Chapter 125: If Anyone Forces Me to Pick a Side—I'll Flip the Damn Table (Part 1)
La Liga's new season had begun, and Real Madrid had taken their home opener at the Bernabéu with a 2–0 win over Valencia.
The result wasn't surprising. Most media outlets had predicted a Madrid win.
What was surprising, however, was the way it played out.
There was so much to talk about: the performance of Madrid's rotation squad, Mourinho's tactical adjustments, and the rapid integration of new signing Matuidi into the system.
Sports pages across Spain were preparing to hype up the story—pundits lined up to debate Madrid's chances of defending their La Liga title.
But then Barcelona played their opener.
They smashed Real Sociedad 5–0, and the narrative suddenly shifted overnight.
Pro-Barça outlets were now loudly proclaiming that Barcelona would reclaim the La Liga crown this season and avenge last year's humiliation.
It was a bold statement—especially considering that the Supercopa de España was just around the corner.
This year's edition of the Supercopa would take place mid-season, and Barcelona were hosting the first leg.
If they lost to Madrid again right after that claim... well, the media blowback would be brutal.
Maybe someone inside Barça's upper management—or Guardiola himself—had voiced their dissatisfaction, because all the overly cocky headlines vanished by the next morning.
Suddenly, those pro-Barça outlets had gone quiet.
Meanwhile, Real Madrid and Barcelona were both making their final preparations for the Supercopa.
Because Madrid would be the away team first, the pressure to grab some away goals was on their shoulders.
Fortunately, most of Madrid's starting XI had now fully recovered and were feeling confident.
Last season's dominance over Barça gave them reason to believe.
Mourinho, too, wasn't enforcing the same "rage against Barça at all costs" mentality anymore.
In previous years, he had to.
Barcelona had been so strong, and Real had nothing to show for it in terms of results or silverware.
Back then, Mourinho needed his players to be angry—to channel that fury into every Clásico.
But now?
They'd won a treble.
They were champions of everything.
Even his brief spat with Casillas last season had been resolved.
Mourinho had no reason to keep that fire stoked constantly.
Sure, he still didn't like Barça, personally or professionally.
But he wasn't stupid.
There was no upside to butting heads with the team captain anymore—especially not publicly.
In private? Mourinho was a different man. He still had his edges, but now he was measured.
During pre-match prep, his communication with Casillas had been respectful and encouraging—normal even.
But Leon, standing off to the side, watching Mourinho exchange warm hugs and motivational words with Casillas, couldn't help but feel something was off.
Yes, Mourinho was always friendly during off-hours. That wasn't new.
But something about this whole scene triggered a quiet alarm in Leon's mind.
He couldn't quite explain it.
Call it instinct.
And then he remembered the peculiar moment from earlier in the summer when club president Florentino Pérez had shown him an unusual level of affection.
Pérez was an exceptional club president—a die-hard Madridista.
But more importantly, he was a ruthlessly sharp businessman.
Would a man like that act emotionally, do something in front of cameras purely for sentiment?
No.
Everything he did was calculated.
Leon wasn't paranoid. He wasn't looking to assume the worst about Pérez.
But he also didn't want to get burned.
He didn't want to get caught up in something political... something internal.
He'd already had to play peacemaker between Casillas, Ramos, and Mourinho last season.
That had been enough of a headache.
If something like that blew up again this season?
Leon didn't think he had it in him to mediate round two.
So, he made a decision: focus on the pitch.
Everything else could wait.
He wanted to win.
He didn't care about boardroom squabbles or politics.
And yet, it turns out that not getting involved isn't always an option.
Leon's youth academy background.
The way he had established himself as an untouchable presence in Madrid's midfield.
His surging popularity with fans, rising by the day...
Put all of it together, and it was clear: he couldn't stay neutral forever.
Some people in the club wanted him to take sides.
August 22nd.
After training, Madrid's CEO José Ángel Sánchez invited Leon for a coffee.
Just inside Valdebebas.
Nothing too formal—his office, a quick chat.
Leon didn't think much of it at first.
Maybe they were going to talk contract terms again?
They exchanged the usual pleasantries. Sánchez smiled. Praised him.
So far, so good.
But then the CEO casually dropped a question:
"So, Leon—what's your opinion on the club's new internationalization policy?"
Leon raised an eyebrow immediately.
He didn't even try to hide his reaction.
His gut had been right after all.
Sánchez, still smiling, didn't seem to think there was anything strange about talking club politics with a 20-year-old midfielder.
Or maybe...
Maybe that was exactly what the people behind this wanted.
They didn't want analysis.
They wanted commitment.
They wanted alignment.
Leon stared at his coffee cup. His fingers tapped against the porcelain.
Then, calmly, he cut through the formalities:
"If I have to pick a side... can the president wait until next season? We've got a real shot at more trophies this year."
Sánchez's smile froze for half a second.
"Leon, I think you might be misunderstanding. This is just a casual chat—just gauging your thoughts."
Leon met his eyes, steady and clear.
"There's no misunderstanding, sir.
And honestly, I don't care what verbal agreements the president has with the coach—or any other players.
I just want to play.
If you're asking me to choose a side, we'll talk about it after this season.
Not before."
Sánchez's smile vanished completely.
He didn't push back.
Just nodded and steered the conversation elsewhere.
Shortly after, the meeting ended.
As Leon stepped out of that office, his face darkened.
"Of course. Just what I was afraid of."
But you know w
hat?
He didn't care anymore.
If they were going to fight this war now, during a title-contending season...
If anyone dared to drag him into it...
He'd flip the damn table.
At the very least, he'd flip his own table.
Let the rest burn if it had to.
📝 Nota del narrador:
Veteran Real Madrid fans knew exactly what this scene meant.
Florentino's post-season moves had started to take shape, and the dominoes were falling.
Leon, with his role in the squad and fanbase, would never be left untouched.
But as the story moves forward, one thing is clear:
Leon doesn't run from pressure.
He steps right through it.
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