"Luckily you chose conservative treatment. I hear you'll be recovered in less than a month. Then let's set it for early May."
"That gives us enough time to prepare on all fronts, and public attention will still be high."
"And it'll also conveniently dilute the disappointment of our Champions League elimination."
The more Calderón spoke, the more excited he became, practically applauding his own brilliance.
As the defending Champions League holders, the odds of winning it again the following year were close to zero.
But if they didn't win, the fans would complain anyway.
This season, there really wasn't much to criticize about the Real Madrid players themselves. So the anger would inevitably shift to the board—criticizing the management for poor transfers, blasting Calderón, this so-called president, for failing to bring in Kaká, Cristiano Ronaldo, Robben, or Sneijder!
If things went badly, he might even be forced to step down.
But with Su Hang's retirement ceremony, all attention could be redirected.
Don't ask why Calderón was so pessimistic about the Champions League.
Without Su Hang—who had smashed in more than sixty goals across all competitions—Real Madrid's ceiling this season would probably be no higher than a Round of 16 exit.
In the league, they couldn't suppress a Barcelona side in red-hot form either.
On top of that, organizing a retirement ceremony—even without charging fans for tickets—Calderón was confident he could still make Real Madrid a fortune.
Never underestimate Real Madrid's commercial power.
And this was Su Hang's retirement.
Facing Calderón's meticulous calculations, Su Hang actually applauded.
"I'm not retiring," Su Hang said.
"Yes, I know you wouldn't retire—wait, you're not retiring?" Calderón froze.
This…
"Don't be stupid, Su. If you don't retire, what are you planning to do? Or did someone offer you a higher price?" Calderón suspected someone was competing with him for the right to host Su Hang's retirement ceremony.
"No one," Su Hang shook his head, smiling teasingly. "Other than you, no one has talked to me about this. What I mean is—I want to keep playing."
"In about a month, if the team makes it to the Champions League final, I might even return in the final."
Calderón stared at him as if he'd seen a ghost. "Are you insane? If you keep playing, you'll be paralyzed! You could die!"
Su Hang laughed. "What? Afraid that if I suddenly die, Real Madrid won't have an excuse to hold my retirement ceremony and squeeze money out of it?"
Calderón was momentarily speechless. That really was his biggest concern.
"Also, according to some unreliable information, you went to see Robben before coming to talk to me," Su Hang added with a faint smile.
Calderón clearly wished Robben could transfer in immediately and replace Su Hang.
He forced an awkward smile. "That's what the fans want. Real Madrid can't give up an entire season for the sake of one or two individual players."
"In fact, while you were unconscious, Capello already handed me a transfer list."
"We both know—there's no going back."
"You're an adult now, Su. You need to learn to understand how cruel society is."
"The fact that I came here personally to tell you all this already shows how much I respect you. You're someone who will never be able to play football again—don't you understand?"
"I'm giving you your final shred of dignity, and you're throwing it back in my face!"
"The retirement ceremony in early May will be the last time you're embraced by fans around the world. I hope you cherish it!"
Calderón stood up from the bedside, full of momentum.
But at that moment, the ward door opened.
Calderón turned around.
It was Zidane.
"Zidane, you should return to the team. Real Madrid needs you," Calderón said, hastily composing himself.
Zidane, however, let out a cold laugh. "Needs me for what? To retire?"
Calderón's face went pale. He immediately realized Zidane must have heard everything.
"Let me be absolutely clear, Mr. Calderón," Zidane said, enunciating every word. "I will not be holding a retirement ceremony."
"Don't even think about making another cent off me."
Sweat instantly beaded on Calderón's forehead.
Zidane's retirement had already been fully arranged. He'd poured massive resources into it.
If it didn't happen, the losses would be catastrophic.
And what about the fans? What about other clubs?
A legendary player like Zidane couldn't even get a retirement ceremony at Real Madrid? Where was the respect for players?
Calderón couldn't exactly tell everyone that he'd mocked Su Hang, angered Zidane, and caused all this.
"Don't be like that, Zizou," Su Hang spoke up. "If Real Madrid is willing to give you sixty percent of the profits, I think the ceremony can still go ahead—halfway, at least."
"Of course, that might mean Mr. Calderón runs himself ragged, only to earn less than a waiter in the end."
"But that's just how cruel society is. I'm sure Mr. Calderón can accept it."
"Otherwise, he'd really be asking for trouble."
Zidane burst out laughing. Using someone's own words against them—Su Hang was still a master at that.
Zidane turned to Su Hang and saw him winking. He shrugged, signaling his agreement.
Zidane wasn't greedy for money. He planned to use that share to buy Su Hang an MLS franchise.
It was something Su Hang had been worrying about for a long time.
"You… just wait and see!" Calderón stormed out, furious.
"Capitalists really have no hearts," Zidane said, wishing he could chase after Calderón and spit on him twice more.
Compared to Zidane's anger, Su Hang actually felt this was an opportunity.
Look—hadn't all kinds of monsters and demons revealed themselves already?
Everyone thought Su Hang's conservative treatment was truly conservative.
But in reality, his "conservative" treatment was one of the craziest things in the world—even by his own standards.
It wasn't about barely surviving.
It was about continuing to play football.
He was already eagerly anticipating the looks on those people's faces—and the bitterness in their hearts—when he returned to the pitch in twenty days.
Before summer arrived, he intended to slap them into confusion, make them doubt their lives, and leave them with lasting psychological scars.
Even Modrić—who usually looked like a born rebel—had sent him a condolence message when it mattered, hadn't he?
Deep down, the kid was still kind.
He still cared about Su Hang and respected him.
That rebellious streak was nothing more than pain spilling out during intensified training.
...
"Damn you, Su Hang! Once I become a starter, I won't pass you a single ball!"
In Real Madrid's gym, Modrić began a brutally inhumane physical training regimen. His "respect" for Su Hang was as strong as ever.
Only now, instead of burying it deep down, he expressed it openly.
After all, Su Hang's professional team had him under twenty-four-hour supervision.
Even his bathroom breaks were strictly controlled.
They claimed constipation would affect strength training, and that forcing yourself too hard could even tear something that really shouldn't be torn.
Mascherano: "If you're talking about that, I'm definitely awake now."
...
(35 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser