Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid Chapter 190 - 188: I Don’t Want Money, Sir — I Want to Be th

Before the official awards ceremony even began, Leon—still celebrating with his teammates—was approached by club staff.

Walking alongside them were none other than Duan Xuan and Coach Zhang.

It was clear what this ant—an interview. And facing the still-live broadcast cara, Leon didn't shy away in the slightest.

He straightened the championship T-shirt his teammates had pulled over his head and warmly greeted viewers back ho in China.

Duan Xuan, still visibly emotional, was thrilled—after all, he'd once again witnessed Leon shine on the stage of the Champions League final.

After the usual congratulations, Duan Xuan asked a simple question about Leon's thoughts on winning the title.

The more serious and pointed questions, of course, were left to Coach Zhang.

"This was an incredible final! Even from the comntary booth, we could feel the tension of that second-half tactical chess match between Madrid and Bayern.

Especially when Müller ca on and scored right away—had you prepared for sothing like that in advance, tactically or ntally?"

Leon scratched the back of his head, then chuckled and shook his head with disarming honesty.

"Well, ntally, yes—we were prepared. But those kinds of monts, you can't really plan for. When it happened, I think we were all a little surprised and tense.

But the coach helped relieve a lot of that pressure. And everyone trusted the tactical adjustnts from our staff.

It really was a dangerous match—just like the audience saw. Bayern had a lot of chances. If they'd been a bit luckier and capitalized earlier, it could've been us walking away empty-handed.

I guess you could say… we just believed in ourselves more. Or maybe we were just too stubborn.

By that point, neither of us was backing down. And that last goal from Di María—it was everything. We trusted each other, and yeah, maybe we were a little lucky too.

To win the Champions League again, to defend our title… I can only say: every player on this team gave everything. Our coaching staff gave everything. And our fans—they gave everything.

So thank you. Truly—thank you to everyone who supported us all the way."

Leon's words were honest, humble, and powerful.

Duan Xuan and Coach Zhang nodded in appreciation, fully satisfied.

Seeing that the award ceremony was about to begin, they didn't hold him up any longer.

After warm hugs, they watched Leon jog back to his teammates, pride and joy lighting up their faces.

Before the champions took the stage, Bayern's players had to endure the heartbreak of receiving their runner-up dals.

Leon took a mont to embrace Müller and Kroos, offering so quiet comfort to his old acquaintance Martínez.

There are winners and losers in every final.

Both sides had given their all across ninety grueling minutes—there was nothing to regret.

From the sumr of 2010 to now in 2013, Bayern had reached two Champions League finals and made one semifinal.

But they had never lifted the trophy.

It was heartbreaking. Cruel.

Leon couldn't say whether Heynckes would remain as manager after this season.

He didn't know if Guardiola—currently unattached—would soon arrive and begin his revolution in German football.

The future of Europe's ga was shifting fast.

Perhaps fans would still see Heynckes' Bayern charge through Europe next season.

Or maybe a brand-new "Guardiola Bayern" would erge in the Bundesliga.

For Leon, though, he wanted more chances to face this version of Bayern.

They were strong—very strong. A worthy rival.

The Bayern he rembered under Guardiola… well…

Suddenly, a roar from the stands snapped him out of his thoughts.

The awards ceremony had begun.

Bayern, as runners-up, were called first.

While they made their slow, somber march to the podium, the Real Madrid players in the center circle couldn't help but form yet another jumping, shoulder-to-shoulder celebration ring.

Nacho pulled out two flags—Spain's and China's.

Leon spotted him instantly. His teammates were already tying their flags around their waists.

Leon did what he had done last year—he draped his flag proudly over his shoulders.

Modrić did the sa.

The two exchanged a knowing smile and joined the circle.

As Madrid's players were called up to receive their dals, the noise inside Wembley hit its peak.

Mourinho, brushing back his now-lengthy hair, didn't look like the usual fiery rogue manager.

He looked… like a refined, elegant artist in his pri.

He led the team onto the stage, followed by Casillas, who led the line of Madrid players up the steps.

Leon spotted many familiar faces along the way—Zidane, Raúl, Ronaldo Nazário… and of course, Guti, who gave him a massive hug.

It was one long celebration walk, lined with smiles, high fives, and old legends.

But all Leon could really see was that silver trophy—the big-eared cup shining under the lights.

In the broadcast booth, He Wei kept his comntary flowing.

And when Casillas received the trophy from Michel Platini, He Wei's voice rose again in glorious crescendo.

"Real Madrid are the champions of the 2012–2013 UEFA Champions League!

This is their 11th European title!

And they are now the first team to defend the Champions League title in the modern era!

Eleven titles—more than any club in Europe! Real Madrid—the undisputed kings of Europe!"

As He Wei's voice fell, the Champions League anthem soared through Wembley.

Right then, Leon accepted the trophy from Ramos.

He raised it high, shouting with joy.

And the flashbulbs lit up the night.

Photos of that mont began flooding the internet in real ti.

Real Madrid had done it again.

Mourinho. Ronaldo. Di María. Ramos. Leon. Casillas…

Those nas would dominate headlines and hashtags for weeks to co.

At the sa ti, in one corner of the stadium, club president Florentino Pérez stood chatting warmly with Jorge ndes.

It didn't attract much attention—most fans assud he was talking about Mourinho or Cristiano.

But in truth?

They were talking about Leon.

And ndes knew…

Florentino had co to him personally tonight.

Which ant…

There was no dodging the conversation anymore.

Leon might have earned a few days off before returning to renewal negotiations, but today, there was no way for him to dodge what was coming.

Sure enough, after a round of friendly banter, Florentino Pérez—"El Presidente"—extended an invitation for a sit-down.

ndes didn't hesitate. He agreed on the spot and imdiately had his negotiation team prep everything in Madrid.

Leon had no idea any of this was going on in the VIP stands. By the ti he and his teammates finished their celebrations on the podium, they were already heading back to the dressing room with the big-eared trophy in hand.

Soon after, Pérez entered the locker room, accompanied by club CEO Sánchez, greeting each title-winning hero personally.

Watching Pérez laugh and embrace Mourinho and Ronaldo, Leon couldn't reconcile it with the rumors he'd heard about the president occasionally cursing them behind the scenes.

But today, Pérez didn't shower Leon with excessive attention, which honestly gave Leon a bit of relief.

The routine followed: Real Madrid boarded a charter flight back to Madrid. After greeting fans at the airport, they headed straight to the celebration hotel.

Although they had a match against Real Sociedad in just three days—the 37th round of La Liga—no one was focused on that anymore.

The celebratory banquet that night was wild. Leon even drank a few more glasses of red wine than usual, partying with the squad until well past 3 a.m.

While Leon and the team were still reveling, ndes's negotiation team and Sánchez's camp had already begun the first official round of renewal talks.

Both sides laid their cards on the table—intentions, conditions, expectations.

It wasn't until nearly 2 a.m. that the session finally concluded.

Two days later, as the first-team players resud light recovery training, round two of the talks began.

On May 28th, a rotated Madrid squad traveled to face Real Sociedad, who were fighting for a Champions League spot and currently tied on points with Valencia.

Originally, Mourinho had planned to rest all starters and let academy players finish the league.

But after falling just short of an unbeaten league title the year before, the core players had a different idea.

This year, they were on the verge of making history—an undefeated championship.

How could they let that slip away again?

At their insistence, Mourinho sent out a half-strong lineup.

Cristiano Ronaldo, with 44 league goals, started.

He was only two behind ssi's 46—and Ronaldo had his eyes set on the European Golden Shoe.

Leon didn't play this match, and the midfield duties fell to Essien and Modrić.

Despite Cristiano's stunning first-half brace, Madrid could only manage a 3–3 draw.

If not for Griezmann's missed penalty at the end, they might've lost.

For Sociedad, it was a tough pill to swallow. For Madrid, it was acceptable.

One more match to go. If they could avoid defeat, they would finish the season undefeated.

Cristiano, anwhile, had caught up to ssi on the scoring charts—both now sat at 46 goals.

June 2nd arrived—the final match of the season. Madrid hosted Osasuna.

The stadium was packed.

Osasuna had already secured safety, so they had nothing to play for—and they didn't make life difficult.

With goals from Leon, Ronaldo, Alonso, and substitute Higuaín, Madrid closed the season with a 5–2 win.

La Liga, 2012–13: completed.

Thirty-five wins, three draws, zero losses.

Real Madrid had just beco the first team ever to win an expanded La Liga season undefeated.

A historic accomplishnt.

And that's on top of defending their Champions League crown.

The missed Copa del Rey? Who cares.

Barcelona, anwhile, had tumbled from "best team in Europe" to a club enduring two trophyless seasons in a row.

Atlético Madrid took third in the league and won the Copa del Rey. Sione earned the undying loyalty of the Atleti faithful.

And as the dust settled, Cristiano Ronaldo stood alone.

47 goals in the league. 16 in the Champions League.

With those numbers—and the silverware—he had practically secured his next Ballon d'Or half a year in advance.

Mourinho, too, needed no hype.

What he'd accomplished in three seasons at Real Madrid surpassed even his Inter treble run.

Six trophies. Back-to-back league and Champions League titles.

He was now undisputedly the greatest manager of the modern era.

As for Leon—14 goals, 13 assists—he had stord down the path of the modern box-to-box midfielder.

Compared to last season, his goal tally had more than doubled.

And across all Europe's top leagues, midfielders who hit double-digit goals in a season were rare enough.

But Leon didn't just score—he assisted, defended, led transitions.

Now 22 years old, he had once again beco the subject of passionate debate across European football.

That's when ndes called.

Leon was just packing for a brief trip to Italy to unwind.

On the afternoon of June 5th, in one of the club's private eting rooms, Leon sat across from CEO Sánchez—and Pérez.

As the third round of renewal talks took place between their teams, Pérez invited Leon and ndes into a smaller conference room next door.

Just the three of them. Not even Sánchez was allowed in.

And Pérez?

He got straight to the point.

He wanted to talk about image rights.

It was no secret. The previous rounds of negotiation had revolved around this issue—and it had been fierce.

China's market potential was no longer a theory—it was reality.

ndes's team naturally wanted to reclaim more control over Leon's image rights, now that his brand was exploding in Asia.

But from Madrid's perspective, that was unacceptable.

Leon's face, his jersey sales, his presence in Asia—it had beco an integral part of Real Madrid's global strategy.

Both sides knew this wasn't just a contract issue anymore.

It was a battle over value. Over identity.

And it was one that neither side could afford to lose.

In Real Madrid's first team, even Cristiano Ronaldo only retained 70% of his image rights.

For the rest of the squad, the best-case scenario was keeping 60%.

This was a cornerstone of Real Madrid's global branding strategy. Since Florentino Pérez returned to power, he hadn't given ground to any star when it ca to these terms.

But here, in this small private eting room, Pérez showed Leon sothing rare: sincerity.

"Leon," he said gently, "you may retain 80% of your personal image rights. We'll sign a confidentiality agreent. Publicly, we'll claim your terms are unchanged.

But for the contract duration, I do ask you to consider the club's position. A five-year deal isn't about binding you—it's about committing more resources to support you."

Pérez's tone was exceptionally kind as he described Leon's potential role in Real Madrid's future international comrcial ventures.

Within this grand plan were piles of money, rivers of sponsorships, global campaigns—all with Leon's face on them.

And of course, Leon was tempted.

Binding himself more deeply to Real Madrid could an more than money—it could lead to the captain's armband, legacy, long-term influence.

But then… Leon shook his head.

Tightly. Firmly.

Pérez paused, surprise flickering across his face.

Then, ever the diplomat, he smiled again.

"You're still not satisfied with the image rights split? We can talk more. Tell what percentage you want."

Even ndes, sitting to the side, looked visibly caught off guard by Pérez's unusual warmth.

But it was Leon's next sentence that nearly made ndes leap from his chair.

"Money doesn't an that much to anymore, Mr. President. You know that.

If I wanted, even giving 40% of my image rights to the club, I'd still beco the world's highest-paid footballer within a year.

But I'm not greedy. I don't need that much money.

What I want now… is to be the undisputed core of a team.

Mr. President, do you understand what I an?"

Pérez instinctively looked at ndes.

The shock in the agent's eyes wasn't fake. That made Pérez's expression tense just a bit.

"Leon?" ndes asked carefully, tapping his arm.

Leon glanced back with a calm, sharp look. I know exactly what I'm saying, his eyes told them.

Then, Pérez leaned forward with interest.

"You want to compete with Cristiano to beco the face of Real Madrid?"

Leon shook his head imdiately—then chuckled.

"That kind of ambition sounds wild, doesn't it?"

Pérez tapped his fingers against the table, then smiled again—honestly.

"It does sound wild. But coming from you, it actually makes sense."

Now ndes went silent.

He, too, wanted to hear Leon's real thoughts.

The room went quiet. Then Pérez broke the silence.

"Wait two or three more years, Leon. You have a better foundation for global appeal than Cristiano—but not yet."

He didn't say it outright, but Leon understood.

Right now, Cristiano Ronaldo's level was simply too high.

Even with Real Madrid's platform, if they forced the torch to be passed, it wouldn't work. The numbers weren't enough.

And ndes sighed.

He hadn't realized just how far Leon's ambition had grown.

Stuck between Cristiano on one side and Leon on the other, ndes was in a nearly impossible position.

"Cristiano is our present. You are our future," Pérez continued. "In two or three years, when Cristiano's form inevitably declines after turning 30, we'll naturally revisit this conversation. Alright?"

Pérez's logic was clear.

But Leon knew Cristiano.

Even at 33, he'd score 50 goals a season.

Leon trusted his own trajectory, sure. He knew he would only get better in the next two years.

But he was still a midfielder.

Even as Madrid's tactical brain, when awards season ca, the votes would split.

Him versus a striker with 50 goals?

He wouldn't win.

More importantly, he didn't want to wait that long.

"Mr. President," Leon said, "ssi won the Ballon d'Or at 22. Cristiano won his first at 23.

I'm already 22."

Pérez fell silent.

Leon's aning was clear.

The negotiation was no longer about percentages or money.

Leon's request was simple and direct.

But Pérez, at this mont, simply couldn't promise it.

It was realistic. Rational.

Because whoever sat in Pérez's chair wouldn't sacrifice Cristiano to promote Leon.

So, the eting ended quickly.

Pérez would need to consult with his inner circle:

If they replaced Cristiano with Leon within one or two years, what would be the impact—on performance, on finances, on global reach?

And if Leon didn't et expectations?

How would they recover from the fallout of pushing out Ronaldo?

ndes, in private, found the conversation with Leon far easier.

When he asked plainly if Leon wanted Cristiano gone, Leon smiled and shook his head.

"No, Jorge. It was just a test for the president.

You don't need to worry—I have no problem with Cristiano. He's a true friend. I'd never force him out of Madrid."

Then Leon asked a question—serious.

"No matter how close I am with Cristiano, the Ballon d'Or… there's only one.

So, Jorge, if two seasons from now I'm ready to win it, would you still want and Cristiano to be on the sa team?"

ndes went quiet.

He didn't know how to answer.

From a business perspective, of course not.

Two Ballon d'Or contenders under one club ant vote splitting, less marketability, more internal conflict.

And then ca the inevitable power struggle: Who would be the real face of the team?

Cristiano or Leon?

"So don't bla for dreaming too big, Jorge," Leon said softly. "From the mont I stepped onto a professional pitch, this path was already set.

I have to keep climbing—until I sit on that one throne.

Don't say it's impossible. The fact that I went from a pure defensive midfielder to where I am now already proves my potential.

Do you believe in ?"

ndes looked into Leon's eyes—eyes that burned with confidence.

He nodded.

Not out of strategy.

But because, in that mont, he believed.

Leon said nothing more.

He stood, motioned for ndes, and the two left Real Madrid's offices together.

This offseason?

They were going to be very busy.

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