At the post-match press conference, Michael Chen sat beside head coach Raul under a blinding barrage of camera flashes.
Raul was in the middle of responding to a reporter’s question.
“As all of you clearly saw tonight, Michael is without a doubt the best goalkeeper I’ve discovered in recent years.”
A blonde, blue-eyed female reporter immediately snatched the microphone and went straight for the throat.
“Before the match, Leganés coach Barry claimed he was going to expose you tactically.
Yet tonight, this game was clearly single-handedly won by Michael.
In your honest opinion, between you and Barry, who was actually stronger tactically today?”
The question was a trap.
It was the classic media bait: ignore the actual scoreboard and drag the manager into a petty, tactical dick-measuring contest just for a controversial headline.
Raul didn’t take the bait.
He answered calmly, “Both sides had their tactical strengths and weaknesses out there today.
But the only result that matters is that we won.”
Coincidentally, over in the Leganés press room, a reporter threw a nearly identical question at head coach Barry.
Barry leaned into his mic, looking utterly defeated.
“We honestly thought the game was dead and buried the second Mario got sent off.
Unfortunately for us, Raul pulled a literal magic trick off his bench.
That kid has a terrifying future ahead of him.
He was the one who beat us tonight!
Thank you.”
Back in the Santander room, the reporters completely gave up on Raul and aggressively turned their crosshairs on Michael.
Michael was genuinely caught off guard by the manic enthusiasm.
He really hadn’t expected a random Segunda División match to draw this much insane media attention.
But in reality, people lived for matches packed with this much raw drama.
An unknown rookie goalkeeper coming off the bench in a total crisis and violently rescuing a ten-man squad?
That was the exact kind of underdog story that made the football world lose its mind.
Because Raul constantly played defense and shielded him from the trickier questions, Michael didn’t actually say much.
The reporters, completely unsatisfied but out of time, finally had to bring the press conference to an end.
Regardless, Michael was officially famous!
…
After returning to the club’s offices, Raul marched straight into general manager Herman’s room.
“Mr.
Herman, you saw the masterclass Michael put on out there,” Raul started.
“In the next match against Atlético Madrid B, Mario is going to be suspended.
If Michael steps up and performs like this again, we need to be extremely careful about other clubs trying to poach him from us.
He is going to be a massive piece of our title challenge.”
Herman was still buzzing from the victory.
While Raul had been busy dealing with the press, Herman’s phone had been blowing up non-stop—and every single call was about Michael.
In Herman’s cutthroat eyes, the only thing that mattered about a player was how much actual value he could generate for the club.
Everything else was secondary.
For a club like Santander, financial survival was the only law.
“Don’t worry.
The team’s results are paramount, and I’ll keep a very close eye on the kid’s contract situation,” Herman assured him.
“Also, I’ve already decided to trigger Michael’s clean sheet bonus for tonight’s match.
After all, from the second he stepped onto the pitch, he didn’t concede a single goal and pulled off several superhuman saves.”
Seeing how highly the notoriously cheap GM was valuing his new player, Raul was thrilled.
The better Michael performed, the more credit Raul would naturally soak up as the tactical genius who discovered him.
When Raul finally made his way to the players’ lounge, Michael was packing up his gear while Oriol buzzed around him like an annoying mosquito.
“Michael, I just spoke with the general manager,” Raul said, interrupting Oriol’s nonsense.
“That clean sheet bonus in your contract?
The cash will be wired directly to your card later.”
“Thank you, Coach!” Michael beamed.
After all, who the hell didn’t love a boss that casually handed out free money?
Raul smiled and walked off.
“Come on, Michael, just come with me for dinner!” Oriol begged, picking right back up where he left off.
“I promise, I’ll arrange the full service for you!”
“Dinner is fine,” Michael shot back, zipping up his bag.
“Absolutely nothing else.”
He had no interest in whatever sketchy “full service” Oriol was aggressively hinting at.
For whatever reason, this hyperactive kid always seemed to operate on a weird frequency.
After pestering Michael for another ten minutes with no success, Oriol finally threw in the towel.
“Fine, Michael!
Then tonight, we only eat.
After dinner, everyone goes straight home like good boys.
Can I at least bring a friend along too?”
“Of course, mate,” Michael said.
The two of them walked out to the club’s car park since currently, Michael didn’t own any transport of his own.
His life principle was simple: spend cash only where it actually mattered.
He had a literal cheat code installed in his brain, so sooner or later, he was going straight to the top of the football world.
When major brands came begging him to sign endorsement deals, he could get all the flashy cars for free.
Besides, right now, he needed to hoard every single dime for his family’s massive debts and his grandmother’s medical bills.
But when he finally saw Oriol’s ride, Michael’s brain completely short-circuited.
Oriol marched straight past the parked luxury cars toward the bicycle storage area.
He proudly pushed out a beat-up mountain bike with a rusted rear seat and flashed Michael a massive, stupid grin.
“Hop on!
My friend already drove ahead.
I’m worried this beauty won’t be safe if I leave it parked here overnight, so I’ll pedal you there myself!”
Michael desperately wanted to cut open Oriol’s head just to see what the hell was going on in there.
‘Is he out of his fucking mind?
A bicycle?
He thinks someone’s going to steal this piece of junk?’ Michael sighed internally.
‘I really do have a hidden genius playing beside me.’
And so, to avoid completely embarrassing his teammate, Michael awkwardly climbed onto the back of Oriol’s two-wheeled “BMW” and experienced the thrilling acceleration of a professional athlete pedaling furiously toward a restaurant!
…
When they finally arrived at the restaurant, Levis was already seated inside, casually waiting behind a table absolutely loaded with dishes.
With Oriol acting as the ultimate hype man, Michael and Levis quickly hit it off.
Levis was naturally charismatic and incredibly sociable, and he immediately started showering Michael with praise.
“Michael, your performance out there today was unbelievable,” Levis said, his eyes wide.
“I have never seen an unknown keeper pull off shit like that!
Honestly, you didn’t look a step behind guys like prime Buffon tonight.
I’m incredibly happy to meet you.
Let me toast for you!”
Levis aggressively slammed his small cup back in one gulp.
That intense, respectful attitude made Michael smile.
Everyone liked having their ego stroked, and Michael was absolutely no exception.
He poured himself a cup and toasted him back.
“Tonight, thanks to Oriol dragging me out, I’ve got to meet you too, Levis.
Being stuck in a foreign country is tough, but I can finally say I have two brothers I’m close with here.
This is the last cup.
Let’s drink this one together.”
Michael raised his tiny cup, gesturing to the two of them.
Not far away, the restaurant owner was staring at their table like they were escaped mental patients.
The sight of three massive, grown-ass athletes making such a solemn ceremony out of taking aggressive shots of hot jasmine tea was honestly more intimidating than if they had been chugging straight vodka.
It was just weird as hell.
After inhaling the food, Levis was still itching to drag Michael to a club.
“Michael, the tea is great and all, but it doesn’t give you any real buzz!
I’ve just drank a whole belly full of hot leaf-water.
How about we go for a proper second round?
Oriol knows a sick bar downtown!”
“No need, boys,” Michael said smoothly, standing up.
“This place is super close to my apartment, so I’ll just walk back.
You two are pro athletes as well.
If you can avoid the booze, then skip it.”
Michael gave them both a solid handshake, parted ways, and started the quiet walk home.
Meanwhile, outside the restaurant, Oriol glared at Levis.
“I fucking told you!
You have no clue how to persuade people.
If we don’t get him drunk, how the hell am I supposed to ask him about his mysterious magic?!
You saw him out there today!
I tried the magic myself and I was amazing!”
“Mate, you look like a magic trick yourself,” Levis laughed, shaking his head.
“Michael is definitely worth getting to know, though.
When you guys come down to Madrid, I’ll arrange a proper night out.
I’m off.”
Levis gave a wave and walked over to his sleek sports car parked by the curb.
“Wait, we explicitly agreed to have fun tonight!
So why the hell are we all going home now?!
Hic…”
Oriol stood alone on the sidewalk, looking completely confused as he awkwardly climbed into the passenger seat of his friend’s car to catch a ride home.
…
As Michael walked through the cool night air, he pulled out his phone and started scrolling through the sports feeds.
Because there hadn’t been many major league matches scheduled for today, the Spanish football timelines were absolutely flooded with reports about him.
“Magical Goalkeeper — Michael Chen Saves the Day!
Stunning!
Racing Santander’s Rookie Keeper Produces Miracle Double-Saves!”
“The Black-Haired Kid Who Lit Up El Sardinero!”
“Kung Fu Reappears in Spain!”
“Segunda División Backup Keeper Crushes Barry’s Promotion Dream!”
The hyped-up headlines just kept rolling in one after another.
But as he scrolled deeper, one specific article made Michael’s smile vanish.
“From Midfielder to Goalkeeper — Redemption for a Troubled Player?”
It was published by Baka Sports.
The article ruthlessly dug up Michael’s past background in China, twisting the facts and even quoting several heavily fabricated reports written by the corrupt media back home.
Michael stopped walking, his eyes locking onto the screen.
His grip on the phone tightened.
‘Baka Sports, huh?’ Michael thought, his eyes turning ice-cold.
‘Keep running your damn mouths.
I promise you, one day, I’ll make you swallow every single word.’