Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid Chapter 213 - 211: Cesc, Don’t Run—Changing Leagues Won’t Sa

"De Bruyne suddenly whips in a cross! Zlatan's on the move… heads it down! Li Ang's charging in! A volley—GOAL!!! Oh my word!!! A thunderous volley from outside the box!!! What a worldie from Li Ang!

The Little Lion only scores bangers!!!"

"Beautiful—!!! Beautiful!!! Just so beautiful! Oh wow, what a goal!"

In the CCTV 5 broadcast studio, lead comntator He Wei did his usual professional job, layering his excitent with solid comntary.

But guest pundit Xu Yang… well, he fell into his old habits—excitedly repeating "beautiful" like a broken record.

Still, his enthusiasm was undeniable, and most fans watching wouldn't mind a bit of awkwardness—it only made the mont feel more real.

Because in that mont, everyone was buzzing.

Ever since last season, Li Ang had shown a knack for scoring screars. Compared to other young midfielders, he definitely had more long-range stunners under his belt.

But no, he didn't only score worldies—despite what He Wei had joked.

Still, this strike—an on-the-run volley just outside the D—was possibly the most spectacular goal of his career so far.

If there was any rival to it, maybe that fluke beauty from last season—the "Peach Blossom Sword"—ca close.

So whether it was the broadcasters or the fans, everyone was rightfully fired up.

It was another historic goal. Another special mont. And in the Champions League, no less!

So Chinese fans even posted s: "Is Li Ang secretly sparring with Zlatan in training, practicing these volleys?"

Because this kind of strike was insanely difficult—but when it connected, it was pure cinema.

Li Ang himself was thrilled.

He knew he had the physical tools for this kind of shot—core strength, flexibility, long-range accuracy, and shooting power.

But technique wasn't everything. These goals also needed a bit of instinct, of timing, and, frankly, luck.

So yeah, he could shoot—but would it go in? He was never sure.

Still, he never shied away from trying. And he wasn't afraid to miss.

Worst case, he blasts it into the stands and gives the German dia sothing to laugh about.

But this ti? Success. So he had every right to milk the mont with his teammates.

Once again, he was the center of attention.

On the touchline, Schalke's young manager Jens Keller could only sigh and complain to his assistants.

"What rotten luck," he muttered.

After all, goals like that are rare, even for the best players.

He didn't believe Li Ang could hit those consistently—not yet, anyway.

Across from him, Mourinho was all smiles, joking with assistant Steve Holland that Li Ang had "lucked out again with another miracle goal."

"Looks like our shooting luck's pretty good today. The old German keeper's a little slow off his line—we better tell the boys to keep firing."

Relaxed, drink in hand, Mourinho was clearly enjoying himself.

Back on the pitch, Li Ang was soaking it in, too.

He lifted his shorts to show off his muscular thigh—his go-to celebration after a screar. A move he shalessly borrowed from Ronaldo.

It was just outside the top of the arc, but the sheer beauty of the strike was enough to justify the flex.

The broadcast director zood in on Li Ang's thigh, then his face—handso and composed.

Even so of the Chinese fans who had been skeptical of his decision to leave Real Madrid had to admit:

Young, talented, marketable—Li Ang had the full package.

Staying at Real as a supporting actor would've been a waste.

Watching him shine now, surrounded by Chelsea players who clearly rallied around him as their leader, that long-held bitterness finally began to fade.

Li Ang, for his part, wasn't thinking about any of that.

After the celebration, he jogged back with his teammates, joking and laughing.

But just before play resud, he spotted so of Schalke's young players looking completely dejected.

A flicker of sympathy passed through his heart.

But then the referee blew the whistle—and just like that, the sympathy vanished.

Because he rembered his own early years.

Playing for Real Betis in Spain's second division. Returning to Madrid and facing Barça for the first ti.

Back then, did those Segunda veterans or ssi show him any rcy?

No. ssi torched him, ruthlessly.

If he hadn't been ntally tough, that ga might've broken him.

So no, he wasn't going to go easy on Schalke's starlets.

He kept pressing Draxler and yer like always, locking them out of the ga.

And without their attacking mid and left winger functioning, Schalke's offense was basically paralyzed.

Any team, when both their key creators are shut down, struggles to break through.

Unless they're playing without the ball.

But that was even worse—off-ball Draxler and yer weren't as good as so of Schalke's veteran subs.

Atsuto Uchida tried overlapping down the flank, working with Clens to exploit Chelsea's left side.

But Matic had them covered. Clens had zero hope of cutting inside.

Uchida did manage a few crosses from deep—but up top, Boateng couldn't get the better of Terry in the air.

If he was arriving late from midfield, sure. But as a lone striker battling the league's strongest defender? Forget it.

Boateng only bullied defenders who lacked physicality or were bad at clearing the ball.

Terry wasn't either of those things.

Boateng had to get smart—drift away from Terry, create space, look for combinations.

But with his best potential partners—Draxler and yer—both being nullified by Li Ang, that plan fell apart too.

Chelsea's defense, led by Li Ang and Matic, dismantled Schalke's entire attack.

And for German fans in the stands, watching that ironclad midfield screen felt all too familiar.

The headaches returned.

So did the mories.

Li Ang—no matter what league he played in—always seed to show up when it mattered most.

Always teaching soone, sowhere, a painful lesson.

And today, in Gelsenkirchen, he was back at it again.

The Little Lion doesn't care who you are. If you're a rising star, get ready. Class is in session.

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