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Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

Chapter 297 295: Aiming for a New Midseason Record—Time to Sharpen the Blade Against Sky City · 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

Chelsea and Barcelona’s recurring ”Champions League destiny” had once again become a hot topic among football fans.

Clips of last season’s two-legged domination by Chelsea over Barça flooded the media, reigniting old memories.

Even UEFA’s official Twitter account joined in, reposting one or two of the highlight reels—

much to the fury of Barcelona supporters, who saw it as a public slap in the face.

To make things worse, UEFA seemed to have taken a page out of the English media’s book.

After poking the hornet’s nest with Chelsea fans, they turned around and posted old footage of Barcelona eliminating Chelsea in previous years.

Just like that, UEFA had managed to offend both fanbases—playing no favorites, chasing clicks.

But hey, it worked.

The engagement under their posts exploded.

Regardless of how nasty the comments were, UEFA got the numbers they wanted.

And with that, the Round of 16 clash between Chelsea and Barcelona was pre-heated into a must-watch blockbuster, weeks in advance.

The English media? They smelled blood in the water.

Chelsea hadn’t even tweeted about the draw yet, but the papers were already declaring war on Barcelona.

From last season’s matchup alone, it was clear: Chelsea had the upper hand tactically.

And while Barça had made no marquee signings in the summer, Chelsea had upgraded again.

On paper, the English side held every advantage.

Which meant even the tabloid press wasn’t worried about being wrong for once.

It was classic English media logic: blunt, loud, and unapologetically confident.

Fans of other Premier League clubs were used to it by now.

Chelsea fans were split.

Some mocked the media’s bravado. Others, like the players, laughed it off and moved on.

The festive season was coming.

That meant the most brutal stretch of the football calendar was just around the corner.

From December 17 to January 5, Chelsea were set to play six matches in twenty days.

And if they somehow survived that, they’d barely have time to breathe before the next ”three-matches-a-week” phase began.

Right after that? The Champions League Round of 16.

So while the outside world fixated on a flashy tie against Barcelona,

Mourinho and his staff locked in on the grind ahead.

Three days after beating Hull City in Matchweek 16,

Chelsea were back on the road—this time heading to Pride Park to face Derby County in the EFL Cup quarterfinals.

Single elimination. No second legs.

And now that they were one win away from the semifinals, there was no room for slip-ups.

Chelsea had to treat it like a final—no messing around with extra time.

That night, the 30,000 fans in Pride Park were treated to something rare:

a nearly full-strength Chelsea XI.

Derby County, a long-time Championship side, usually only got to see Premier League stars during cup competitions.

Reaching the EFL Cup quarterfinals was already a dream run for them.

Having dodged Premier League teams in previous rounds, they now found themselves face to face with England’s most dominant side.

They knew it was unlikely they’d pull off a miracle.

But if they were going to lose, at least it was to Chelsea.

That night’s match was a win-win—for everyone except Derby’s players.

The fans got their money’s worth.

The club’s journey had already been magical.

No one would complain, even in a heavy defeat.

In fact, if Derby could just score a goal or two,

those 30,000 fans would leave with nothing but pride.

But Chelsea’s starters had other ideas.

Led by Leon, the midfield came out flying.

From the first whistle, Chelsea upped the tempo, launching wave after wave of attacks.

It was like watching prime Barcelona in blue kits.

Liquid passing, razor-sharp through balls, relentless movement in the half-spaces...

It took just eighteen minutes for Chelsea to tear Derby’s confidence to shreds with two beautifully constructed goals.

You couldn’t even blame Leon for being ruthless.

Derby’s coach had foolishly gone with a 4-3-3,

thinking they could match Chelsea’s tempo early on.

Spoiler: they couldn’t.

Not even Guardiola’s City could take the initiative against this Chelsea side,

let alone a Championship team.

The early goals brought Derby crashing back to reality.

But the fans?

They were loving it.

Chelsea were playing electric football, a showcase of elite quality.

For those in the stands, it was worth every penny.

Even after Derby switched tactics and bunkered down,

Chelsea just kept slicing them open.

Final score: 7–0.

The word massacre barely did it justice.

Drogba scored.

Torres, off the bench, scored.

Lukaku? Hat-trick hero.

Leon? A goal and an assist. Efficient and unbothered.

Chelsea were through to the semis.

And with the next round over a month away, the EFL Cup wouldn’t be a distraction for a while.

The FA Cup wouldn’t start until January 4th either.

That meant the team could now focus fully on their next three Premier League matches—

the three games that would decide if they could finish the first half of the season perfect.

First up? Stoke City—not the easiest, but manageable.

Then came West Ham United, currently fourth in the table.

And finally, Southampton, sitting in sixth.

Sure, rankings alone don’t define a team’s strength.

But after 16 rounds, both West Ham and Southampton were still in the top six.

That meant they were red-hot.

Most pundits believed Chelsea would win all three—but not all were confident they’d keep the perfect streak.

Chelsea, however, blocked out the noise long ago.

Inside the squad, the belief was real.

They were ready.

Their biggest advantage? Intelligent squad rotation.

Ibrahimović. Terry. Lampard.

Not a single one of their veterans was injured or fatigued.

And among the starters who played the EFL Cup quarterfinal,

at least half would rest for the Stoke game.

They were being saved for the real showdown: West Ham.

And the players who sat out that game?

They’d be unleashed in the final match of the half-season against Southampton.

Mourinho had already mapped out the plan.

Everyone knew their role.

Everyone knew when to fight and when to rest.

Follow the plan, survive the schedule—

and if they pulled it off, they’d make Premier League history.

Because no team had ever completed a first half of the season with a perfect record.

The best so far?

Mourinho’s own team—the iron-blooded Blues of 2005–06.

Seventeen wins, one draw, one loss.

Last season, Chelsea came close again: sixteen wins, two draws, one loss.

Records, Leon and Mourinho always said, were meant to be chased.

If you fall short, so be it.

But if the path is there?

Why not go all the way?

Now that the record was within reach and all that stood between them and history was a final push,

it would be a lie to say Chelsea’s players weren’t tempted.

The internal motivation work had long been completed.

With confidence and determination to create a new chapter in club history,

on the night of December 22nd, Chelsea arrived at the Britannia Stadium for a fierce battle against Stoke City.

Historically, when facing Stoke, Premier League clubs always had to be wary of the ”Sky City” long-throw and set-piece bombardment.

The infamous match where Arsenal were stunned by Stoke’s ”grenade throw-ins” remains legendary among fans.

Almost every top team had suffered from Stoke’s aerial onslaughts.

And under normal circumstances, Mourinho would have paid close attention to this very threat.

But in the past season, under Mark Hughes’ management, Stoke had undergone a transformation—

shifting toward a more ground-based, technical style of play.

No longer the crude, brute-force team of old,

Hughes had taken Stoke to a top-ten finish last season, proving that the change had merit.

The data was clear: more wins, fewer goals conceded.

But the improvement mostly came in Stoke’s ability to dominate mid-to-lower-tier teams.

Their bite against top sides had dulled.

Put simply, the identity that defined them under Tony Pulis—

their bruising, disruptive confidence against elite clubs—was fading.

Now that everyone was playing with possession and technique,

matches became systems vs. systems.

For top clubs, this was great news.

No one wanted to be blindsided by aerial chaos anymore.

Tactical clarity made everything predictable—and easier to manage.

And when faced with a team trying to play football ”the right way,”

Mourinho’s tactical playbook had no shortage of options.

For this match, Chelsea rolled out a classic 4-4-2 with a clear focus on wing-based counterattacks.

Kroos and De Bruyne were rested.

Leon and Matic locked down the center, while Hazard and Salah flanked either side.

Up front?

Ibrahimović and Lukaku—one tall, one fast. A classic pairing.

The backline featured Terry and Maguire in the center,

Bertrand on the left, Ivanović on the right, and Begović in goal.

The lineup screamed direct wing play—and Stoke felt the pressure immediately.

From the first minute, Chelsea ceded midfield control,

a move that left Stoke’s players confused and uncomfortable.

Mark Hughes was stunned.

He hadn’t expected Mourinho to lower his stance so drastically.

If it were him managing Chelsea, he wouldn’t give up control against a mid-table side—not from kickoff.

But with the crowd behind them, Stoke players had no choice but to push forward.

Chelsea just sat deep, Leon and Matic shielding the back four.

The passive posture threw Stoke off.

But with every uncontested pass past the halfway line, they gained confidence.

More players pushed forward.

Bojan and Arnautović, Stoke’s primary ball carriers, relished the chance to shine.

Only Crouch hesitated—worried that the team was falling into a trap.

And he was right.

In the 13th minute, Bojan, ignoring Crouch’s silent warning,

sent a fast through ball into the box while wrestling with Matic.

Crouch had to battle Terry for position,

but before he could react, Leon slid in and poked the ball away.

Maguire, ready and alert, stepped in to intercept,

dribbled forward a few steps (he had been an attacking midfielder, after all),

then launched a pinpoint long pass to Lukaku, who dropped back to receive.

Lukaku absorbed Enzo’s pressure, held up the ball perfectly,

and laid it off for the onrushing Leon.

Then came the dagger:

Leon sent a piercing diagonal through-ball into the space behind Stoke’s stretched right flank.

Hazard, already sprinting, latched onto it in full stride.

Defender Phil Bardsley? Left in the dust.

Hazard had enough time to slow down and scan the box.

He whipped in a fast, low cross.

The ball zipped past the near post.

Ibrahimović and Shawcross both turned to track it.

But they missed the real threat:

Leon, arriving late at the top of the box.

Leon met the ball with a thunderous header—textbook technique, devastating power.

New keeper Jack Butland barely moved before the ball was in the net.

Leon’s 16th league goal.

He slapped the Chelsea crest on his chest and sprinted to the corner flag.

Mark Hughes, hair tousled by the cold wind, could only stare blankly.

1–0. Less than 20 minutes in.

The momentum had already shifted.

Now Stoke had to attack.

They had no choice.

Mourinho celebrated with fists raised, then sat back down, chuckling with Holland.

On the pitch, the players gathered around Leon to celebrate—

but quickly snapped back to focus. The mission wasn’t over.

Mark Hughes tried to keep his men calm.

To their credit, they didn’t go all-out just yet.

Chelsea didn’t get many counter chances before halftime,

as Stoke tightened up and settled for caution.

But once the second half reached the 60th minute,

Stoke had to roll the dice.

And Chelsea were ready.

Their defenders, well-rested thanks to the earlier caution, were like steel walls.

When Stoke’s intricate build-ups failed,

they reverted to what they knew—long balls and headers.

But Mourinho brought on Cahill for Bertrand.

Now Chelsea had eight players over 6’1” on the pitch, not including the keeper.

Even if Ibra and Lukaku didn’t always drop back,

they joined in during set pieces, clogging the box.

Terry and Maguire became an unbreakable pair.

Leon floated wherever he was needed, plugging gaps and reinforcing pressure.

Hazard and Salah, though small, were devastating on the break.

In the 82nd minute, Matic’s long ball found Salah streaking down the right.

The Egyptian sprinted 40 meters, then squared for Hazard to score the killing blow.

2–0. Game over.

Chelsea left the Britannia with a vital win—hard-fought, perfectly executed.

One more hard game down.

Two more to go.

Seventeen straight league wins.

The dream of a perfect first half was nearly reality.

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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