinho’s plan, executed to perfection.

The Bernabéu roared louder with every passing minute.

Barça were under siege.

Li Ang’s evolution had been terrifying.

Agile, sharp, and smart—he forced Messi to burn precious energy on fruitless dribbles.

Li Ang never complained.

He wasn’t just better—he was still humble and disciplined.

In the 37th minute, he and Di María switched targets, suddenly pressing Iniesta instead.

Iniesta calmly offloaded the ball to Messi—classic Cesc-style one-touch escape.

But Matuidi had already read the play, stepped forward, and cut it off.

Li Ang immediately sprinted into the open lane.

Matuidi found him with a low, crisp pass.

Busquets picked up Di María instead.

So Li Ang played a perfect diagonal through-ball to the left wing—

Not to Ronaldo—

To Marcelo.

Marcelo, who had spent the first 35 minutes parked in his own half, finally charged forward.

He’d been quietly anchoring the left side, keeping Alves and Sánchez in check.

Fans thought he was playing the same conservative role as Coentrão.

But then—bam—he took off.

Ronaldo’s presence pulled Alves and Mascherano inside.

Marcelo didn’t cut back.

He whipped in a low cross straight into the box.

And for the first time all night, Benzema got on the end of it.

Piqué was ready.

He anticipated an aerial duel.

But the ball came in low—a nightmare for defenders.

Piqué hesitated, unsure whether to raise a leg or hold ground.

Too late.

Benzema shielded the ball, turned, and—volleyed it with stunning precision.

The ball rocketed into the net, leaving Valdés frozen.

It was a goal worthy of van Nistelrooy.

Even Cristiano couldn’t stay stoic—he widened his eyes, chuckled, and rubbed his forehead like:

”You serious, Karim?”

On the night of February 26, 2013, Atlético Madrid fans were riding high, ecstatic beyond measure.

Meanwhile, for countless Barcelona supporters, it was a bitter, sleepless night filled with sorrow.

That night, the phrase ”Madrid’s twin powers” became more than just a regional rivalry—it echoed throughout Europe.

Atlético’s victory and elimination of Barcelona from the Copa del Rey was a declaration to the world: another force had risen in Spain’s capital.

Last season, Real Madrid had dethroned Barça and laid the foundation of their resurgence through head-on victories.

Now, Atlético was doing the same—Barça, once invincible, had become the stepping stone.

For Barça fans, who just over a year ago looked down upon every other club with pride, this reality was brutal.

Their current situation was a culmination of multiple problems:

The departure of their legendary coach,

A paper-thin rotation squad,

And a triple-front campaign that collapsed entirely.

Worse still, all those Copa del Rey matches were for nothing.

And now, their starters were visibly fatigued.

There was no time left for recovery.

The league was entering its sprint phase.

The Champions League was at its most intense.

And Barça had to make a choice.

With their Copa dreams crushed, and after losing the first leg to Milan 0–2, the question loomed:

Should they focus on La Liga, hoping Madrid would tire from their European campaign?

Or gamble everything on a comeback and attempt to fight on both fronts?

Before they could answer, another storm was already upon them:

El Clásico at the Bernabéu.

This wasn’t just a league match. It was the league match.

Mourinho, knowing the stakes, lifted Madrid’s media silence.

This would be a title-deciding battle.

Win, and Madrid would lead Barça by five points—even with one game in hand.

Assuming they won the makeup game, they’d extend the gap to eight points.

That was enough to break Barça’s nerves.

Just like last season—once Madrid had a three-win cushion, Barça started to collapse internally.

If Guardiola were still in charge, Mourinho might have played it safe.

But Vilanova? No.

Mourinho admitted Vilanova was tactically sound within Barça’s system.

But a commander? No.

Vilanova could lead in fair weather.

But under pressure? He couldn’t steer the ship.

It would take him three seasons just to clean up the locker room and build his own team.

So Mourinho did what he did best—attack pre-game, mentally.

He applied pressure in the media, targeting both Barça and Vilanova.

Madrid’s players, too, echoed their manager’s bold confidence in interviews:

”I know Barça are preparing hard, but they need to accept reality:

They’re no longer elite.”

”Football evolves every few years.

New teams rise to the top. Old titans decline.”

”Just like Inter Milan a few years ago.

Now, it’s Barça’s turn.”

”This season, there are only two and a half truly elite clubs—Madrid and Bayern, plus half of Dortmund.”

”Barça? They’re not in that category anymore. Sad, but true.”

That statement came from Li Ang—and it lit the football world on fire.

Yes, experts had been murmuring about Barça’s decline.

But to hear it said so bluntly by a top player—who also happened to be the face of Madrid?

Unprecedented.

Given Li Ang’s prior jabs at Barça fans and the club, this triggered instant outrage.

”He’s doing it on purpose! That damn Madridista!”

”We must shut him up at the Bernabéu!”

”We demand Sport publishes a rebuttal! Li Ang is slandering Barça’s reputation!”

”Spam his social media! Let’s flood him!”

But Madrid fans were ready.

They defended Li Ang in the comments, shot down insults, and flooded the hashtags with their own pride.

Even Barça’s friendly media couldn’t muster a strong rebuttal.

After all, they’d only beaten Madrid once in two seasons—and that was a meaningless Supercopa game.

With no results to back their words, what argument could they make?

For Li Ang, the hate was background noise—like a fly buzzing near his ear.

And Mourinho?

He doubled down at the press conference, publicly agreeing with Li Ang’s take.

Catalan reporters fumed.

Faces turned green.

Neutral reporters watched the drama unfold, scribbling it all down for their match previews.

Chinese journalists didn’t embellish—but they did post the photo of Mourinho debating the Catalan press.

Back in China?

That was all the internet needed.

Meme creators went wild.

A few viral edits began circulating with captions like:

”Mourinho: ’Barça? We’ve left them behind.’”

As the meme spread, its fictional origin blurred with reality.

By the morning of the match, headlines like

”Mourinho mocks Barça’s decline!”

were everywhere in Chinese sports media.

The original meme-makers had to post clarifications.

Li Ang, browsing the chaos, couldn’t help but laugh.

He retweeted one of the clarifications with a homemade image of a panda laughing and crying at the same time.

It went viral.

Fans weren’t even mad about his quote anymore.

They just wanted the meme.

Requests flooded in: ”Please upload it without the watermark!”

Li Ang complied—posting a clean version of the panda meme.

It exploded.

Weibo, forums, group chats—everywhere you looked, that panda face appeared.

Once again, Li Ang had accidentally gone viral.

He hadn’t meant to start another meme storm.

But somehow, he kept doing it.

And with it came even more attention on the upcoming El Clásico from Chinese fans.

Thank you for the support, friends. If you want to read more chapters in advance, go to my Patreon.

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