Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

”I knew it! I just knew you’d spot my run!”

Lukaku practically tackled Li Ang in a bear hug after scoring, and Li Ang had to pat the striker’s arm to calm him down.

”Fourth of the season?” Li Ang asked. If he remembered correctly, this should’ve been Lukaku’s fourth goal of the season.

”Yup! That’s my third in the league, and I got one in the Champions League last round!” Lukaku replied proudly, raising his big head with confidence.

He might have only been a backup striker at Chelsea, but his scoring efficiency was nothing to scoff at—especially for a guy who had just turned twenty.

Commentators from all over the world were full of praise for his recent form.

Including his two goals for Belgium during the international break, Lukaku had now scored in three straight games for club and country.

His effectiveness, along with the impressive adaptation to his slightly redefined role this season, was becoming a hot talking point.

As for Li Ang’s latest assist—outside of China, most broadcasters didn’t even blink anymore.

No one still saw him as a ”promising newcomer.”

It was only the eighth matchday in the Premier League, and Li Ang had already racked up 5 goals and 6 assists across all competitions.

And this was just his first season in the Premier League.

There wasn’t much more to say. Li Ang was now indisputably one of the best midfielders in world football.

So when he performed well, it was no longer shocking—it was expected.

Against Cardiff, this level of dominance was just business as usual. It fit his current role as Chelsea’s undisputed midfield engine.

”Don’t relax now. Let’s push for a second before halftime. Everyone run, press them harder—especially down the flanks, their wide defenders are pretty weak…”

After the celebrations, Li Ang reminded his teammates with his usual calm authority.

Standing nearby, Gary Medel raised an eyebrow. He’d clearly heard what Li Ang said.

But he didn’t react.

If they were still back in Sevilla, Medel might’ve confronted him about it.

But here, in Cardiff?

Medel knew why he was here. He came for the paycheck, and even he had to admit—Li Ang wasn’t wrong.

His teammates really were defending like garbage.

Still, everyone was in it for the money. A season or two of collaboration wasn’t a big deal.

So Medel pretended not to hear.

As long as he did his job, stayed disciplined in his position, that was good enough.

Putting his body on the line for a team that had little chance of winning silverware?

That required extra compensation.

And Medel wasn’t alone in that mindset. Many in the Cardiff squad shared it.

They had professional pride, yes—but not enough to give their all for a relegation candidate.

With their central defense in disarray and the flanks getting torched repeatedly, manager Malky Mackay had no choice but to push his wide midfielders up and switch to a 4-2-3-1.

He even moved Medel upfield into a box-to-box role to spark the attack.

That meant Li Ang and Medel were no longer directly matched up.

Li Ang was delighted.

Not because he wanted to avoid Medel’s defense.

But because Cardiff’s central midfield was now completely exposed.

He didn’t even have to be the one breaking through anymore—Oscar could slice through them all by himself.

In the 37th minute, Oscar did just that.

He received a forward pass from Li Ang, burst into the box, and laid it off for De Bruyne, who calmly slotted the ball home from just inside the penalty spot.

Cardiff’s early-season optimism had officially popped under pressure from an elite Premier League side.

Even though they clawed one back early in the second half—a Medel assist leading to a long-range screamer from Mutch—it was never going to be enough.

After Li Ang and Hazard were subbed off, Chelsea still kept pressing.

Oscar and Ramires added two more goals to complete a dominant 4–1 away victory.

The draw against Norwich that had darkened the mood earlier in October was now thoroughly erased.

And the English media outlets that had criticized Mourinho’s heavy rotation?

They shut their mouths real fast.

What had once been seen as a risky gamble was now hailed as tactical genius.

With the veterans properly rested, Chelsea’s core players would be fully energized for their Champions League clash against Schalke 04.

And for Schalke, who had been held to a draw by Basel in the last round, that was very bad news.

On October 21, 2013, Chelsea arrived in Germany a day early for their matchday training.

The German press welcomed Mourinho and Li Ang with… enthusiasm.

Over the past two seasons, Mourinho’s Real Madrid had been the bane of German football’s Champions League hopes.

When it came to vivid memories of those painful losses, the German press had two primary targets: Mourinho, of course—and then, it was always a toss-up between Li Ang and Cristiano Ronaldo.

To call the feeling ”hatred” wasn’t quite right.

It was more complex. A mixture of frustration, helplessness, and bitter admiration.

From the 2012 Champions League semifinal sweep of Bayern, to the dominance over Dortmund throughout the 2012–13 season, culminating in the final win over Bayern—Mourinho’s tactics, Ronaldo’s brilliance, and Li Ang’s midfield domination were burned into memory.

They could still recite the key plays, the critical goals, the tactical adjustments in minute detail.

And just when they thought they’d get another chance at revenge this season…

The Mourinho-era Real Madrid dissolved.

Not by defeat—but by their own choice. They’d dismantled the ”Champions League final boss” before anyone could challenge them again.

The irony and regret haunted German media and fans alike.

Now, Mourinho and Li Ang were back in North Rhine–Westphalia.

Schalke 04 might not be the elite representation of German football—but just seeing Mourinho and Li Ang return was enough to ignite passion.

For Mourinho and Li Ang, the emotions ran deep too.

It wasn’t Schalke that stirred their memories.

It was the neighbors—the yellow and black Dortmund, who had caused so much trouble last season.

Even on the way to Schalke’s stadium that afternoon, Li Ang saw Dortmund fans waving scarves and cheering their team bus.

He couldn’t help but laugh.

He hadn’t expected this kind of reception.

Just last season, when he played at the Westfalenstadion, he was public enemy number one.

But now?

It seemed the pan-Asian concept of ”flexible, friendly diplomacy” applied just as well to European football rivalries.

Within the Chelsea squad, there was no sense of pressure about facing Schalke.

First, because the German side had been underwhelming in the Bundesliga.

Second, because even with a full squad, Schalke had been held to a draw by Basel.

Now, Chelsea were rested, in form, and hungry.

And for Schalke… that could only mean trouble.

It’s all about comparison—Chelsea had nearly slipped up against Basel before, and that was with a heavily rotated lineup.

But once Mourinho brought Li Ang onto the pitch, the Swiss side’s ”magic” vanished.

Of course, in terms of overall strength, Chelsea players still felt Schalke 04 was stronger than Basel—but not by much.

So there was absolutely no need to worry about beating Schalke.

That kind of confidence was a good thing. During the tactical meeting at the hotel, Mourinho reinforced that belief—victory was the only outcome.

By the next day, when Chelsea arrived at Veltins-Arena fully prepared, the entire squad was fired up, focused, and brimming with confidence.

But Li Ang, having worked with Mourinho long enough, knew the twist was coming.

Because as much as Mourinho acted like the king of the world in front of the press, behind closed doors he was the exact opposite when prepping for battle.

He wanted every single one of his players to approach the game with the vigilance of soldiers heading to war.

Sure enough, right after the warm-ups, Mourinho exploded in the dressing room.

He lashed out, ridiculing the young players for letting their egos blind them to the threat Schalke posed.

Hazard, De Bruyne, Bertrand—all the youngsters who hadn’t experienced Mourinho’s fire before—were left stunned.

Hadn’t Mourinho just praised their confidence last night? Why was he turning on them just before kickoff?

But given his authority in the dressing room, none of them dared to talk back—even if they felt wronged.

Most of them didn’t fully grasp the warning buried within Mourinho’s scolding. But one thing was clear: whatever arrogance they had toward Schalke 04 disappeared instantly.

Li Ang and the veterans, who were used to this, just sat there with straight faces, hiding their grins.

They’d all been through it before.

Say what you will, but Mourinho’s personality turned on a dime.

Still, his methods worked.

Sure, the young players might feel temporarily slighted or confused, but that was better than being humiliated by underestimating the opponent.

And five minutes later, Schalke 04 found themselves on the receiving end of that redirected fury.

Mourinho had psych-checked his players—and now the Blues needed someone to punish.

That punishment came in the form of relentless attacks from Hazard and De Bruyne.

The Belgian wings were ruthless from the opening whistle. Whether it was the Bundesliga backdrop or the lingering sting of Mourinho’s speech, they were out for blood.

De Bruyne, who had mostly been a distributor in the Premier League so far, turned into a dribbling machine in this match.

Even Li Ang was surprised.

De Bruyne’s technique and footwork weren’t known to be particularly flashy—but today he was gliding past defenders with ease.

With both wings pressing high and wide, Li Ang was happy to play the role of conductor, feeding Hazard and De Bruyne again and again.

He was paired in midfield with Ramires, which gave Chelsea even more bite in central ball recovery.

Lose the ball? No problem. Win it back.

In the opening ten minutes, Li Ang had already reclaimed possession twice and made a highlight-reel interception.

Kevin-Prince Boateng, newly transferred from AC Milan to lead Schalke’s front line, was forced to drop deeper to help his overwhelmed midfield.

He couldn’t let Li Ang keep picking their pockets like that.

His teammates, young midfielders Max Meyer and Julian Draxler, were already showing signs of shell shock.

Before kickoff, Li Ang, Boateng, and Zlatan had exchanged laughs and high-fives like old friends.

Now, Li Ang was a different man—no mercy, hard tackles, precise steals. Boateng winced just watching him.

Schalke’s squad hadn’t gotten worse in terms of talent, but their big-match experience had taken a hit.

Much like Chelsea, their veteran core had been replaced by a batch of promising youngsters.

And experience in high-stakes battles? That was the missing piece.

That’s exactly why Li Ang chose to patrol the middle today.

He loved teaching lessons to the new kids in town.

Didn’t matter if they were from La Liga, the Premier League, or the Bundesliga—if you crossed his path, you were getting schooled.

After a few hard lessons, Meyer and Höger started backing off. They realized one-on-one, they had no chance.

This wasn’t a duel. This was a team sport. Soloing Li Ang? Not worth it.

But Draxler was stubborn.

Just like Kovacic had been in Spain.

Brash, overconfident, determined to take Li Ang on head-to-head.

In the 15th minute, Draxler charged into the middle third, tried to dribble past Li Ang—and paid the price.

Li Ang cleanly intercepted him on the right side of midfield, burst forward, and tore a hole through Schalke’s defensive line.

By the time he reached the final third, he spotted De Bruyne waving for the ball on the right wing.

De Bruyne had already embarrassed Schalke’s defensive midfielder Neustädter twice.

Seeing the Belgian receive the ball again, Neustädter instinctively backed off—trying to guess the next move.

That was his mistake.

The space he gave De Bruyne allowed the winger to line up a beautiful lofted cross into the box.

Zlatan had already slipped free of Höwedes and surged toward the ball’s landing point.

But Joel Matip, tall and strong, had better positioning and boxed Zlatan out.

Just as Zlatan prepared to fight for the header, he heard a familiar roar:

”Zlatan!”

It was Li Ang.

Without a second thought, Zlatan stopped trying to score.

Instead, he twisted midair, used his core strength, and redirected the header—sending the ball outside the box to the top of the arc.

It bounced once, then popped up again.

And right there, sprinting into the spotlight, was Chelsea’s number 10.

Body tilted slightly, arms raised in balance, he let fly with his left foot.

The ball rocketed off his boot like a missile—straight, powerful, unstoppable.

There was no curl, no finesse. Just pure violence.

It screamed into the top left corner of Schalke’s goal.

Timo Hildebrand, the 34-year-old German keeper, never had a chance.

He dove, but it looked like slow motion. The ball was already in the net.

The home fans hadn’t even seen the full flight of the ball yet—but they heard it.

A thunderclap of leather on net. Their hearts dropped.

And then came the eruption—from nearly ten thousand traveling Chelsea fans packed into the away end.

The ball bounced inside the net, and Hildebrand hit the turf in frustration.

Tens of thousands of Schalke supporters could only stare as Chelsea’s number 10 sprinted toward the corner flag, arms wide, roaring with joy.

It was Li Ang.

Chelsea’s players swarmed him, shouting in celebration.

And there, hands on his hips, watching helplessly, was Draxler—staring at the man who had just given him the harshest lesson of his young career.

Millions of fans watching had the same thought:

The Little Lion is back—schooling the kids once again.

Get 30% off on my Patreon and enjoy early access to new chapters.

You can also purchase the next 100 chapters of the novel directly from my Patreon page.

Hurry up! The promotion ends on March 2, 2026.

Read 40 Chapters In Advance: /Johanssen10