Chapter 107: The Meaning of Real Madrid Is Victory—It Is Championship
Málaga lost again—this season's third defeat to Real Madrid, and their second in the league.
But at least this time, the scoreline allowed them to leave the Bernabéu with heads held high.
A 1–2 result wasn't bad at all for an away game.
Even if the goal came from a penalty created by Isco in the second minute of stoppage time, it still counted.
Truthfully, it was Málaga's only real opportunity of the entire match.
From start to finish, Real Madrid had them under pressure—only easing off slightly in the dying moments.
But in terms of results, Málaga's fans were satisfied.
Isco, on the other hand, couldn't decide whether to feel happy or upset. After the game, he tore through his dinner with a vengeance, chewing out Leon over every bite.
Since they had another match coming up in just a few days, the two didn't hang out afterward. After dinner, they strolled back—one to his home, the other to his hotel.
On the morning of March 19th, well-rested, Leon headed straight to the training ground for an individual session focused on balance and ball control.
That afternoon, during the recovery training, he was pleasantly surprised to see Mourinho had added penalty shootout drills to the routine.
And not just casual warm-ups—but full simulation of official shootout procedures, designed to build pressure tolerance.
Two teams, Team A and Team B, were selected. Leon volunteered to join Team B.
The reasoning was simple: Team A was full of top penalty takers.
If Leon stayed there, he'd be lucky to get seventh or eighth in the kicking order.
By that point, the shootout would likely be over.
In Team B, though, he could be the first to step up.
That position came with its own kind of clout.
Of course, in the very first round of training, Leon blasted his shot over the bar—prompting howls of laughter from both teams.
Mourinho used him as the prime example of what not to do, reminding everyone to control their power and stay calm.
Leon didn't mind at all.
In fact, he welcomed being the example. If his failure helped teammates avoid doing the same, so be it.
The penalty style Leon had been practicing recently was all about the top corners. Left or right—it didn't matter. Full power, no hesitation.
Yes, the risk of overshooting was high.
But if it stayed within the frame, neither Adán nor Casillas could get near it.
Even when they guessed the direction, Leon's strikes were too fast, too hard, too precise.
In fact, he often wasn't sure himself whether the shot would stay inside the posts. That's how blistering his power was.
The pros and cons were clear.
Now, Leon was focused on refining his control—tempering raw power with consistency.
He only aimed for the top corners. No other targets.
Mastery through repetition. He just had to drill it until his body remembered.
With the new training drill in place and the whole squad engaged in sharpening their arsenal, the second half of the season entered its sprint phase.
From March 21st to March 31st, Real Madrid had four matches to play.
Three in the league.
One in the Champions League quarterfinals against Marseille—away.
The schedule was brutal. The pressure, immense.
In the Champions League, Madrid's goal was simple: end the tie in the first leg if possible.
At the very least, score enough away goals to make the return leg comfortable.
In La Liga, things depended on how well Barça held up.
If Barça faltered, Madrid could afford to ease off.
If not? Madrid had no choice but to go all in.
They couldn't afford to stumble now and give their rivals hope.
And let's be honest—Barça were in the same position, chasing trophies on both fronts.
They'd done it before, dominating both Champions League and La Liga in past seasons.
So why not Madrid?
Tiredness? Fatigue? Those were excuses.
Excuses the Madrid faithful might accept—but ones that would earn only ridicule from everyone else.
Fully aware of what was at stake, Real Madrid rolled into the Estadio de la Cerámica on the night of March 21st with their full-strength lineup.
Their opponents: Villarreal, currently fourth from the bottom.
The Yellow Submarine was having a nightmare season.
After finishing in the top four last year and retaining most of their starting lineup, hopes were high.
But they crashed out of the Champions League in the group stage—dead last. Not even a Europa League ticket.
Their star striker, Giuseppe Rossi, suffered a major injury in the first half of the season and was ruled out for the year.
That blow shattered their morale. The harder they pushed, the more they struggled.
The spiral continued, and now they were battling relegation.
In the first leg of the league fixture earlier this season, Madrid had already spotted the glaring flaws in Villarreal's tactical setup.
Since then, nothing had changed.
No major winter signings. No tactical overhauls.
Villarreal simply couldn't pose a threat.
Leon was a little disappointed when he didn't see Borja Valero's name on the starting list.
Valero might've been weak in defense, but without him, Villarreal's midfield had no organizer.
They were bound to get overrun.
But when Leon saw Marcos Senna in the starting XI, he perked up.
Senna—the midfield general of Spain's 2008 Euro-winning team. A late bloomer and a classic defensive midfielder.
Leon had always respected veterans like him.
He loved learning from their experience.
But the way he "learned" today… might've been a little harsh.
Madrid completely obliterated Villarreal's midfield.
No exaggeration—they were blown away.
Mourinho deployed a four-man midfield: Alonso, Leon, Essien, and Khedira.
From the opening whistle, Madrid seized control of the center of the park and never let go.
Senna tried to use his experience to withstand the onslaught, but with no support from the flanks, it was a lost cause.
Leon and Essien, both in top form, ran circles around Cani and Soriano.
Add in Khedira's relentless forward runs, and Villarreal never stood a chance.
Madrid's midfield trio of "runners" never allowed the Yellow Submarine to catch its breath—on offense or defense.
If Madrid were just a mid-table team, maybe they'd dominate without scoring.
Senna might've found a rhythm, maybe even turned the tide.
But Real Madrid was lethal.
When Benzema converted a Ronaldo cross in the 18th minute, the outcome was all but sealed.
Leon also bagged an assist, threading a perfect pass after a forward run in the second half.
Ronaldo, now red-hot, received the ball, pulled off a cheeky heel cut inside, then unleashed a rocket shot.
Diego López got a hand to it, just enough to deflect the trajectory—but not enough to keep it out.
The ball slammed into the net.
Ronaldo's second goal of the night.
The scoreboard: Real Madrid 3, Villarreal 0.
Senna gave it everything he had, but on this day, even his experience wasn't enough to save Villarreal.
In the 72nd minute of the second half, Leon watched as the veteran was substituted off, and couldn't help feeling a wave of emotion.
With Cazorla gone, Rossi sidelined by injury, and Senna nearing the end of his career, the once-bright Yellow Submarine—who had put together solid campaigns over the past three La Liga seasons—had clearly reached a turning point. It was time for a rebuild.
Leon might've been ruthless on the pitch, but as the final whistle blew, he sincerely hoped this historic La Liga side would manage to avoid relegation.
After dispatching Villarreal, most of Real Madrid's starters were given a well-earned rest.
Just like with previous rotation games, Mourinho followed a simple logic: as long as Cristiano Ronaldo could play, he started.
In midfield, Leon was the anchor.
And at the back, either Pepe or Ramos would take charge, depending on who was in better form.
On March 24th, Real Madrid hosted Real Sociedad at the Bernabéu.
Despite fielding a heavily rotated lineup, Madrid's squad wasn't drastically superior to that of La Real—at least on paper.
But let's be honest—having Cristiano Ronaldo up front changes everything.
Even if his partner was the young Morata, Sociedad knew better than to take things lightly.
For Leon, once again deployed as the lone defensive midfielder, the absence of Carlos Vela and Zurutuza from the visiting lineup was a major relief.
Losing both a primary attacking threat and a key playmaker meant Sociedad's offensive play would be far more limited.
By locking down Griezmann, Leon could further neutralize their firepower.
When it came to creativity, aside from Carlos Vela, the young Griezmann was the biggest threat in the team.
Sure, his stats didn't leap off the page yet, but his movement and passing rhythm were crucial to Sociedad's attacking flow.
Mourinho might not have fully appreciated Griezmann's tactical importance.
But Leon did.
So from the first moment Griezmann crossed into Real Madrid's half with the ball, he felt something was off.
One glance up—and there was Leon, staring him down.
Leon smiled.
Griezmann shivered.
He immediately veered toward the flank with the ball.
"Don't run, Antoine! Antoine, come back!" Leon shouted while chasing.
Griezmann didn't hesitate. He passed it quickly to the overlapping Illarramendi and darted into Madrid's defensive third without the ball.
Leon, now serious, called out to Granero as they dropped back to defend.
Sociedad's opening attack was quick and purposeful.
Illarramendi pushed forward until he was directly facing Marcelo. Just as the left-back stepped up to intercept, Illarra slid the ball inside to Xabi Prieto.
Prieto was in range. He could strike from distance.
Granero stepped up to close him down immediately.
But Prieto had no intention of shooting.
He chipped it—precise, not fast—right toward Agirretxe, who was holding position at the edge of Madrid's penalty area.
The tall forward held off Varane and nodded the ball down, looking for Griezmann, who was charging in from behind.
Griezmann was secretly thrilled.
He had lost sight of Leon—surely that meant he'd shaken him off with his earlier off-ball run.
He brought the ball down and prepared to shift it onto his favored left foot—
Only to have a blur flash past his left side.
A perfectly timed slide tackle stripped the ball clean and sent Griezmann flying face-first into the turf.
Leon, already twisting his body to recover, used his left foot to hook the ball into his own control range, popped back up, and launched the counterattack.
"Leon slides in—brilliant tackle! A clean win and possession! Griezmann is left stunned on the ground, and the ref signals for play to continue! Here comes the Madrid counter!"
Commentator He Wei was wide awake now, shouting excitedly into his mic. Even his more reserved co-commentator, Coach Zhang, perked up.
"Look at that transition—excellent! Leon pushes forward without delay and releases to Kaká. Kaká with a long ball behind the line!"
Zhang wasn't one to throw around praise, but this time he nodded in approval.
Chinese fans watching the match were now glued to the screen, eyes tracking Kaká's pass.
Iñigo Martínez sprinted back desperately, but Ronaldo had already broken free.
He reached the ball first, took it down, and powered into the penalty area.
Bravo rushed out—bold and decisive. But Ronaldo had been waiting for that exact moment.
"Cristiano Ronaldo! He's going to shoot—no! A pass! Morata—!!!"
Both commentators were stunned.
And they weren't alone.
Every single viewer—every Madrid fan, every Sociedad fan—was surprised.
Because Ronaldo, in a position where he could've easily scored himself, chose to pass.
The pass was perfect.
And facing a nearly empty net, Morata didn't dare mess it up.
He held off Cadamuro and headed the ball into the back of the net.
If he'd missed that one, Mourinho would've ripped into him at halftime.
Luckily, it was a header—not a tap-in.
Morata converted and didn't waste Ronaldo's unselfish assist.
On the sidelines, Mourinho looked completely dazed.
Just last time they faced Sociedad, it had been a foul-ridden slog that remained goalless until Leon finally broke it open in the 70th minute.
And now?
They were leading within the first minute of the match.
The Madrid bench erupted.
Coaching staff grinned ear to ear.
Meanwhile, Sociedad's coach Montanier was speechless.
Griezmann stared wide-eyed at Leon, now celebrating upfield, his mind spinning between guilt and frustration.
Rationally, the goal wasn't entirely his fault.
After all, Madrid's counter started deep and involved multiple defenders failing to stop the play.
Blaming Griezmann alone was absurd.
But there's always that segment of fans who don't care for reason.
Leon stole the ball. Leon started the counter. Madrid scored.
In their eyes, it all traced back to Griezmann.
So yeah, he was feeling pretty crappy.
And even more bitter?
Leon hadn't bothered marking Agirretxe, Prieto, or Illarramendi.
He went straight for Griezmann—the one young star just beginning to make a name for himself.
It felt personal.
Griezmann couldn't understand why Leon was being so aggressive.
But Leon, fresh from the celebration, had only become more determined.
Don't ask why. The answer was simple:
He was going to "educate" every future superstar of the post-90s generation, one by one.
Back in position, he looked at Griezmann's frustrated but defiant expression and grinned with satisfaction.
That was the look he was aiming for.
You don't like it? Good.
He'd lock him down even harder.
As play resumed, Griezmann's nightmare continued.
Seeing how badly things were going, Montanier quickly shifted focus.
He transferred the creative workload to Prieto and Aranburu.
Griezmann's tactical role quickly dropped from primary attacking initiator to a secondary striker running off Agirretxe.
A support piece. A green leaf to someone else's flower.
Griezmann was furious—his eyes practically green with jealousy every time he looked at Leon.
With his tactical importance reduced, not only did Sociedad's play become less efficient, but Griezmann himself became uncomfortable on the ball.
No more possession. Just off-ball runs to pull defenders away. And even then, he wasn't the one finishing the chances.
Leon, watching Sociedad's tactical shift, felt quite pleased.
Philippe Montanier still hadn't fully recognized Griezmann's potential.
With just this bit of pressure, he downgraded his young attacker's role—Sociedad wasn't mounting any kind of comeback tonight.
At the Bernabéu, with no home refereeing bias to lean on, Sociedad didn't dare play rough or overly physical.
With Madrid up by a goal and playing clean, they were as composed and clinical as ever.
Watching from home, many Barcelona fans slumped back in disappointment.
Looking at Madrid's remaining schedule, aside from today's Sociedad, only Valencia posed any real threat.
Atlético Madrid?
What, you think they haven't already been beaten enough by Real?
No hope there.
And now it was clear—Barça couldn't rely on anyone else to stop Madrid.
Madrid still held a fifteen-point lead—a full five wins.
The next time Barça would meet Madrid? Not until Matchday 35, the fourth-to-last round of La Liga.
Meaning, if Madrid won this match, then even if Barça won every game left, all Madrid had to do was win four more.
If they made it to Matchday 34 with wins all the way, they'd clinch the title early.
Even worse for Barça fans?
They'd have to give Real Madrid a guard of honor before El Clásico in Matchday 35.
Surprised? Excited? Disgusted?
A lot of Barça supporters just switched off their TVs right then.
Meanwhile, Real Madrid fans—having done the math—burst into loud, uncontrollable laughter.
It felt incredible.
Just imagining the Barça players lined up to applaud Real onto the pitch...
That alone made the season feel worth it.
Of course, the Madrid players still grinding on the pitch weren't thinking about all that.
Dreams are nice, but first—they had to win this game.
With their counter-attacking shape fully committed, Madrid gave Sociedad almost no real opportunities.
They didn't score again in the first half, but defensively, they calmly absorbed everything Sociedad tried.
It wasn't pretty, but Bernabéu fans were patient.
After all, they'd gone three full seasons without a league title.
They could tolerate some dull stretches—for now.
Save the booing for after the championship was secured.
This rare sense of harmony between fans and team held strong as the second half kicked off.
And right away, Mourinho flipped the switch—switching from containment to all-out attack!
The sudden shift caught Sociedad completely off guard. The Bernabéu crowd roared.
Now this was more like it!
Press, press, press!
Ronaldo and Morata spread wide, tearing into both flanks.
Kaká held the middle, ready to shoot or thread a pass.
Khedira played the disruptor role, popping up everywhere.
The formation wasn't flawless.
With three lines surging forward, Morata could only support one side, limiting the pull on Sociedad's defense.
A true three-forward setup would've stretched the back line better.
But effectiveness still depended on the opponent.
Sociedad's defense was decent by La Liga standards—borderline top-six.
But against this Madrid? With Ronaldo surrounded by playmakers?
They lasted about sixty minutes.
In the 59th minute, Ronaldo received a sideways pass from Khedira, who had used Morata's decoy run to create space.
One touch to settle. Then—bang!
A powerful shot aimed at the near post, just inside the box.
Bravo's line technique was never elite, and today his vision was blocked by his own defenders.
By the time he saw the ball, it was already too late.
It smashed into the net just inside the post.
Ronaldo sprinted toward the corner flag in celebration, sending the stadium into a frenzy.
Leon raised both arms, hugged the nearby Kaká, then dashed over to embrace Ronaldo, who had just finished his knee-slide.
On the sideline, Mourinho finally relaxed.
Across the way, Montanier was losing it, shouting furiously.
Meanwhile, Mourinho turned and called over two subs, signaling them to warm up.
By the time play resumed, Callejón and Lucas Vázquez were already ready to go.
Ronaldo and the still-sharp Kaká were both subbed off—without complaint.
The Champions League quarterfinals were coming up.
Mourinho clearly wanted them fresh.
With the switch to a 4-3-3, Madrid kept applying pressure through counters.
Montanier had no choice—he went all in on attack.
He brought on veteran striker Llorente for Aranburu, then replaced Illarramendi with young attacking midfielder Pardo.
Sociedad shifted to a 4-3-1-2.
Two forwards up top.
Griezmann tucked in behind, given freedom to create.
Funny enough, this turned out to be the most dangerous Sociedad had looked all night.
Griezmann finally got to play his favorite role.
With two strikers drawing defenders, Leon had to split his attention—finally giving Griezmann space to breathe.
But Leon wasn't too worried.
At this point, Madrid's offense was in full control.
His job now was simple: delay Sociedad's momentum just long enough for the forwards to land the killing blow.
And sure enough, Mourinho's gamble hit Sociedad right in the gut.
They couldn't spare numbers for defense anymore—they needed goals.
And that meant Madrid's counters became even more frequent.
Eventually, Sociedad did get one back. Griezmann assisted Agirretxe for a late goal.
But Madrid had already scored their third by then.
3–1.
Casillas was a little annoyed—no clean sheet meant no bonus.
But for Madrid fans? No complaints.
The closing minutes were thrilling.
Morata and Vázquez squandered a few chances. Callejón scored one.
If they'd been sharper, the final score could've easily been 4–1 or even 4–2.
After securing yet another win against Sociedad, Leon made his way over to Griezmann and had a quick chat.
They were both young, and both had naturally open, friendly personalities. So after the match, it didn't take more than a few sentences for Leon and Griezmann to strike up an easy conversation.
Whatever tension had existed on the pitch vanished in the post-match air. Griezmann knew how to separate the field from real life.
"Let's swap jerseys, Antoine. Next time we meet, dinner's on me. You played great today."
Hearing the sincerity in Leon's praise, Griezmann grinned shyly as he hurried to peel off his shirt.
To be recognized by the top defensive prodigy of their generation—it felt amazing. Griezmann was sure that when he told Vela about it later, even the Mexican would be jealous.
After all, this was Leon—the kid who'd held his own against Messi.
Meanwhile, a certain short-legged, secretly dramatic teenager watching the match at home scoffed under his breath as the broadcast showed Leon and Griezmann swapping shirts.
"I bet that guy's complimenting him again… probably offered to take him to dinner too…"
Back on the field, Leon—now shirtless and walking back toward his teammates—sneezed out of nowhere.
"Yo! You haven't been sneaking off to any parties, right? Which girl's talking about you now, Little Lion?" Marcelo teased, grinning from ear to ear after the win.
Ronaldo and Kaká turned to look, wearing equally playful smiles.
Leon quickly waved them off. "What girl! Come on, Marcelo, don't ruin my reputation. I said I'd focus on football—and I meant it. A relationship would just kill my motivation to train harder."
"Ewwwww~~~"
The Real Madrid superstars all booed him with exaggerated disgust.
Leon, of course, was used to this by now. He just laughed along with his teammates as they walked side by side toward the stands for their customary lap of appreciation.
Plenty of fans were still fired up, shouting chants of support and demanding the Champions League trophy this season.
After their lap, just before heading back down the tunnel, Leon suddenly cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted toward the South Stand with all his strength:
"This year—we're taking it!"
The fans paused for a moment in stunned silence, then erupted in thunderous cheers.
He hadn't spelled it out. But they all understood.
Leon never made promises lightly.
So when he said "this year," it meant only one thing—this year it would happen.
—
On the night of March 27, Real Madrid's strongest lineup took to the field at the Stade Vélodrome to face Marseille in the Champions League quarterfinals.
Bayern and Barça were scheduled to play the following night.
Compared to the other match that night—Chelsea vs. AC Milan, which felt more like a "mid-table brawl"—most fans chose to tune in to watch Real Madrid's superstars take the stage.
And Cristiano Ronaldo, still quietly stewing over being overtaken by Messi in the Champions League scoring race, came out firing from the opening whistle.
Seeing their ace in high gear, the entire Madrid front line focused on creating chances for him.
Make no mistake—this Marseille squad had earned its place in the quarterfinals by knocking out Inter Milan. They were strong.
Leon recognized many familiar names in their lineup: Loïc Rémy, André Ayew, Alou Diarra, Valbuena, Azpilicueta, Mandanda...
These weren't nobodies, and Leon didn't dare let his guard down.
After teaming up with Essien to repel Marseille's early probing attacks, Leon dropped deeper—taking up a position parallel with Alonso and focusing on tightly marking Rémy.
With Real Madrid stabilizing their midfield and defense, their attack began ramping up. Marseille had no choice but to retreat and compress their shape.
Playing a 4-4-2 with both wingers pinned back, their offensive rhythm was completely disrupted.
Rémy couldn't move. André Ayew tried to carry the attack alone, but Ramos quickly reminded him what elite physical defense looked like.
But the true turning point came when Ronaldo exploded.
To help CR7 find his form early, Mourinho had started Marcelo on the left and pushed Leon into a left-central midfield role.
The plan was simple: give Ronaldo the best offensive support and strongest defensive cover.
And CR7 didn't disappoint.
In the first twenty minutes, he put four powerful, on-target shots at Mandanda's goal.
By the 23rd minute, when Benzema's movement opened up the inside lane, Ronaldo charged into the box with the ball for the first time.
His finish—a blistering low shot—left no doubt.
He reminded every Marseille defender exactly what happens when you let him shoot in the box.
Mandanda didn't even move.
And just like that, Madrid had an away goal and a 1–0 lead before the half-hour mark.
The French commentators let out sighs alongside their analysis.
From this moment, the match was slipping away.
Any illusions Marseille had of controlling the game vanished.
Now they had a decision to make: push forward or dig in?
Deschamps chose to defend.
He told his players to solidify the backline and stay mentally strong.
And to be fair, it wasn't the worst decision.
If Marseille had opened up and gone toe-to-toe with Madrid, that would've played straight into Mourinho's hands.
But Deschamps overlooked one fatal problem:
Could his players actually hold the line under Real Madrid's constant assault?
It was a question he never asked. But it haunted every Marseille player on that pitch.
Madrid's attacks came in waves—relentless, unceasing.
From left to right: Ronaldo, Benzema, Di María.
Behind them: Marcelo, Leon, Essien, the newly recovered Arbeloa.
Even Ramos surged forward now and then to apply pressure.
Marseille's defenders were drowning.
In the 42nd minute, Marcelo overlapped perfectly after receiving a pass from Ronaldo.
He cut inside the box—and was immediately yanked down by a nervous M'Bia.
The referee didn't hesitate.
Straight to the spot.
Marseille fans groaned. Their hearts sank.
Ronaldo stepped up and smashed it home.
2–0.
Deschamps no longer cared about the score—his focus was on calming his now-fractured squad.
But it didn't help.
In the 61st minute, Di María scored with a long-range rocket.
Garbage time had officially begun.
Final score: 3–0.
Real Madrid had won the first leg of the Champions League quarterfinals in dominant fashion.
After the match, speaking to Marca, Leon gave an answer that would be etched into the hearts of Madridistas:
"This is why we came to France. Real Madrid means victory—it means champions."
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