Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid Chapter 106: When It’s a Friend, You Hit Even Harder

Not long after the Champions League quarterfinal draw concluded, Leon received ssages from both Ibrahimović and Pato during lunch.

The two joked that he better not get eliminated early—they were counting on eting him in the Champions League final.

Leon could only reply with a helpless smile and send them both a quick "good luck."

Compared to the tiline he rembered from his past life, the general shape of the football world was still the sa, but the details had already started to diverge significantly.

Take the draw, for example. Real Madrid and Bayern Munich were still placed in the sa half of the bracket, while Barcelona and Chelsea landed in the other half.

But unlike the mory Leon held, Chelsea's opponent this ti wasn't Benfica—it was AC Milan.

Both teams were close in overall strength now. You could even say they were evenly matched.

So Leon wasn't entirely sure anymore if Chelsea could still push into the semifinals and face off against Barcelona.

Watching this battle between "two sides of his heart," Leon could only sigh inwardly and wish both teams good luck.

No matter who won between Milan and Chelsea, Leon would feel both happy and a little heartbroken.

As for the winner facing Barcelona… that would depend entirely on tactics and ntal fortitude.

They'd have to match the tenacity of that legendary Chelsea squad from the original tiline—play the right strategy, and summon unbreakable will.

Luck would certainly help, but Chelsea's miraculous title run had always been driven by one key factor: growing belief, match after match.

Without that, neither Milan nor Chelsea had much chance of getting past Barça based on pure strength alone.

But now, as a core starter for Real Madrid, cheering on two beloved clubs was just a side note.

His focus was on the real threat in the sa bracket: Bayern Munich.

Leon started making preparations early again, determined to ensure he had no regrets, at least on a personal level.

On the afternoon of March 17, Karanka walked up to Mourinho with sothing odd to report.

"Little Lion's been staying behind to practice penalties."

Mourinho raised his eyebrows. "Penalties?"

"Yeah. After doing long-pass drills with Xabi, he called Adán over to work on penalty saves."

Mourinho's confusion only deepened. "He knows Cristiano's our main penalty taker, right? And even the second choice wouldn't be him."

"He should know. He's not an idiot."

After a few short exchanges, Mourinho still couldn't figure out Leon's intention. So he headed to the training ground with Karanka to see for himself.

By that point, most of the first-team players had already gone to the physio room.

Only a few were still training.

It didn't take long to spot Leon and his group—he was with Adán, practicing penalties. Ronaldo and Marcelo were hanging nearby, just watching or joining in for fun.

It was Ronaldo's turn to shoot.

Leon and Marcelo stood with arms crossed, chatting idly.

Suddenly, without much of a run-up, Ronaldo fired a wicked shot aid straight at the top right corner.

Adán, tall and long-limbed, read the direction well and dove, but even so—he was too late.

The shot was too fast, too accurate. It smacked into the top corner with a loud thud.

"Hahaha, Little Lion! That's how you take a penalty!"

"But I still don't get why you're only practicing those two upper corners…"

Ronaldo laughed, shaking his head in mock disapproval.

Mourinho clapped lightly from the side, smiling. When it ca to penalties, he had full trust in Cristiano.

It was only then that Leon and the others noticed Mourinho and Karanka watching from the edge.

"Boss."

"Coach!"

Leon quickly added, "Just getting in a little extra. Three more rounds and we'll hit the physio room."

Mourinho nodded, letting them carry on for now. He and Karanka stood quietly at the side, observing.

A few minutes later, after Leon finished his final round of kicks and began wrapping up, Mourinho waved him over.

"Let's hear it," he said without preamble. "I don't think focusing on penalties right now is the smartest use of your ti. And you're not the kind of player who acts without a reason. So why this? Why penalties?"

Leon appreciated the directness.

Mourinho had noticed how much ti Leon had recently invested in long-pass training—and the results were obvious.

For Mourinho, that wasn't just individual developnt. It was another weapon in his tactical arsenal.

So he had a right to be concerned if Leon was suddenly shifting focus.

If Leon had said it was just a whim, Mourinho wouldn't have hesitated to snap him out of it.

But Leon replied calmly and clearly.

"I just think the deeper we go into the Champions League, the more likely it is that we'll end up facing Bayern or Barça. Maybe both. I want to be prepared—for everything."

"If it cos down to a penalty shootout, I don't want to be one of those guys who panics because he didn't prepare. I want to be ready to take responsibility."

At first, Mourinho thought it sounded flimsy.

All this, just for a hypothetical shootout?

But the more he considered it, the more he realized he had no counter.

This was Leon to a tee—always thinking ahead, always covering every angle.

Could a penalty shootout happen? Of course.

In high-stakes matches between elite clubs, a shootout was a very real possibility.

Leon just wanted to be soone the team could count on when it mattered.

And that… that was impossible to criticize.

In the end, Mourinho could only offer a few half-hearted reminders not to slack off on long-pass training and waved him off toward the recovery room.

Karanka, anwhile, stared thoughtfully at Leon's retreating back as he jogged to catch up with Adán.

"José."

"Yeah?"

"Little Lion's right. And honestly, we've neglected this area in our training."

"Penalties? We've got plenty of capable takers—Cristiano, Kaká, Sergio…"

"Penalty shootouts aren't just about technique. You know that. It's about nerves. Pressure. ntal readiness.

Leon's right about one thing—more preparation ans less panic."

Mourinho fell silent for a mont, then nodded.

He'd call a coaches' eting later to discuss whether it was worth formally adding penalty training into the schedule.

But even if they agreed, it wouldn't take effect for another two days at the earliest.

Because the next morning, March 18, Real Madrid would face Málaga in Matchday 28 of La Liga.

Málaga, by now, had climbed into the league's top four.

After completing the final light training session that morning, Leon opened his social dia and sent a private ssage to Isco.

The two had followed each other after crossing paths in the Copa del Rey earlier that season.

Now it was ti for round two.

Yes, it was Leon who had sent the friend request first.

And the previously aloof-looking Isco, once they got to know each other online, quickly revealed a side of himself that was anything but cold.

Turns out, the guy who always looked so proud was actually outgoing and cheerful when dealing with people he knew well.

He just had one small issue—he didn't always know how to phrase things right.

Like that one ti, when Isco complained to Leon about a teammate who used to be close to him but suddenly started acting distant.

Leon was curious and asked whether they'd had a falling out or maybe a minor argunt.

Isco denied it outright, then added:

"I think it was one day during training—I kept dribbling past him. He told to stop doing that. I told him his defending was crap and he needed more practice. I an, I wasn't wrong, was I?"

Leon had stared at that ssage and nearly lost it.

It was from that mont that he began to understand how Isco communicated.

Isco wasn't afraid to speak bluntly. If he didn't like a topic or a person, he'd just say so.

But at the sa ti, he wouldn't hold a grudge over a little trash talk between friends.

So Leon learned to respond in kind—straightforward and unfiltered.

Like now, before the match, Leon opened the conversation with:

"Co sneak out for a drink. Coffee, not the kind laced with laxatives—I promise."

In less than 30 seconds, Isco replied with a photo of himself still on the team bus.

"You're kidding . You're not even in Madrid yet? That's a relief. You guys clearly didn't prep properly—we're absolutely crushing you tonight!"

"Bullshit! We just arrived in Madrid and we're heading to the hotel right now!"

"Cool. Drop the address, I'll swing by."

"Huh? You seriously want to grab coffee?"

"What? I was kidding. You took seriously?"

"..."

"Get lost!"

Leon grinned as he watched the typing pause. Then he finally sent a proper ssage.

"Okay, seriously now. After the match, you guys aren't heading out right away. Let's grab a bite."

"Dinner? You're paying."

"Of course I am. Call it emotional support for your loss tonight."

"Pfft. Good, I've got a lot to ask you anyway. We'll talk when we et."

"What, about next year's Golden Boy Award? You're out of the race. It's going to Götze or that Hazard guy from Ligue 1."

"Damn it, I wanted to ask you what it's like to play in the Champions League!"

"Well then, nothing to talk about. Just submit your transfer request this sumr and join Madrid. I'll take you there myself in September."

"Screw off! I don't want to go to Madrid. I want to go to Barce—"

"Co on, don't kid yourself. Barça? You'll die on their bench. Even Fàbregas can't get the position he wants over there. You really think you will? Listen to , Real Madrid is your true future~"

After trolling Isco into a mild existential crisis, Leon finally put his phone down, pleased with the outco.

Later that evening, after their warm-ups at the Bernabéu, the two t on the pitch and traded so lighthearted smacks and shoulder bumps.

But once the match started, they were at each other's throats again.

Isco, as usual, couldn't match Leon physically.

But today, he was much more efficient with the ball—his quicker, simpler passing made Málaga's attack flow far more smoothly.

"Damn, I give you one piece of advice and you actually listened? You're beating now?"

Seeing how things were trending, Leon tried to bait Isco with a bit of trash talk.

All he got in return was a sarcastic eye roll and the sight of Isco's stubby legs scurrying to support his teammates.

On the bench, Pellegrini couldn't have looked more pleased.

Isco had always been talented, but he clung to the ball too much and relied too heavily on dribbling.

Tonight, his ga was cleaner and sharper. He wasn't as flashy with the ball, but Málaga's overall attack was much more fluid.

Exactly what Pellegrini had hoped for.

With that montum, Málaga pushed hard in the opening stages, fighting Real Madrid for control of midfield.

As the current fourth-place team in La Liga, they had every reason to believe they could hold their own.

Mourinho responded by instructing Essien, who had started the match, to drop back more frequently and disrupt Málaga's rhythm.

Leon, anwhile, adapted quickly to Isco's new style.

So, no more dribbling today, huh?

Fine. Then you're not getting an inch of space.

Leon switched to tight man-marking mode, sticking to Isco like glue.

Without room to maneuver, Isco's seamless connection with his teammates quickly broke down.

Being the midfield core, he had to drop deeper or risk being completely frozen out in Real Madrid's half.

Seeing this, Cazorla was forced to drop from the forward line to help take over so of the creative workload.

Isco also tried reverting back to his usual style—dribbling his way out of pressure—but that only brought back the sa old problem they'd faced in previous encounters with Madrid.

Once Isco was on the ball, Leon would imdiately clamp down. If he didn't have ti or space to operate, Málaga's forward montum vanished.

Cazorla had previously managed to recover and rebuild Málaga's attacks when needed.

But not tonight.

Tonight, Cazorla had his own problem—Michael Essien.

The Ghanaian wore a wide grin as he and Leon ford a two-man wrecking crew, freezing out Málaga's creative duo.

Now Pellegrini really had a headache.

With the attack neutralized, Málaga's back line had to endure wave after wave of Madrid's powerful counterattacks.

In the 33rd minute, Ronaldo received a cheeky backheel assist from the freshly recovered Benzema just outside the left corner of the box.

Ronaldo opted for a delicate chip shot.

Fast and bending—one of those ridiculous finesse shots that combine elegance and raw power.

Málaga's keeper, Caballero, dove for it… but he wasn't getting there.

The ball swerved perfectly into the net's upper corner.

And just like that, the ga started going exactly the way Madrid wanted.

Seeing both his creative engines shut down, Pellegrini had no choice but to pull Isco back deeper to help with buildup.

That brought a little balance to their passing structure—but it dulled their threat significantly.

Joaquín and Cazorla alone couldn't break through Madrid's defense or provide enough supply for Rondon up top.

Málaga's attempted coback gradually fizzled.

This version of Madrid, once it committed numbers to defending, could frustrate opponents into helplessness.

Leon looked over at the clearly flustered Isco with zero sympathy.

In fact, he fully approved of what Isco had done that day on the training pitch.

When it cos to friends?

You go all in. You hit them hard.

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