Barcelona B was founded in 1901.
Their home ground was the Johan Cruyff Stadium, which could hold 6,000 spectators.
Like Atlético Madrid B, they operated under their own system while still serving as the reserve side of the main club.
This season, Barcelona B’s front three of Dongou, Sandro, and Traoré had already combined for more than twenty goals and over ten assists.
Their attacking strength could not be underestimated.
During the training match the day before, everyone pushed themselves to the limit, hoping the coach would pick them to start.
Felix, in particular, stood out and earned Simeone Jr.’s clear approval.
Unfortunately, Ruli went down clutching his leg during one attack.
After a quick examination, the medical staff confirmed it was a thigh strain, meaning the striker would be forced to miss this crucial fixture.
Simeone Jr.
stood in front of the squad, feeling their intense stares.
“I’ve seen the effort you’ve all put in this week,” he said loudly.
“But only eleven players can start!
I promise that if we go out there and perform, I’ll personally pay for a massive team dinner after the match and give you all three days off!”
The whole squad erupted.
The dinner didn’t matter.
Three days off!
Every single player immediately straightened their posture.
“Now, let’s go through the starting lineup.”
“Striker: Costa!”
“Attacking midfield: Felix, Kokosi, Abraham!”
“Defensive midfielders: Oriol, Pacquiao!”
“Defenders: Felipe, Rayleigh, Levis, Bill!”
“Goalkeeper: Michael!”
After hearing the shape of the starting eleven, Michael quietly analyzed it.
‘This 4-5-1 is probably Simeone Jr.’s secret weapon to choke out the midfield,’ Michael thought.
‘It seems tomorrow’s match really is massive.’
He knew Barcelona and Atlético were bitter, historic rivals, but he hadn’t expected the bad blood to be this intense even down in the B teams.
…
That evening, after training ended, Michael went to the CBD sky garden for his yoga routine.
Ever since his soft confession to Emma had been shut down before it could even properly begin, Michael hadn’t brought it up again, nor had he bothered Emma too much.
He gave her space.
“Emma, your guy is here again.
He’s stretching in the VIP room right now,” one of the studio instructors said to Emma with a teasing smile.
“He made such a huge romantic scene before with those airships, but why hasn’t he come around as much lately?
Not very persistent, is he?”
“Exactly,” another girl chimed in.
“I only found out recently that he’s a professional footballer.
Emma, you really are destined to be tangled up with football players!”
The girls chattered noisily, but Emma didn’t argue or engage.
She simply turned and walked out of the room.
Michael’s sudden shift in attitude had genuinely caught Emma off guard.
In the past, another high-profile footballer had aggressively pursued her.
After she finally agreed to date him, he was almost immediately exposed in the tabloids partying wildly in nightclubs, and Emma had ruthlessly dumped him on the spot.
This time, she had met Michael.
This man carried himself in a mature, steady way, yet whenever he faced her, he still couldn’t hide a young man’s shy awkwardness.
She had genuinely started to like him.
But the bitter memories of her last relationship were still vivid in her mind, so she had pumped the brakes.
Emma walked quietly to the doorway of the VIP room and secretly looked inside.
Michael was drenched in sweat, working hard on stretching his tendons and joints, fully focused on his physical conditioning.
After hesitating in the doorway for a long moment, Emma sighed softly and returned to her office without saying hello.
…
After Michael finished his session, he didn’t see Emma come out to find him, and he felt a sharp pang of disappointment. This chapter is updated first at g.com.
He grabbed his duffel bag, chatted politely with the front receptionist for a minute, and after glancing around the lobby one last time, finally left the studio.
When Michael returned home, he saw Oriol aggressively mashing buttons on his console.
‘Women only complicate things anyway,’ Michael sighed internally.
‘Gaming doesn’t!’
He grabbed a second controller, dropped onto the couch, and started playing FIFA with the defender.
…
January 25.
Round 22 of the Segunda División.
A massive, heavyweight clash.
Atlético Madrid B traveled away to face Barcelona B.
“These two sides are bitter, historic rivals!” Jack began, introducing the match to the broadcast audience as the cameras panned over the stadium.
“At the pre-match press conference, Barcelona B head coach Valverde stated that today, his squad must show Atlético that there is always someone stronger above them.”
“Meanwhile, Atlético B head coach Simeone Jr.
aggressively declared: if he doesn’t beat Barça today, he won’t get on the team bus!
If they fail to take down Barcelona, he’ll walk all the way back to Madrid!”
“Barcelona’s star academy players have also been posting on Twitter all week: they are determined to stop Michael Chen from breaking the Spanish clean-sheet record!
They insist that record will always belong to Barcelona!”
“The players from both teams are lined up in the tunnel.
Let’s look at the home side’s formation.”
“Forwards: Sandro, Dongou, Traoré.”
“Midfielders: Román, Gerard, Patri.”
“Defenders: Juste, Diané, Edgar, Campins.”
“Goalkeeper: Suárez.”
“As for Atlético…”
…
At the exact same time, inside the cramped away dressing room, Simeone Jr.
was violently emphasizing today’s tactical game plan.
Michael and the rest of the squad listened intently.
“Attack, attack, and keep attacking!
We’re going to completely strangle them in the midfield!
Do you understand?!”
“Understood!” the players shouted in unison.
Simeone Jr.
nodded, his eyes blazing.
“You attack boldly in the final third.
Michael is a wall behind you!
Don’t let me down.
Today, I only want victory!
You all know exactly what it means if we lose to Barça!”
“Understood, boss!”
“We are Atlético!” Michael roared, hyping the room up.
The rest of the squad immediately echoed him, slapping the walls and hyping each other up.
Simeone Jr.
was the first to march out of the dressing room.
Michael led the starting eleven out into the tunnel to line up.
As they stood side-by-side with the Barcelona players, waiting for the referee, a Barcelona forward casually stuck his foot out and tripped Michael.
Caught off guard, Michael stumbled forward.
He caught his balance, turned around, and glared.
Dongou looked back at him, acting as if nothing had happened.
“Watch where you’re walking.
If your eyesight is that bad, how the hell are you going to keep goal?”
Without saying a single word, Michael stepped forward and brought his heavy, studded boot down ruthlessly right onto Dongou’s instep.
Looks like my eyesight really is terrible,” Michael said coldly.
“Ah, fuck!”
Dongou clutched his foot, his face twisting in pain as he glared furiously at Michael.
The noise echoed in the concrete tunnel.
Players from both sides immediately turned their heads, and several Barcelona players started aggressively stepping in Michael’s direction.
“If you’ve got the guts, prove it out there on the pitch,” Michael said, pointing directly at the broadcast camera tracking their walkout.
“If you’re scared, just back down right here.”
He stepped right into Dongou’s face.
“I’ll lay it out right now.
You guys won’t score a single goal today!
If I fail, I’ll streak naked across the pitch.
Every single one of you is included in this bet.
Who dares to take it?”
The Barcelona players fell completely silent, taken aback by the sheer arrogance of the challenge.
Traoré shoved his way to the front.
“I do.
If we don’t score, I’ll streak across the pitch.”
At that moment, the fourth official rushed over, stepping between them to restore order.
Just like that, the violent grudge between the two sides was locked in.
As they walked out onto the grass, Oriol glared fiercely at Dongou and whispered, “I’m going to break your legs today.”
To Oriol, Michael was his closest friend and mentor.
Anyone who messed with him had to pay the price!
Seeing Oriol’s dead-eyed, completely unhinged glare, Dongou felt a chill run down his spine.
The Ghanaian defender looked genuinely insane.
The atmosphere inside the Johan Cruyff Stadium was hostile and heated.
When Barcelona’s players walked out, they triggered deafening cheers.
There were practically zero Atlético fans in the stands.
The match began at a frantic pace.
Barcelona started by showing clear attacking intent.
Their classic, suffocating possession style forced Atlético to burn a massive amount of energy just chasing shadows in the first ten minutes.
Michael kept his eyes locked on the opponent’s midfield movements.
Then, suddenly, the structure broke!
Oriol and Pacquiao, the two defensive gatekeepers in the midfield, mistimed their press and failed to close Gerard down.
As Gerard was tackled to the ground, he still miraculously managed to squeeze a desperate pass right through the gap between them.
Dongou let the ball run, and it perfectly nutmegged Levis.
The striker spun off the defender’s shoulder and sprinted forward into the open space.
Rayleigh desperately shifted across to cover, and the two men fought fiercely shoulder-to-shoulder as they raced into the penalty area.
Seeing the danger, Felipe abandoned his marking of Traoré and came sliding across early to close Dongou down.
Felipe went to ground!
The next moment, the ball was swept away, but Dongou was violently taken out in the process, crashing hard onto the turf.
Tweet!
The referee blew his whistle immediately.
He pointed straight to the penalty spot and flashed a yellow card directly in Felipe’s face.
The home fans instantly went wild, cheering the decision!
Dongou lay on the grass, rubbing his calf in exaggerated agony, while Traoré walked over to check on him.
“That was definitely a reckless foul!” Jack analyzed over the broadcast.
“Looking at the slow-motion replay, Felipe clearly made heavy contact with the man before he ever touched the ball.
Honestly, the referee has actually been quite lenient by only showing a yellow card there!”
Dongou limped toward the sideline to receive temporary treatment.
Traoré grabbed the ball and stepped up to the penalty spot.