Chapter 100: Here Comes the Champions League King, Rolling Through in a Dump Truck!
There was no time to dwell on the regret of having their 21-match league winning streak ended. On the morning of February 13, Real Madrid's first-team players boarded a plane bound for Moscow.
It was a long journey. The players had lunch on the plane and spent the afternoon in a haze of half-sleep and rest.
It wasn't until 4 p.m. that their flight finally landed at Sheremetyevo International Airport.
For Leon, this felt like the longest flight he'd taken since returning home to China. And Moscow greeted him with a rude awakening the moment he stepped out of the warm airport.
February in Moscow—the outdoor temperature was bone-chilling.
Back when he was still unknown, Leon used to spend this time of year in Madrid. Around 4 or 5 p.m., you could walk outside in a thick T-shirt and a jacket.
But even dressed in thermal wear and a down coat, he still shivered before stepping onto the team bus.
In the sleet and snow, he vaguely heard Karanka tell Mourinho: "Minus six degrees."
That kind of temperature was unimaginable for someone who grew up in southern China and had only ever lived in Madrid since moving abroad.
Just a few weeks ago, a trip to London had already made him feel uncomfortable with the cold.
But now he had to mentally prepare himself to play in conditions that could drop to minus ten at night.
It felt surreal—but there was no choice. He had to adapt.
No way was he going to give Mourinho the satisfaction of calling him soft or saying he played poorly because he was cold.
Cold? Just run more during warm-ups—it won't feel cold for long!
Leon had confidence in his ability to adapt.
However, after the team had dinner at the hotel and arrived at the CSKA Arena at 6:40 p.m., he realized he had underestimated things.
The frosted artificial turf greeted the Madrid squad with a cruel truth.
Leon stomped down on the turf twice. The sensation underfoot?
Well... it was playable. But how much technical advantage Madrid could retain on this pitch was another question entirely.
With club media filming, Madrid's stars forced awkward smiles and acted confident as they walked the field.
In reality, everyone was rattled.
Bitter cold. Frozen artificial turf. And the game tomorrow was scheduled for 8:00 p.m. local time—when it would be even colder.
At this point, it wasn't about adapting. If three or four Madrid players could manage normal performance, it would already be a win.
Mourinho could only instruct the logistics team to prepare plenty of warm gear—extra thermals and gloves—and had Rui Faria and Pintus adjust the pre-match warm-up protocols.
Playing in these conditions required a full-body warm-up. Better to burn some energy before the game than suffer an injury mid-match.
As for the first leg result?
Mourinho's bottom line had already dropped. A draw, as long as no one got injured, would be considered a victory.
Of course, if they could get one or two away goals, that would be ideal.
After finishing their walk around the pitch, the Madrid players quickly boarded the bus and returned to the hotel.
Only within the warmth of the hotel did they finally relax a bit.
But the next morning, they still had to brave the light snowfall and head to a rented training ground for their final practice session.
The only available facilities in Moscow at this time of year were artificial turf fields.
The players hated it. So did the coaches.
But those were the conditions. They had no choice. They treated it like a preview of what they'd face that night.
Leon was unusually "enthusiastic," running extra laps on his own during the session.
After getting his body warmed up, his performance in training was actually quite sharp.
And with his natural stamina, Mourinho wasn't worried about him burning out. He let Leon run as much as he wanted.
As the day progressed, the temperature briefly rose during the afternoon, only to plummet again by nightfall.
By 6 p.m., the chill was back in full force. The Madrid squad and staff braced themselves as they boarded the bus for CSKA Arena.
Because of how far Moscow was from Madrid—and because it was a midweek game—the number of traveling Madrid fans was relatively small.
Far fewer than the usual crowds they brought to France, the Netherlands, or other Western European countries.
During warm-ups, Leon scanned the stands. Probably no more than 2,000 Madrid fans.
He and his teammates felt a little disappointed. But Mourinho was already focused on the atmosphere to come.
CSKA's stadium held only 30,000 people. But Russian fans were infamous across Europe for their intensity.
Their chants were loud—and outside the stadium, well... let's just say they had reputations.
Mourinho watched in bemusement as a bare-chested Russian fan stood in the freezing cold, leading chants at the top of his lungs. He could only shake his head in disbelief.
After a longer-than-usual warm-up, the Madrid players returned to the locker room, their heads steaming in the frigid air.
Mourinho and Karanka urged them to change out of their sweat-soaked gear as quickly as possible.
Everyone wiped down, changed into fresh thermals and kits, and layered up.
Leon took the thick gloves Karanka handed him and put them on—one last bit of insurance against the cold.
Mourinho gave his final tactical instructions, then repeated his key warning: everyone needed to run more at the start.
"We're not fighting for early goals. Don't rush. Get your bodies adjusted, hold possession when you can, and be cautious with your movements. If you're still not fully warmed up, don't go for big, explosive plays."
After this careful reminder, he had Casillas give the final motivational speech.
Meanwhile, CSKA Arena was already rocking.
The "enthusiastic" Moscow fans had turned up in full force, chanting and singing with all their might.
If alcohol had been allowed in the stadium, every single one of them would've been shirtless, no doubt about it.
This was it.
The Champions League campaign resumed—and the kings of Europe were about to roll into battle, dump truck style, through ice and snow.
As the two teams lined up for the opening ceremony, it came as no surprise that the stands closest to Real Madrid's tunnel erupted into a chorus of boos.
And then the rest of the stadium joined in. A wave of booing, loud and relentless, swept across the arena.
The Madrid players had seen plenty of this before. The more mentally tough among them barely flinched.
If all the Russians were doing was booing, that was already a sign of restraint. If this were Turkey, fans would be launching fireworks and screaming obscenities by now.
Leon, as the pre-match ceremony wrapped up, bounced lightly on his toes and did several tuck jumps to warm his core.
Once he felt his body warming up again, the referee's whistle signaled kickoff.
Commentators Duan Xuan and Coach Zhang Lu were calling the Champions League match from the CCTV studio.
After a quick intro, Duan Xuan dove into the starting lineups.
Real Madrid were using a 4-4-2 setup—more precisely, the modified 4-4-2 they often used in La Liga this season.
Benzema and Ronaldo led the line, with Kaká drifting toward the flanks in the half-space channel.
But instead of Di María starting on the left as usual, he was on the bench. Leon took his spot in the starting eleven.
Essien was positioned behind Kaká to provide defensive cover, and Alonso sat deep.
Coentrão, now fully fit, retained his place at left-back. Ramos and Pepe held the center. Nacho replaced the injured Arbeloa at right-back.
Arbeloa had suffered a slight muscle pull during morning warm-ups, so Nacho, the top backup for right-back, stepped in.
It was a good thing Carvajal had played the full 90 minutes against Levante; otherwise, Mourinho would've had a real headache.
CSKA Moscow rolled out a balanced 4-2-3-1, which became a 4-3-3 when they pressed high.
From the opening whistle, they pushed up aggressively to pressure Madrid, and the sight of red and blue kits flying forward made the Madrid players think of one thing—battle.
"Wow! CSKA really came to play. But what's with those kits? From a distance, they look just like Barcelona! You think that's going to fire Madrid up?" Coach Zhang joked with a chuckle, and Duan Xuan couldn't help laughing too.
From afar, CSKA's aggressive pressing in those colors really did resemble a Barça-Madrid showdown.
Leon took that as a cue for some mental self-hypnosis.
"This isn't CSKA… this is Barcelona… this is Barcelona…"
He muttered it in his head, then raised his eyes to face his direct opponent—CSKA's number 10, Alan Dzagoev.
His eyes lit up.
"Little Messi—no, Little Dzagoev, I'm coming for you!"
Dzagoev had just received the ball from a teammate and was moving forward, scanning for a lane to begin the attack.
He barely made it a few steps before he ran straight into a hyper-aggressive Leon.
"What the hell's with this guy?!"
Spooked by Leon's intensity, Dzagoev quickly passed sideways to midfielder Aldonin.
Leon saw the pass leave Dzagoev's foot and instantly stopped chasing, backing off and continuing to stare him down.
The stare made Dzagoev's scalp tingle. On the bench, Mourinho was also confused.
"Did we assign him to mark Dzagoev?"
He asked Karanka, who shook his head.
Mourinho rubbed his chin as he observed the unfolding match.
Seeing CSKA struggle to build any rhythm due to Dzagoev being shut down, he clapped his hands and nodded.
"Good. Keep it this way. We're trying to stabilize things in the first half anyway. Let the Little Lion freeze Dzagoev, then Essien and Alonso can lock down the middle. CSKA won't be able to do anything."
He didn't change the plan. Leon had created a new tactical edge.
If they could neutralize CSKA's playmaker, the Russian side would have no clear path to initiate their attacks.
And if Dzagoev switched sides?
Heh. Leon would follow him across the pitch.
The number 10 had to be silenced.
Ten minutes in, both sides were stuck in offensive gridlock.
Madrid were still adapting to the freezing turf and couldn't find their usual attacking rhythm.
CSKA, meanwhile, simply couldn't get going—because their engine, Dzagoev, had been cut off.
Relying on their two holding midfielders wasn't getting them anywhere.
Trying to play through the wings with Tosic and Musa didn't help either—they weren't top-tier attacking threats.
Madrid weren't dangerous yet, but their defense remained elite.
Even if you got past Leon and Essien, you still had to beat Coentrão and Nacho in one-on-ones—no easy task.
Leon, thanks to his nonstop running, was heating up and performing better with each minute.
Essien, too, was starting to find his rhythm.
Unlike Alonso, who had been back in Spain for over two years and wasn't used to these frigid conditions, Essien had been battle-hardened in the Premier League.
England's winters weren't Moscow-cold—but they were close.
His body adapted quickly.
And when Essien started going full throttle, Madrid's midfield defense shifted into a higher gear.
CSKA's players were getting increasingly frustrated.
They had started well. They saw Madrid's early struggles and hoped to capitalize.
But once Dzagoev got marked out of the game, everything fell apart.
Leon and Essien shared a knowing glance after another joint interception. Then, together, they threw themselves even more eagerly into the midfield battles.
Make way. The Champions League King was coming through—like a turbo-charged bulldozer.
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