NOVEL WEB Chapter 18: Chapter 18:The evolution
August 7, 2015 – Valdebebas, Madrid
The tension at the training ground was sharp—clean boots, barking coaches, and silent glares between players. The upcoming Supercopa de España against Barcelona was more than just silverware. For Real Madrid, it was war. For Sae, it was trial by fire.
Zidane had left nothing to chance. Each tactical drill was intense, shaped around stopping Messi, matching Barcelona's midfield fluidity, and pressing high.
Sae, meanwhile, was everywhere.
Sweat-soaked, eyes locked in.
Isco and James fought for that third midfield role, rotating minutes in training. Modrić's gaze often lingered on Sae with an unreadable mix of weariness and warning. Kroos was polite, but professional—less mentor, more checkpoint.
Casemiro, however, nodded to him often. The Brazilian appreciated discipline. He could sense the hunger.
> "He doesn't train like a kid," Casemiro murmured to Pepe. "He trains like someone trying to escape something."
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Game Day – Camp Nou
August 8, 2015 – Supercopa de España, 1st Leg
FC Barcelona vs Real Madrid
Camp Nou vibrated with chants. Messi, Neymar, Suárez. The famed trident waited with amused confidence as Madrid walked onto enemy ground.
Sae stood beside Ronaldo, expression still. His name was chanted in patches—Japanese fans had shown up in clusters with flags and signs: "Sae-sama", "Madrid's Samurai", "El Cerebro".
Zidane shocked the media.
> Starting XI: Navas – Carvajal, Ramos, Varane, Marcelo – Casemiro, Kroos, Sae – Ronaldo, Benzema, Bale.
Modrić benched. James benched. Isco benched.
The cameras caught James frowning, lips pressed thin. Isco barely clapped. But Zidane didn't blink. He had chosen his soldier.
> "You're here to control the tempo," Zidane told him. "But if you see an opening—be ruthless."
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First Half – Chess at Knifepoint
The game was lightning fast.
Busquets pressed. Rakitic prowled. Iniesta ghosted.
Sae wasn't starstruck. He'd studied all three for years. He knew their angles, tendencies, their reliance on Messi's gravity.
By the 10th minute, he had intercepted two passes and threaded a daring ball through to Ronaldo, who skied the shot.
> "¡Vamos, chico!" Ronaldo shouted after. A rare compliment.
In the 27th minute, Barcelona struck. Messi received deep, cut through Casemiro and Varane, slipped Suárez in. 1–0.
Madrid didn't panic. They pressed higher. And in the 34th minute, Sae made his move.
Collecting the ball on the edge of the box after a Ronaldo layoff, he chopped left, then surged right—leaving Busquets lunging. A quick give-and-go with Bale, and Sae curled a shot toward the far post.
Ter Stegen saved it—but Benzema tapped in the rebound.
1–1.
Sae didn't celebrate. He turned, jogged back, stone-faced. But inside, he felt it: I belong on this stage.
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Halftime – Locker Room Division
The locker room was buzzing. Zidane clapped once. "Keep it compact. Exploit their left side."
As the squad grabbed water bottles and towels, Sae sat between Kroos and Casemiro, listening.
Isco stood near the wall, arms crossed.
James kept whispering to Marcelo.
Even Modrić, who usually offered words of guidance, remained quiet. Zidane hadn't said it, but everyone knew—Sae had pushed a few veterans down the pecking order. And nobody liked being made irrelevant.
But Casemiro gave Sae a nudge.
> "They won't say it, but they're watching you. And they're nervous."
Sae nodded.
> "Good. I'm not here to wait my turn."
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Second Half – The Duel with Iniesta
Barcelona pushed hard. Messi dropped deeper, Iniesta began controlling rhythm, and Sae found himself in a dance with a legend.
But he never looked away. He never backed off.
In the 70th minute, Iniesta tried to turn inside, but Sae read it—stole the ball clean, then launched a 40-meter diagonal pass to Bale in transition.
Bale hit the post.
Madrid were dangerous.
The game ended 1–1. But the real result was off the scoreboard. Sae had proven that even in hostile territory, against titans of the modern game, he was unshakable.
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Post-Match – A Meeting with Neymar
After the match, Sae stepped through the tunnel toward the team bus when a voice called out.
> "¡Oye, Sae!"
He turned. Neymar, all teeth and charisma, jogged up, holding out a fist.
> "You've got balls, man. Iniesta doesn't usually look tired. He looked tired."
Sae blinked, then nodded.
> "You too. You play like the pitch belongs to you."
Neymar grinned.
> "It does. But I like your style. If you ever get bored in Madrid…" He winked.
Sae smirked, something rare.
> "I don't get bored. I get better."
They exchanged numbers—a friendship had been born, based on respect, competitiveness, and quiet rebellion.
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Back in Madrid – Locker Room Shift
Back at Valdebebas, things had changed.
Zidane kept starting Sae.
Isco requested a meeting with his agent.
James sulked in training.
Even Modrić began showing more bite—competing harder in 5-a-side drills.
But something else had changed too.
In the players' group chat, Ronaldo sent a GIF of Sae's run against Busquets with a flame emoji.
Casemiro liked it.
Benzema replied, "Tigre japonés 🐯"
Sae noticed it.
So did the club's board. Renewals were already being planned. And Adidas had reached out for a private boot sponsorship.
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Ending – The Crownless King Grows Fangs
One night, watching Barcelona's post-match interviews, Sae saw Neymar praising him again.
In the dim light of his apartment, Sae whispered:
> "I'm not just part of Madrid now. I'm the future they'll build around."
And then, almost with a grin—
> "Let's see who's brave enough to try and take that from me."
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End of Chapter 18