Starting as a Defensive Midfielder at Real Madrid

Chapter 48: Mourinho Was Right

Real Madrid fans were rarely this anxious.

For them, victory, trophies, and dazzling performances had always been a matter of course. No matter how many strong challengers emerged in La Liga, Real Madrid was destined to remain at the top—that had always been the shared belief.

They were proud, and they had every reason to be.

But after the launch of Barcelona's golden generation, that belief had slowly begun to crack.

In the past two years, Barcelona had won back-to-back league titles, even securing a Champions League crown, ushering in the global wave of tiki-taka.

Real Madrid had fought back—but ultimately fell short.

And this year? They'd been humiliated 0–5 by Barcelona.

Even worse, what truly broke the hearts of Madridistas was the realization that this humiliating defeat had been brought about by their own stubbornness.

They had insisted, even demanded, that Mourinho play a more attacking style.

They'd wanted to see Madrid go toe-to-toe with Barça.

And so, Mourinho had listened.

And what happened?

They got slaughtered.

The massacre was a wake-up call.

And as the team followed that up with two disappointing draws, falling even further behind Barça in the standings, even the most hard-headed fans began to see the light.

They realized: style didn't matter right now.

Dethroning Barcelona was the only goal that mattered.

The same realization dawned upon Real Madrid's senior leadership.

Whether out of genuine insight or a pragmatic concession, Florentino Pérez finally gave Mourinho what he had long wanted:

Real power.

Two to three years of full trust.

No more second-guessing. No more external pressure.

Mourinho now had full authority over tactics and squad selection.

Even the famously headstrong Portuguese coach breathed a sigh of relief.

It had taken half a season of grinding—and proving, over and over, that he was right.

But finally, Mourinho had made both the club's fans and its directors see what he had known all along:

He was the right man for the job.

If Real Madrid wanted to fight Barcelona, if they wanted to beat them, he was their best shot.

"You did it, José."

Karanka, who had stood by Mourinho from the beginning, smiled with emotion.

Now, they could finally break free of the chains holding them back. He was excited for what lay ahead.

"No, we're only halfway there," Mourinho replied.

He ran a hand through his graying hair, that rare relaxed smile finally appearing.

"The real work begins this summer."

"Faster feet! Dodge! Stay balanced in your core!"

In a private boxing gym in Milan, Li Ang was dripping with sweat as he worked one-on-one with a professional trainer, doing evasion drills.

On the sidelines, Zlatan Ibrahimović was chatting with another fighter, watching Li Ang's form with interest.

"Alright, that's enough. Take a break, Li Ang.

Good work today."

The trainer was satisfied.

After all, the pay was good, the client was easy to coach, and it was probably the most comfortable gig he'd taken all month.

"You're improving. What is this—our fifth time here?"

Zlatan handed Li Ang a bottle of water. Li Ang held up five fingers in reply.

"Next time, I think you could spar with me."

Li Ang nearly choked on his water.

"Come on, big guy—I'm here to train flexibility and balance, not to learn how to box.

Please go easy on me."

Zlatan roared with laughter.

"Alright, alright. You can come alone next time.

You're familiar with the owner and coaches now.

Stick with it—I believe you'll get exactly what you want out of it."

Li Ang wiped the sweat from his brow and looked Zlatan up and down.

"Heading off in a suit? Got a date?"

"Damn right. It's our day off—why shouldn't I take my wife out?"

Zlatan rolled his eyes, chuckled, and waved goodbye.

After he left, Li Ang returned to the ring for another round of dodging drills.

A few female boxing enthusiasts tried to strike up conversation, but he politely declined them all.

He wasn't interested. He had work to do.

Once he was finished, he drove away.

Compared to Madrid, which he had grown deeply familiar with, Milan still felt unfamiliar.

But that didn't matter. Whether he liked it or not, Li Ang had already become one of Milan's hottest rising stars.

Three consecutive league starts. All wins. And a face that the media couldn't get enough of.

He couldn't casually stroll into public places anymore.

So, as he cruised around Milan, not quite ready to head home yet, he ended up back at Milanello.

"Oh my God, it's Li Ang!"

"Li Ang! Sign this, please!"

"Li Ang, I'm your fan!"

As soon as he pulled up, dozens of Milan fans spotted him.

At first, he assumed it was coincidence. But when he saw all the young women waiting by the entrance, he was stunned.

A few minutes later, while signing autographs, he couldn't help but ask:

"You really waited here for me?

But how did you know I'd be coming to Milanello today?"

"You're the only one who keeps training during rest days!

We saw the reports!"

Li Ang scratched his head and gave a sheepish smile.

He was the only single guy on the team.

The only one who kept coming to train on off-days.

No wonder the fans thought he was worth staking out.

"Get home safely. It's not easy to catch a taxi here at night."

After signing and chatting, he gave them a kind farewell and drove into the facility.

Just as he parked, his phone rang.

"Boss?"

A familiar voice laughed on the other end.

"You at the training ground right now? Haha, didn't mean to interrupt."

"Hehe, I'm just parking."

"How's Italy treating you, kid?

Should I ask some of my Milan connections to 'look after' you?"

"No thanks. You send Inter people after me and I'll be banned from Milanello."

"Alright, alright, I'll stop teasing.

I've been watching your matches—good stuff.

Learn everything you can from Pirlo.

When you come back this summer, I'm putting more on your shoulders."

"Wait—so I'm coming back this summer?"

"What, you planning to run away?"

"Hehe, no, no.

Just… make sure you save me a starting spot."

"That depends on you.

Work hard.

I'm expecting a better version of you back at Valdebebas.

Don't let me down."

"I won't, boss."

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