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Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

Chapter 288 286: Closer to the Ballon d’Or Than He Ever Imagined · Nov 11, 2026

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Chapter List (401)

Page number / 9

251 Chapter 251 249: What the Hell, You Still Dare to Fight Back? 2026-11-11
252 Chapter 252 250: Iron-Blooded Blow to Özil, 8-Goal Rout of PSG 2026-11-11
253 Chapter 253 251: Facing Barça in the Quarterfinals — Li Ang’s Smile! 2026-11-11
254 Chapter 254 252: Arsenal, It’s Time to Stop Dreaming 2026-11-11
255 Chapter 255 253: I Don’t Want to Say Chelsea Will Clinch the Title Early, But That’s the Reality 2026-11-11
256 Chapter 256 254: Returning to Camp Nou Feels Just Like Coming Home~ 2026-11-11
257 Chapter 257 255: Damn, Messi, You’re Actually Going All Out?! 2026-11-11
258 Chapter 258 256: The Counterattack Begins Now! 2026-11-11
259 Chapter 259 257: What We’re Doing Is Pure Torment—Crying? That Counts Against the Clock Too 2026-11-11
260 Chapter 260 258: Stop Scoring, Man—You’re Already Fourth in the Premier League Golden Boot Race 2026-11-11
261 Chapter 261 259: See You Next Year, Leo 2026-11-11
262 Chapter 262 260: The Red Devils Are Dead—Long Live the Blues! 2026-11-11
263 Chapter 263 261: The Champions League Is Full of Giants Lining Up to Get Revenge on Li Ang 2026-11-11
264 Chapter 264 262: Chelsea’s Midfield and Defense Still Need Major Reinforcements! 2026-11-11
265 Chapter 265 263: Hey Kuan, Bro, The Boss Here’s Generous—High Salary, Come Quick! 2026-11-11
266 Chapter 266 264: You Know It—The Little Lion’s My Brother, and Zlatan’s a Beast 2026-11-11
267 Chapter 267 265: Reinforcements Assembled, Legends Return—This Time, We’re Taking It All! 2026-11-11
268 Chapter 268 266: Li Ang, When Are You Winning the Ballon d’Or and Becoming a Grand Slam Champion? 2026-11-11
269 Chapter 269 267: A Dominant First Win—The Rise of the Galactic Chelsea Begins 2026-11-11
270 Chapter 270 268: The “British Battleship” Makes His Premier League Debut — The Excellent Maguire 2026-11-11
271 Chapter 271 269: Not a Single One Can Keep Up 2026-11-11
272 Chapter 272 270: Rotation? Even Chelsea’s Rotation Is a European-Class Powerhouse 2026-11-11
273 Chapter 273 271: Replicating Kaka’s 2007 Season? Why Not! 2026-11-11
274 Chapter 274 272: A Premier League El Clásico Reimagined 2026-11-11
275 Chapter 275 273: Guardiola, I Am Your Nemesis! 2026-11-11
276 Chapter 276 274: Your Blade Is Sharp, But So Is Mine 2026-11-11
277 Chapter 277 275: Premier League’s Finest—A Duel Between Possession and Relentless Pressing 2026-11-11
278 Chapter 278 276: In This Era, I Am Destiny! 2026-11-11
279 Chapter 279 277: A Hat-Trick to Be Crowned! The One True God of the Premier League! 2026-11-11
280 Chapter 280 278: Ambition on All Three Fronts 2026-11-11
281 Chapter 281 279: It’s Not That We Played Well—The Opponent Was Just That Bad 2026-11-11
282 Chapter 282 280: What, Arsenal Wants to Be the New Top Dog Too? 2026-11-11
283 Chapter 283 281: Eden, Stand with Me at the Summit of World Football 2026-11-11
284 Chapter 284 282: Everyone’s Showing Off—Except United, Who Are Getting Beaten Up 2026-11-11
285 Chapter 285 283: Tyrant Leon 2026-11-11
286 Chapter 286 284: Smashing the Face of the Premier League’s ”Top Club” 2026-11-11
287 Chapter 287 285: Double Digits in the League – Top Scorer in the Premier League! 2026-11-11
288 Chapter 288 286: Closer to the Ballon d’Or Than He Ever Imagined 2026-11-11
289 Chapter 289 287: I Want to Face the Strongest—But If It’s Barça First, That’s Fine Too 2026-11-11
290 Chapter 290 288: Luiz, Don’t Let Your Loyalty Ruin You 2026-11-11
291 Chapter 291 289: If You Ever Get the Chance, Think About Us—I’ll Be Waiting at Stamford Bridge 2026-11-11
292 Chapter 292 290: The Winning Streak Ends, But an Undefeated Title Run Is Still Possible 2026-11-11
293 Chapter 293 291: Little Lion, Are You Seriously Going for the Golden Boot?! 2026-11-11
294 Chapter 294 292: Time for Everyone’s Favorite Event—Beating Spurs Again 2026-11-11
295 Chapter 295 293: He’s Already a Young Legend 2026-11-11
296 Chapter 296 294: Someone Please Shut His Mouth Next Time! 2026-11-11
297 Chapter 297 295: Aiming for a New Midseason Record—Time to Sharpen the Blade Against Sky City 2026-11-11
298 Chapter 298 296: Nineteen Wins, the Big Boss of the League—A Perfect Midseason Finish! 2026-11-11
299 Chapter 299 297: 2014 Silver Ball Winner—Leon! 2026-11-11
300 Chapter 300 298: Hype Helps, but Performance Is What Truly Matters 2026-11-11

After Leon pounced on the rebound and sent the ball into Manchester United’s net for the second time, Van Gaal stormed back to the bench, cursing, ”Bullshit!” and waving his arms in frustration.

To him, that goal had nothing to do with tactical finesse. It was an unexpected blow that completely broke the rhythm of the match.

In Van Gaal’s mind, the difference between his tactical setup and Mourinho’s wasn’t anywhere near what the scoreboard was showing.

He could accept the first goal—it was a result of Chelsea’s precise, well-drilled edge-to-center play and perfect timing on the late run.

Mourinho had clearly optimized his use of Chelsea’s pacey wingers and attacking overlaps.

But the second goal? That one hurt.

More than admiring Chelsea’s luck or Leon’s timing, Van Gaal blamed his own midfield for their poor positional awareness.

Sure, Leon’s awareness and movement were top-tier.

But with a proper holding midfielder or more disciplined fullbacks tucking in, Leon would’ve never had that opportunity to begin with.

Van Gaal couldn’t accept that Chelsea were two goals ahead so quickly.

But pride wouldn’t change the facts. He had to calm himself down and deal with United’s dire situation.

Meanwhile, Leon and his teammates were still celebrating near the touchline.

He shook out his head, refocused, and pointed with a grin toward the corner of Old Trafford where the Chelsea fans were gathered.

Commentator Jian Jun’s shout—”He was there to pounce!”—was spot on.

Leon himself was surprised to have already bagged a brace at Old Trafford so early in the match.

Chelsea’s tactics were working flawlessly, completely stifling United’s pressing and counter-attacks.

And in terms of luck? Chelsea clearly had the upper hand today.

Mourinho’s initial goal for the first half had only been to get a 1–0 lead—especially since they were testing a new tactical setup.

The squad had fully prepared to ”finish off” United in the second half.

But they had already exceeded expectations before the half-hour mark.

Unless Mourinho gave new instructions to change the rhythm of the game, Chelsea would only get more comfortable from here.

No pressure. Just maintain a safe possession rate and wait for chances to counter.

Everything was falling into place, and it honestly felt like the only way Chelsea could lose was through self-sabotage.

As the match resumed, United’s attempt to push higher and force Chelsea into mistakes met with a stone wall.

Van Gaal, however, still had cards to play.

Unlike managers from mid-to-lower-tier clubs, Van Gaal had the tactical depth and courage to make fast adjustments.

Three minutes later, Rooney—fresh off warm-ups—stood by the sideline.

Van Persie, who had been invisible all game, was told to come off, his face visibly tense.

This summer, during the World Cup, the two had shared a mentor-student bond. Now, they passed each other like strangers.

No handshake. No exchange of words. No tactical chat.

Van Gaal simply gave instructions to Rooney, ignoring Van Persie entirely.

Van Persie, now seated on the bench, covered his face with a towel.

No matter the result, tomorrow’s headlines were guaranteed:

”Rift between Van Gaal and Van Persie!”

Being subbed off before halftime by his national team coach—someone who once trusted him completely—was humiliation for a player of Van Persie’s stature.

But regardless of post-match drama, Rooney’s presence did inject some new life into United.

He was simply too versatile.

On paper, he replaced Van Persie at striker.

In practice, Van Gaal used him to increase United’s intensity in pressing from the front.

Rooney’s work rate and defensive coverage were miles ahead of Van Persie’s.

He played more like an attacking midfielder than a forward, charging down Chelsea’s defenders relentlessly.

Chelsea’s backfield possession structure wobbled under United’s renewed pressure.

But Leon stepped up.

He took the ball from Matic, spun away from the press with a pair of elegant 360 turns, and stabilized Chelsea’s rhythm.

Then he threaded a pass to an accelerating Ashley Cole.

United expected Cole to push up the wing—

But the experienced former ”best left-back in the Premier League” instead delivered a long diagonal pass, launching Chelsea’s second wave.

Holding possession in the back, then pulling the fullbacks into midfield, and launching direct passes from deep?

That kind of layered tactical system was years ahead of its time in 2014.

If you had to find a prototype, it would be how Guardiola once used Dani Alves at Barcelona.

But Cole—at his peak—was even more balanced across offense and defense.

While Alves was more aggressive in attack, Cole’s reading of the game and long-ball timing were borderline magical. The older he got, the craftier he became.

And on the right wing, Salah had already torched Luke Shaw again.

But this time, Van Gaal couldn’t even blame Shaw.

Rooney’s entry had come with tactical instructions: push Shaw higher and have him support the press.

Shaw couldn’t recover in time, and Di María was left isolated.

United’s left flank had been a key outlet—now it, too, was shut down.

Salah sprinted down the wing, cutting toward United’s backline with purpose.

Ibrahimović didn’t charge forward immediately—he peeled away, pulling defenders with him.

His movement distracted Marcos Rojo and forced Carrick to shift his attention.

After all, it was Ibrahimović. If you ignored his off-ball runs, you’d pay for it.

Carrick’s mistake was inevitable. He hesitated and failed to cut off Salah early.

He was aging—his acceleration had dropped off.

Against a speedster like Salah, losing that first step was fatal.

Salah shifted past Carrick with ease, cut inside to the right edge of the box, switched the ball to his left foot, and curled in a cross.

And no, he wasn’t aiming for Ibrahimović.

Reading the flight of the ball, Ibrahimović subtly ducked away—he was just bait.

Chris Smalling hesitated, then realized—too late—that the ball was headed to the back post.

There, in mid-air, rose the hulking figure of Romelu Lukaku.

He met the ball cleanly with a powerful header—but the angle was too straight.

De Gea, world-class as ever, made the reflex save.

But before United fans could even cheer,

a blur darted into the box, lunging forward with a knee-first finish.

De Gea had just landed. No chance for a second save.

And when the crowd saw who it was—who had slammed home the rebound—they groaned in unison.

”LEON! Leon follows up! That’s his second! TEN goals in the league! He’s now the sole leader of the Premier League scoring charts!!!”

Jian Jun’s voice cracked with excitement. He and Zhang Lu practically jumped out of their seats in the broadcast studio.

Last season, Leon scored plenty—but he never stood alone at the top of the scoring table.

Now, just the second season since his transformation into a true attacker,

Leon—a midfielder—was topping the charts ahead of all the elite strikers in the Premier League.

Even if it was only temporary, it was enough to make Chinese fans and football insiders everywhere burst with pride.

At that exact moment, football stat apps across the globe updated the Premier League scoring table:

Leon – 10 goals.

He had officially overtaken Cavani.

Alone at the top.

By now, even the slowest Manchester United fans could see it clearly—

Chelsea didn’t come to Old Trafford today just to win. They came to experiment.

Aside from preserving their core players’ fitness, they were using United as tactical lab rats.

There was simply no other explanation for how drastically different Chelsea’s approach was between the first and second halves.

It was a tough pill to swallow. The mood in the stands could be summed up in one word: fury.

But after the rage came something even worse—

Deep frustration and despair over how little fight their own players showed on the pitch.

The rest of the second half descended into a dull, fractured pace.

Chelsea had United completely in their grasp.

The blueprint? Easy. Lock down Rooney and Di María, cut their connections to the rest of the team,

and Manchester United’s offensive threat vanished.

Fellaini’s height advantage on set pieces?

Nullified once Maguire marked him one-on-one.

Smalling? Marked tightly by Matic.

Both of United’s aerial targets were completely boxed out—long ball attacks were dead on arrival.

In the 61st minute, Leon launched a long pass to Salah on the break,

but Salah sprinted too quickly and found himself isolated in United’s final third, unable to wait for Ibra or Lukaku to catch up.

He took a shot anyway—more of a warm-up for De Gea—but it still rattled the home crowd.

Even the Sky Sports commentators began showing sympathy for United.

And among the neutral Premier League fans watching, many sighed.

They’d seen this kind of Chelsea before—a suffocating, pragmatic monster.

Get the lead, bait the opponent out, then counterattack with surgical precision.

And what made it worse was that Chelsea were so damn efficient at it.

Only Chelsea supporters found this football enjoyable.

To everyone else, it was suffocating—unless, of course, you hated the team on the receiving end.

And let’s be honest: few neutrals had sympathy for United.

After their dominant years in the Premier League, most fans from rival clubs had no love for the Red Devils.

Liverpool, City, Arsenal fans—they were all delighting in United’s suffering.

Watching them get picked apart by Chelsea was cathartic, almost therapeutic.

Even if it was just 45 minutes, it was enough to make them feel avenged.

When the final whistle blew, Leon dropped his serious demeanor and jogged over to Di María.

Though they had stayed in touch regularly, this was their first in-person meeting since Di María’s move to United.

Their schedules hadn’t lined up—Leon didn’t travel during international breaks, and Di María was always off playing in South America.

Now, finally, they could say a few words face-to-face—

But given the circumstances, there was no mood for long talks.

They exchanged shirts, hugged briefly, and parted ways quickly.

After all, United had just lost at home.

As one of their players, Di María had to at least appear professional.

But the media didn’t miss a beat.

The two were spotted later that evening at a South American BBQ restaurant in Manchester,

and afterward, at a private café.

There wasn’t much gossip to report—just two old friends catching up.

So the next day, British tabloids turned to a new hook:

photos of Leon grimacing as he tried mate for the second time, pulled into it again by Di María.

That one shot—Leon frowning in bitter agony—instantly became a meme.

And finally, some United fans felt a tiny bit of comfort.

Meanwhile, across the sea in Spain, Real Madrid fans who saw the headlines couldn’t help but smile.

Their Angel and their Little Lion were reunited again—now in the Premier League.

Photos of them laughing and chatting transported Madridistas back to the golden summers of 2012 and 2013…

Back to the glory days of Mourinho’s Real Madrid.

But it was all memories now.

That legendary team was no longer.

Kaká, El Capitán, Pipita, the Little Lion, the Angel...

And now that Xabi Alonso had announced his upcoming departure, it only deepened the melancholy.

It wasn’t that Ancelotti wasn’t good enough.

It wasn’t that James Rodríguez, the new midfield nucleus, lacked star power.

It was just… sadness.

Sadness that the team they loved, that batch of players they adored,

didn’t stay together for five or six more years to give them more unforgettable moments—like the great dynasties had.

The regret wasn’t devastating, but it lingered.

And it wouldn’t go away.

To Madrid fans, Leon was the one they missed the most—”their own.”

But Leon, in this moment, wasn’t dwelling on the past.

He was beaming—because Mendes had just brought him news of a different kind.

”I seriously have a chance at second in the Ballon d’Or voting this year?”

”Very likely! Damn it, if Bayern hadn’t won the Champions League last season,

I could’ve secured that Ballon d’Or for you! Atlético let us down...”

Back home in his villa, Leon watched Mendes, half-joking, half-mourning, and just smiled.

Honestly, he wasn’t bitter.

Bayern’s Champions League win had been well deserved.

And if Ribéry, as their attacking core, ended up taking the Ballon d’Or, Leon had no complaints.

What mattered more to him now was that—

He’d reached a point where his stats and reputation could rival Messi and Ronaldo.

He wasn’t just dreaming about the Ballon d’Or anymore.

He could see it—right there on the horizon.

”I’m close. Really close…”

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

Read 40 Chapters In Advance: /johanssen10

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