Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

To be honest, after the match, the reporters interviewing Leon all felt he was putting on an act—but they couldn’t find any fault with what he said.

After all, Champions League comebacks from heavy first-leg defeats had happened before.

And on the surface, Leon had given Paris Saint-Germain more than enough respect—no trash talk, no condescension, he even said Chelsea would take PSG very seriously.

So even though every journalist present suspected that Leon fully intended to go all out against 272 again in the second leg and hand him another humiliating loss, they still had to praise him publicly for being ”cautious” and ”mature.”

PSG fans, already in a foul mood after the match, nearly burst a vein when they read Leon’s post-match interview.

”He scored four goals in the first leg, and he’s still talking about staying sharp and coming out swinging in the second?!”

It was obvious he was aiming to completely annihilate 272.

But Leon had been careful. He didn’t insult PSG, not once—neither before nor after the game.

That’s what made it worse.

Many PSG fans were livid, but also felt helpless. It was just like Higuaín’s experience during the game—they felt like innocent bystanders caught in someone else’s grudge match.

Meanwhile, Leon, who had not only won a head-to-head battle against 272 but also thoroughly outshone him on the big stage, once again triggered a media explosion across the football world.

Two goals and one assist in the first leg of a Champions League knockout tie.

Leading a rebuilt Chelsea as the new tactical nucleus, Leon had all but carried them into the quarterfinals.

Just one season ago, Chelsea had crashed out of the group stage.

For most teams undergoing a rebuild, finishing top three in the league and reaching the Champions League Round of 16 would already be considered a success.

But Chelsea?

They were top of the Premier League, gearing up for the domestic cup final, and now cruising in Europe—all after just half a season of team building.

Fans everywhere couldn’t help but admit: Abramovich’s €100 million signing had been an absolute bargain.

Even if Leon’s stats this season had been cut in half, his big-match performances alone would’ve justified the price tag.

”Even if you halved his numbers, Leon would still be pushing double digits in goals and assists!”

Proud supporters flooded forums with Leon’s stat sheet.

And when fans saw the glittering numbers—20 goals, 18 assists—a collective gasp echoed across the internet.

Even though most neutral fans had already accepted that Leon would likely hit the 20+20 mark this season, seeing it in front of them like this still felt unreal.

In 2011–12, Leon’s full-season numbers with Real Madrid were 6 goals and 13 assists—4 and 8 in the league.

In 2012–13, he totaled 14 goals and 13 assists, with 9 goals and 9 assists in La Liga.

Now, with just 26 Premier League rounds and one knockout Champions League match played, Leon had already racked up 20 goals and 18 assists.

His league stats alone—14 goals and 13 assists—had already equaled his entire production from the previous season.

This wasn’t just a player progressing step by step.

It was as if Leon had boarded a rocket and blasted into the attacking elite—developing a deadly arsenal of goal contributions in just two and a half seasons.

In the long history of football, midfielders who had grown and improved at this pace—this dramatically—could be counted on one hand.

Madridistas watched Leon’s meteoric rise in England with mixed emotions: happiness, pride... and deep regret.

Everyone knew it: had Leon not transferred to Chelsea, if he hadn’t been given the keys to the system and the freedom to shoot, there’s no way he’d have reached 20 goals by now.

With Gareth Bale joining Madrid this season, needing his own share of chances, and Cristiano still dominating the attack, there simply wasn’t enough room.

Even Benzema’s numbers had dipped as a result.

Leon? He’d been fourth in the attacking pecking order.

No doubt—his departure had unlocked his full potential.

Watching Leon dominate both ends of the pitch in the Premier League, posting such eye-popping numbers, Madrid fans felt genuine happiness for him.

But they also couldn’t help missing him.

No amount of logic could erase that ache.

They couldn’t forget the summer transfer that had shocked La Liga.

Carlo Ancelotti was a good coach—but looking at the current league table, with Madrid slightly trailing Barcelona and Atlético?

Which Madrid fan didn’t long for the multi-front dominance of Mourinho’s Madrid from the past two seasons?

Just take a simple comparison.

After 24 La Liga rounds, Barcelona were top scorers; Atlético had the best defense and the fewest goals conceded.

Both had 60 points.

Madrid? Third place, with 57.

What made it worse?

Madrid had already lost to both rivals earlier in the season.

At the beginning of the season, countless overly optimistic Real Madrid fans boldly declared that the club would claim a third consecutive La Liga title—and complete a historic treble of Champions League crowns.

But after consecutive defeats to direct league rivals, the fans’ red-hot confidence had been thoroughly doused with cold reality.

For the past two seasons, the Madrid team Mourinho built had been undeniably the strongest in La Liga—both offensively and defensively.

Now, without Mourinho—and more importantly, without Leon—Real hadn’t just lost a midfield interceptor with phenomenal coverage.

They’d also lost their secret weapon: a player who could make decisive late runs and break deadlocks in key moments.

Casemiro and Matuidi were both excellent holding midfielders, more than capable of shielding Alonso and giving him space to play.

But compared to the all-round brilliance of Leon last season, both players revealed noticeable limitations—flaws that made Madridistas miss their ”Little Lion” more than ever.

As the old saying goes, happiness is only truly felt in contrast—and regret works the same way.

The better Leon performed at Chelsea, the more intensely Real Madrid fans felt that regret and longing.

Even those few extreme Madridistas who, at the start of the season, had shouted that Leon would never succeed away from Madrid—and that losing a defensive midfielder was no big deal—had long since gone silent.

Of course, with time, another glorious era would come to Madrid.

New stars would emerge, more trophies would be won, and eventually, those fans now tormented by memories of Leon would slowly forget their sorrow.

But that peace was still far off.

Leon’s recent dominance—his youth, his drive, the unforgettable memories he had gifted the Madrid faithful—would keep many of them awake tonight.

Especially after the first leg of the Champions League knockout stage.

※※※

In the end, Leon didn’t fulfill his promise of treating the whole team to a celebratory dinner after the match.

Because the moment they landed back in London, a delighted Abramovich had already arranged everything.

A grand victory feast—attended by all the players, coaches, and support staff from the first team.

After enjoying a lavish dinner that evening, the entire Chelsea squad spent a comfortable night resting in a five-star hotel.

The only thing Leon regretted was the tight schedule. They hadn’t even stayed in Paris long enough to rest, let alone celebrate.

As soon as the players finished their post-match showers, they were hustled onto the team bus and sent straight to the airport for a red-eye flight home.

That meant Leon never got a chance to meet Anastasiya—who had accepted his invitation and come to the stadium to watch him play.

He’d originally planned to take her out for a quiet dinner, maybe chat a bit more afterward.

But in the end, it was the one who sent the invite that ended up standing the other person up.

”I saw your schedule—you guys have another Premier League match in four days, right?

Good luck with your preparations. You played really well today. I heard your team has a great chance of winning the league this year…”

That was the text reply Leon received from Anastasiya, shortly after he sent her a message apologizing.

Their chats had grown more relaxed over time, and the shy, reserved girl he met at the gala no longer sounded so nervous when talking to him.

At least in their texting, she was cheerful and composed.

Leon, for all his fame and presence on the pitch, was still quite inexperienced when it came to romance.

He couldn’t read the signals. He didn’t know what her messages really meant.

All he knew was that talking to her felt easy—and he liked it.

He got the sense she felt the same.

But now? He had no idea how to make his feelings clear.

He had looked up a few dating advice articles online, but they all seemed unreliable or too cheesy.

So in the end, he decided to let things flow naturally.

”What if she only sees me as a friend?”

Besides, he didn’t know her that well yet.

Maybe in this modern age, people could fall in love in a matter of days or weeks.

But Leon wasn’t interested in whirlwind flings or fiery passion.

He was a slow-burn type—or, less kindly, just passive.

Especially now that his initial crush had cooled, he wasn’t about to rush things with someone who had just turned eighteen.

”She’s barely started college this year… Am I being a creep?”

That thought haunted him as he lay in bed, typing out one last message:

”Hey, do you have some free time in the next few weeks? I could send my assistant to pick you up from Paris and bring you to London.

Honestly, I don’t know the city very well myself, but if you come, maybe during my days off we can visit Chinatown and St. Paul’s Cathedral together…”

After sending the message, Leon got up, brushed his teeth, and went to bed.

The next morning, after silencing his alarm, he checked his phone.

Anastasiya had replied—at nearly two in the morning.

”I think… I think I can. I need to finish next week’s modeling courses first, and then… I’ll have to ask my aunt!”

Reading that message, Leon couldn’t help but smile.

He pulled open the hotel curtains.

Sunlight streamed across the floor-to-ceiling windows.

He stretched out his arms and let out a long yawn.

”Today… really is a beautiful day.”

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