"Nineteenth minute of the first half, and Real Madrid take the lead once again at the Bernabéu! Another goal from Cristiano Ronaldo! Ángel Di María with the assist—and the man who initiated the attack? Surprisingly, it was Leon, stepping into Alonso's role and showing us his orchestration ability within just 20 minutes!"
"The growth he's shown, the transformation he's made—it's an unbelievable talent!"
The Movistar La Liga comntator was stunned.
He'd witnessed Leon's evolution firsthand—from his first start for Real Madrid's senior team to the player he was now.
To be honest, he still found it a little hard to believe.
After all, here was a player who, by the age of 19, had virtually no clue how to run a team's attack—
and yet, by 20, he had proven he could command Madrid's midfield in a rotation lineup?
If soone had told him a story like that before Leon arrived, he'd have laughed in their face.
Football is a science, after all—or at least, it was a year ago, before Leon started rewriting the rules.
Now that the facts were right in front of him, he had no choice but to accept it.
Even in the world of science, sotis the laws bend for an extraordinary anomaly.
And this ti, Leon was the anomaly.
He wasn't the only one thinking this way.
So pundits and fans reluctantly accepted it.
Others, especially Madridistas—and those like Mourinho and Alonso who watched Leon train day after day—welcod it with open arms.
"He's really becoming sothing special," Karanka clapped in excitent.
"Once his long passing improves, we could run a double pivot—Alonso deep, Leon advanced, a twin-engine midfield!"
Having two organizing cores in midfield ant the team would be incredibly hard to disrupt.
What made Leon even more valuable was how different he was from Alonso.
Organizationally, Leon still wasn't at Alonso's level.
Sure, he could run things in a bottom-half La Liga team. But at Madrid? Still a little raw.
However, Leon's ball control and dribbling under pressure were already superior to Alonso's.
Alonso's brief stint in the Premier League had toughened him, but also coarsened his touch a bit.
His top speed was nothing special either. In tight spots, he could get overwheld.
Leon, though?
He had elite-level balance, agility, and pace for a central midfielder.
Combine that with solid enough ball control and a massive gas tank?
He was already one of the most complete midfielders in Spain.
Whenever opponents started locking down Alonso, Madrid could shift the build-up role to Leon.
And if necessary, he could even completely replace Alonso for stretches of the match.
Mourinho shared Karanka's tactical vision, but he kept it close to the chest for now.
"We'll see in training.
But if we get a second goal by halfti, tell the kids to start warming up."
"Half a ga?"
"I've seen it already. Villarreal might've put five past Barça before, but without a 'soul' in midfield, they're a shadow of themselves."
Karanka followed his gaze onto the field.
Leon was already shouting instructions, directing Madrid's press, while Villarreal slowly shaped their attack.
Borja Valero was a skilled midfielder—solid passer, calm under pressure. But he couldn't set the tempo, and he couldn't anchor the defense.
In short: a decent playmaker, but not the kind who lifts a team when things fall apart.
With Cazorla now at Málaga and Senna injured, Villarreal's spine had collapsed.
They were toothless.
Madrid didn't even need Leon to clean up the scraps in the back—Lass Diarra was running wild in midfield.
Every ti Villarreal slipped through, Leon was right there to snuff it out.
He kept an especially close eye on Giuseppe Rossi, Villarreal's top scorer with 32 goals in 56 appearances last season.
Leon saw Rossi as the main threat—and marked him as such.
But after a few duels, Leon noticed sothing was off.
Rossi wasn't winning shoulder-to-shoulder clashes.
He wasn't even outrunning him.
His legs looked heavy.
Not the ti to wonder why, though.
Leon intercepted both Rossi and Rubén several tis, recovering possession cleanly.
anwhile, Sergio Ramos was living his best life.
Whenever Leon passed it to him, he'd launch long balls to a sprinting Cristiano or Di María.
By the 34th minute, Villarreal were still pressing, still looking for a way back into the ga.
And then—boom.
Ramos sent his eighth long pass of the half down the right.
Benzema, in good form today, took it beautifully and drove toward the final third.
Normally, this would be the mont he squared to Cristiano.
Not this ti.
Benzema feinted a pass, tricked the tracking midfielder Soriano, and cut inside.
Then, he laid the ball off to the top of the box.
Di María, wide open, received, set himself, and—bang.
A low shot to the far post.
Diego López guessed right, but the ball slipped past his fingertips.
2–0 to Madrid.
Before the halfti whistle even blew, Mourinho called three academy boys over to warm up.
Thousands of Villarreal away fans slumped in their seats.
Madrid had rotated their midfield, and still scored twice with ease.
Now the kids were coming on?
Sha.
Mourinho showed restraint, holding off subs until the break.
Then he made two changes:
Lucas Vázquez and Carvajal ca on for Di María and Arbeloa.
The Bernabéu cheered wildly.
Three of the "New Five Eagles of Castilla" were now on the field at the sa ti.
All that remained was Morata and Nacho joining in—and soon, that too would be reality.
Lucas and Carvajal focused on defense.
Villarreal tried to exploit them.
But standing next to them were Lass Diarra and Leon—two of Madrid's best ball-winners.
Mourinho had prepared for this.
If you want to press the kids? Go ahead.
Just know you'll have to get through a wall first.
They didn't.
Madrid soaked up the pressure.
Then, in the 57th minute, Granero lofted a pass to the left wing.
Cristiano.
Tight angle.
No one expected a shot.
He shot anyway.
It went in anyway.
A rocket into the far post.
3–0. Ga over.
Mourinho hit a celebratory slide on the sideline.
Cristiano roared.
Then called Leon and Marcelo over to perform a rehearsed corner flag dance.
The rest of the match was a formality.
And then—news broke.
"Barça drew with Granada! It's final—1–1! That's four league draws now!"
Nacho shouted the news.
The squad exploded.
Eight points clear after nine rounds.
Leon laughed, shaking his head.
"Barça couldn't hold. Under pressure from our winning streak, they finally cracked."
Nine rounds, eight points ahead?
Barça.
You blew it.
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