Football: I am the coach of Atlético de Madrid.

Chapter 12

In the northwest of Spain, in La Coruña, Deportivo manager Javier Irureta set down the morning's freshly printed newspaper with a snort of disdain.

"These journalists only know how to chase headlines and stir up drama. Their professionalism is atrocious," Irureta grumbled, removing his glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. His eyes had grown tired from reading too much recently.

"If they were truly professionals, they wouldn't have become journalists," quipped assistant coach Francisco Melo, handing him a glass of water. The two had been working together for a couple of years.

Irureta took the glass, sipped from it, and turned to his assistant. "Francisco, you're a product of Atlético, right?"

"Yes," Melo replied. "I played there for ten years. Like Baraja, I came from Valladolid, and we both started as right midfielders. The difference is, he transitioned to central midfield, while I moved to defense."

Sometimes, career trajectories diverged sharply due to these decisions.

Melo, though once a player of some renown, had never fully realized his potential, making only two appearances for the Spanish national team.

"What's your take on Atlético this season?" Irureta inquired, steering the conversation to the present.

Melo hesitated briefly before responding. "It's certainly not as dire as the media portrays, but I wouldn't say I'm optimistic either. The overhaul has been too extensive. To bring a team like that together in just one summer..."

He trailed off, shaking his head repeatedly—a clear vote of no confidence in Yang Hao.

"You know as well as I do," Melo continued. "Atlético's level of restructuring this summer far exceeds what Sacchi or Ranieri had to deal with, and even they struggled. Yang Hao? He's even less likely to manage it. That said, the players themselves aren't as bad as the rumors suggest."

Irureta nodded in agreement.

Much of the narrative around Atlético focused on their high-profile sales, significant revenue gains, and apparent lack of substantial reinvestment. To the uninformed, or perhaps deliberately misleading, this suggested a weakened squad.

In truth, many of Atlético's acquisitions were high-quality players.

Take Walter Pandiani, for example.

Deportivo had been tracking him for a while. After selling Pauleta and signing Diego Tristán, Irureta had hoped to add Pandiani to complete a trio of powerful forwards alongside Makaay and Tristán.

But Atlético swooped in, securing Pandiani quietly and at a bargain price—a move that offered tremendous value.

Then there was Deco.

His stellar performances in Portugal's Primeira Liga were no secret, especially in Iberian football circles.

Why hadn't anyone else signed him? Because everyone was waiting.

Acquiring Deco from Porto would require a hefty fee. Clubs like Deportivo or Valencia hesitated to make such investments unless absolutely necessary. For mid-table teams, spending €20 million on a proven player like Valerón felt safer than gambling €10 million on Deco.

Smaller clubs, meanwhile, didn't even consider it—it was simply beyond their means.

And then there were Vicente and Joaquín, two promising young Spanish talents. Valencia had been monitoring Vicente for years.

Esteban Cambiasso? Exceptional potential.

Thomas Gravesen? A Bundesliga stalwart for Hamburg.

How could anyone say these players lacked ability?

Their only flaw was a lack of star power.

Journalists, always chasing buzz and clicks, focused on marquee names and clubs, ignoring players like these. But that didn't mean they lacked quality.

Irureta had heard it said more than once that Atlético's transfer strategy this summer was both impressive and inscrutable.

Yang Hao moved swiftly, decisively, and with uncanny accuracy.

He outmaneuvered Valencia for Vicente and Aurelio, outbid Deportivo for Pandiani, and even snatched up Edwin van der Sar.

The Dutch goalkeeper was undoubtedly world-class, though he'd endured a rough season at Juventus, losing confidence after a series of setbacks. With Zidane departing for Real Madrid and Juventus keen to sign Buffon, Atlético seized the opportunity to secure Van der Sar.

It was a phenomenal piece of business—provided Yang Hao could restore the keeper's confidence.

Looking at the entirety of Atlético's summer dealings, Yang Hao seemed to embody the very essence of value for money.

Perhaps most notably, he avoided signing established stars, likely fearing he couldn't command their respect.

Instead, he assembled a youthful squad averaging around 20 years old. The only exceptions were veterans like Pochettino and Van der Sar.

Yet, as Melo had pointed out, Atlético's biggest challenge wasn't the players themselves.

Yang Hao's scouting and recruitment were undoubtedly solid, but could he mold this group into a cohesive team?

With just a month—less for late arrivals like Aurelio—before the season kicked off, the task seemed monumental.

Integrating new players, establishing tactics, and building chemistry required not only a clear vision but also meticulous execution.

The workload alone was staggering.

Unsurprisingly, Atlético's uninspiring preseason results hadn't shocked anyone.

"It's the most likely outcome," Irureta mused.

Many industry insiders were already speculating that Atlético's first half of the season would be rough.

If Yang Hao couldn't steady the ship quickly, he might find himself dismissed before Christmas—a scenario where another coach would reap the benefits of his groundwork.

Such situations were all too common in football.

Perhaps that was why so many coaches prioritized short-term results, often at the expense of long-term planning.

"I think he'll stick with last season's 4-2-3-1 formation," Melo ventured.

Irureta nodded.

Whether Yang Hao could overcome these daunting challenges remained to be seen, but one thing was clear: life as Atlético's head coach was anything but easy.

Word had it that Yang Hao was actively revamping Atlético's youth teams. One notable move was appointing Manolo Jiménez as head coach for the B team, a staunch advocate of the 4-2-3-1 system.

"Manolo Jiménez? The one from Sevilla?" Javier Irureta, Deportivo's seasoned manager, immediately recalled the name.

"Yes, after retiring in '98, he pursued coaching courses. He reportedly attended classes by Juanma Lillo, and their tactical philosophies are quite similar. That's why Lillo recommended him to Yang Hao," said Francisco Melo, Irureta's assistant.

Hearing this, Irureta couldn't help but chuckle. "Our young friend really is ambitious. He hasn't even sorted out the first team, and he's already overhauling the youth system."

"There was that earlier media leak about his collaboration with the University of Madrid, which had people accusing him of being unfocused," Melo added with a wry smile.

The exact nature of this partnership remained undisclosed, though it was known that a significant amount of money had been spent. Unlike member-owned clubs like Real Madrid and Barcelona, Atlético didn't need to publicize every internal decision.

"So far, it seems he'll stick with the 4-2-3-1. But with a completely different lineup from last season, he hasn't managed to integrate it yet," Melo noted, referencing Atlético's preseason games.

Though the formation remained the same, a change in personnel meant a fundamentally different tactical approach. For instance, the pivotal No. 10 role had shifted from Valerón to Deco, which transformed the entire system.

Irureta saw Yang Hao's acquisition of Walter Pandiani as a particularly smart move.

The Uruguayan striker, slightly taller than Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink, shared many of the Dutchman's traits and seemed a suitable replacement.

"The flanks will likely feature Vicente and Joaquín," Melo analyzed. "He seems intent on employing a Spanish winger system. Deco will orchestrate in the middle, with Baraja and Gravesen anchoring behind him. Cambiasso might rotate in for Gravesen."

"For Yang Hao, the most critical achievement this summer was keeping Baraja. Losing both central midfielders would've been catastrophic. As for the backline, Pochettino and Santi likely have starting spots, but the defense still seems a bit short on height."

"On the right, it'll either be Gaspar or Belletti. An agent recently offered Belletti to several La Liga clubs, and he's a solid player. But on the left..."

Irureta paused, clearly hesitant.

"Aurelio just returned from the Olympics and will need time to adjust. That leaves Atlético with two options at left-back: veteran Toni Muñoz, who played sparingly last season while mentoring younger players, and 18-year-old Antonio López."

By this point, Irureta had pieced together his assessment.

"The left flank will be Atlético's weak spot."

Melo nodded in agreement.

Whether it was Muñoz or López, neither inspired much confidence. Even if Aurelio stepped in, his fitness and form remained uncertain.

"So, what's our plan?" Melo asked, glancing at Irureta.

The Deportivo manager picked up his glasses from the desk and slid them back on. "Leave Valerón, Molina, and Capdevila here. No need to bring them to Madrid."

Melo blinked in surprise but quickly understood, nodding in agreement.

All three players had recently transferred from Atlético and were among the team's standout performers. Their moves had angered Atlético fans, especially since the team had managed to avoid relegation.

In such circumstances, having them return to the Calderón Stadium would be ill-advised. It might unsettle the players and lead to subpar performances. Better to leave them behind to rest and prepare.

"We'll stick with Naybet and Donato as our center-back pairing. They should handle Pandiani just fine," Irureta instructed.

At 37, Donato was a veteran in every sense of the word. Having spent nearly a decade at Deportivo, he remained remarkably consistent despite his advancing age, gradually transitioning into a deeper defensive role—much like Real Madrid captain Fernando Hierro.

Each season, Irureta offered Donato a one-year extension, though finding a reliable successor for the aging defender had become a persistent challenge.

Deportivo's summer spending spree meant the club's finances couldn't support the acquisition of another high-quality center-back. Thus, Irureta had little choice but to rely on last season's pairing of Donato and Naybet.

Neither was particularly tall, but Pandiani, standing at 1.83 meters, wasn't a towering striker either. A clinical finisher, Pandiani resembled a goal-scoring machine more than an aerial threat—something Deportivo's experienced center-backs could manage.

The bigger concern was Kiko Narváez.

However, the Atlético icon had struggled with injuries, and his form was no longer what it once was.

With that, Irureta felt reassured.

After winning La Liga last season, Deportivo had further bolstered their squad, fueling Irureta's ambitions for continued success in both domestic and European competitions.

And that mission would begin with a statement victory over Atlético.

Welcome to all the fans watching live! We're here at the Estadio Vicente Calderón in Madrid," the broadcaster began enthusiastically.

"We bring you live coverage of the first leg of the 2001 Spanish Super Cup."

"Tonight's match pits last season's La Liga champions, Deportivo La Coruña, against the Copa del Rey winners, Atlético Madrid."

The commentator's voice rose with excitement. "The teams, led by referee Juan Roca, are making their way onto the field!"

"We've just received the starting lineups for both sides."

"Deportivo is sticking to their tried-and-true 4-2-3-1 formation. In goal is Jacques Songo'o. The backline consists of Romero, Naybet, Donato, and Pablo. In midfield, captain Mauro Silva and Jokanovic will anchor the defense, with Fran, Djalminha, and Víctor Sánchez supporting Dutch striker Roy Makaay up top."

"It's clear that Irureta has fielded his strongest lineup tonight."

"After winning La Liga last season, Deportivo went on a spending spree this summer, bringing in big names like Diego Tristán. And of course, notable players like Valerón, Capdevila, and Molina didn't make the trip to Madrid tonight, opting to stay behind for further preparation."

"With a roster packed with stars, the so-called 'Super Depor' has bolstered their title credentials. They remain among the favorites for the league title this season, second only to Real Madrid, who recently shattered the world transfer record twice in one summer."

"And now for Atlético Madrid's starting lineup."

"There's a bit of mystery here. In goal, they have Edwin van der Sar. The backline features Belletti at right-back, with Lucio and Pochettino as the central defenders. However, the left-back position is puzzling."

"In midfield, we have Gravesen and Baraja as the double pivot. Ahead of them, Vicente, Deco, and Joaquín form the attacking midfield trio—no surprises there."

"But tonight, Atlético seems to be deploying two strikers: Frenchman Patrice Evra and Uruguayan forward Walter Pandiani."

"Could this mean Yang Hao is switching to a 3-5-2 formation? We'll have to wait and see as the match unfolds."

"Both teams are ready for kickoff, with Atlético's Baraja and Deportivo's Mauro Silva meeting in the center circle for the coin toss. The match is about to begin!"

As the game began and players took their positions, one thing became clear to everyone: Patrice Evra, listed as a striker, was playing at left-back.

The revelation shocked spectators and pundits alike.

"What's he up to this time?" Irureta smirked from Deportivo's bench.

He waved away any concern. Whether Evra played as a forward or a defender didn't matter to him. Deportivo, brimming with confidence and talent, intended to impose their game regardless of Atlético's lineup.

"Stick to the plan," Irureta ordered decisively. "From the start, press hard and attack down the middle and right flank. Exploit their left side and break them down completely!"

His assistant, Francisco Melo, nodded and approached the touchline to relay the instructions.

Deportivo's players took note, particularly Djalminha and Víctor Sánchez, who would spearhead the assault on Atlético's left flank.

Inside the packed Calderón, filled with 50,000 roaring Atlético fans, the opening moments of the game provided an unexpected spectacle.

Deportivo took the kickoff, looking to assert themselves early. Atlético pressed aggressively, though their players were still settling into the game's rhythm.

It wasn't long before Djalminha seized the initiative, weaving through midfield and threading a pass toward Roy Makaay near the edge of the box.

But before the Dutch striker could control the ball, a thunderous collision sent him sprawling to the turf.

Towering over Makaay was Lucio, Atlético's Brazilian center-back, who had muscled his way into position to intercept the pass.

Referee Juan Roca waved play on, signaling no foul.

Lucio, brimming with confidence, raised a hand to signal the counterattack and carried the ball forward himself, showcasing a rare blend of strength and technical ability.

The crowd roared as he charged upfield, eventually passing the ball to an overlapping Belletti before retreating to his defensive station.

On the Deportivo bench, Makaay sat up, still stunned. "What the hell?" he muttered, staring at Lucio's imposing figure.

"Weight class mismatch! Heavyweight versus middleweight!" Yang Hao quipped with a hearty laugh from the Atlético bench.

Lucio and Makaay were both 1.88 meters tall, but the Brazilian defender carried 10 kilograms more muscle. In a physical battle, Makaay stood little chance.

Yang Hao's gamble on Lucio had already begun paying off.

The stadium erupted into cheers as Lucio's dominant play ignited the home crowd's enthusiasm.

On Deportivo's bench, Irureta raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the Brazilian's presence.

"Keep an eye on him," he told Melo.

Deportivo, always on the lookout for reinforcements, knew a strong center-back could be an asset. If Lucio impressed, he might become a target for the Galician club.

In football, the big fish often swallowed the smaller ones, and Irureta was confident that Deportivo could outmuscle Atlético in the transfer market if needed.

But for now, the task was clear: dismantle Yang Hao's fledgling squad.

Lucio's speed, explosiveness, and leaping ability were nothing short of exceptional. Even by 2023 standards, it would be rare to find a center-back as physically dominant and skilled in one-on-one defense as Lucio.

This season, Yang Hao's defensive strategy was straightforward: let Lucio handle the direct challenges while a second defender provided cover. So far, with Pochettino positioned deeper to mop up any loose ends, the plan seemed to be working well.

Yang Hao glanced over at Deportivo's bench and spotted Irureta and his staff looking equally bewildered.

Roy Makaay wasn't the type of forward known for brute strength—his style was all about efficiency and clinical finishing. Still, that didn't mean Makaay lacked physicality. Competing in the penalty area required a fair share of strength.

But his first encounter with Lucio—a forceful yet clean challenge—left the Dutchman shaken. Makaay had been caught off guard, and the sight of Lucio's menacing, muscular frame made him question his approach.

Irureta, catching Yang Hao's sly grin from across the field, felt his heart sink. That grin was unnervingly smug.

"Who is this guy?" Irureta muttered to himself, baffled.

Roy Makaay, though rattled, was no novice. After being bested by Lucio, he quickly adjusted his approach.

He decided to drop deeper, away from Lucio's zone of influence, to link up with Djalminha and create chances from midfield. However, as soon as Makaay received a pass from his teammate, a familiar blur of motion closed in on him.

Lucio again.

Sensing imminent danger, Makaay hesitated for a split second, bracing himself for another physical confrontation. Instead, Lucio slid in decisively, cleanly stripping the ball away before Makaay could react.

Springing back to his feet almost immediately, Lucio brushed off the grass and jogged back to his position, as if the whole thing had been routine.

"Fast," Makaay thought to himself, amazed. Moments earlier, Lucio had seemed out of position. How had he closed the gap so quickly? Makaay knew he was in for a long night.

Recognizing the challenge ahead, Makaay gestured to his teammates, signaling a change in tactics: Avoid the center. Focus on the wings.

On Deportivo's right flank, Víctor Sánchez was gearing up for battle.

A product of Real Madrid's youth academy, Víctor carried himself with the haughty pride typical of Madridistas. He barely hid his disdain for Atlético. To him, they were nothing more than an upstart club with pretensions of grandeur.

"Not like Real Madrid," he thought. "We're elegance, prestige, class… Oh, the ball's coming."

Makaay's struggles in the middle didn't concern Víctor. If the Dutchman couldn't penetrate the center, Víctor would make up for it by tearing through Atlético's left flank.

Sizing up Patrice Evra, his direct opponent, Víctor smirked. The Frenchman barely came up to his shoulder. What threat could he possibly pose?

But just as Víctor was about to trap the ball, a loud, guttural yell shattered his focus.

"JUANMA, I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

Startled, Víctor hesitated, his concentration faltering. Before he could react, a blur of red and white shot past him. Evra snatched the ball cleanly and bolted down the left wing, his pace leaving Víctor stunned.

As Evra sprinted, his voice echoed across the pitch:

"SEE THAT, JUANMA? I'M A FORWARD! A FORWARD!!"

His momentum was only stopped when Mauro Silva slid in with a crunching tackle near the halfway line. Atlético's subsequent throw-in led to a brief attacking sequence, though it failed to yield a clear chance.

On his way back to his defensive position, Evra crossed paths with Víctor, who couldn't help but smirk at the bizarre exchange.

"Hey," Víctor called out, hoping to provoke him. "My name's Víctor, not Juanma."

Evra shot him a blank stare, as if evaluating his intelligence, before walking past without a word.

"Shut up," Evra finally muttered, not even bothering to glance back.

The dismissive remark left Víctor seething.

How dare this Atlético nobody, this left-back, treat him with such contempt?

Determined to make amends, Víctor redoubled his efforts. He received another pass moments later, this time ready for Evra's aggressive approach. With a firm first touch, he brought the ball under control, preparing to outmaneuver the smaller Frenchman.

But before he could make his move, Evra was on him again, muttering the same refrain:

"JUANMA, I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"

"Will you knock it off?!" Víctor snapped, mid-dribble. "I told you, my name is Víct—"

Before he could finish, Evra stripped the ball away, leaving Víctor dumbfounded once more.

The Frenchman darted past Mauro Silva with a slick move, charging up the wing with renewed purpose.

"SEE THAT, JUANMA? I'M A FORWARD! A FORWARD!!"

When Patrice Evra surged past Mauro Silva with a ball flick, the entire Estadio Vicente Calderón fell silent in shock.

Who was this diminutive, explosive dynamo?

Where on earth did Atlético find him?

But Mauro Silva wasn't an ordinary opponent. The seasoned defensive midfielder, known for his unparalleled experience and composure, quickly adjusted, closing in and using his hands and feet to frustrate Evra's progress.

The young Frenchman had no choice but to pass the ball forward to Vicente, who deftly trapped it and prepared to face Pablo, Deportivo's right-back.

At this point, Deportivo's players realized one thing with crystal clarity: tonight's Atlético wasn't going to roll over.

Lucio was a powerhouse.

Evra was a relentless dynamo.

And now Vicente? Surely, he wouldn't be any different.

Vicente's first move was a convincing feint, giving the impression he was about to drive into the box. Pablo instinctively took a step back. That was the opening Vicente needed—he pushed the ball down the touchline, but just when Pablo prepared to cover the baseline, Vicente changed direction ever so slightly and whipped in a left-footed cross.

"Watch out!" Pablo shouted, alarmed.

The ball curved toward the near post.

Pablo's instincts told him to warn of danger at the penalty spot, but as the ball's trajectory became clearer, he cursed under his breath:

"Near post! Damn it, Donato!"

The cross targeted the zone where Donato, Deportivo's 37-year-old veteran center-back, was stationed. But Donato was only 1.78 meters tall—a glaring disadvantage against the incoming aerial threat.

And that threat was Walter Pandiani.

The Uruguayan forward had darted into Donato's blind spot. Timing his leap perfectly, Pandiani soared into the air, leveraging his run-up to overpower the veteran defender. His header, forceful and precise, rocketed toward the goal.

Goalkeeper Jacques Songo'o stretched desperately but was helpless to stop it.

"GOOOOOOOAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!"

"In the 8th minute, Atlético de Madrid strikes first!"

"It's Walter Pandiani, the Uruguayan forward! What a brilliant debut goal for Atlético, showcasing his signature heading ability!"

Pandiani erupted in celebration, sprinting toward the stands while yelling in euphoria. This was his first official match for Atlético, and he had already announced himself with a decisive goal.

The assist came from Vicente's brilliant cross, which made Pandiani's job all the easier.

As Pandiani turned back to embrace his ecstatic teammates, the stadium roared with approval.

"Atlético started the game steady, cautiously finding their rhythm," the commentator explained. "But in a moment of brilliance, they launched a blistering counterattack down the left flank. Evra's interception, Vicente's sharp footwork, and Pandiani's clinical finish combined for a devastating goal."

"This is unexpected," the commentator continued. "Coming into this match, the consensus was that Atlético's squad was significantly weaker than last season. However, just eight minutes into this game, they've shown remarkable defensive improvement—especially on the back line."

"Last season, Deportivo's Roy Makaay ran riot against Atlético's defense. But tonight, Makaay hasn't had a sniff, thanks to the tenacity of Lucio and Evra."

"And let's not forget Vicente's pinpoint cross and Pandiani's expert positioning. Based on this brief display, Pandiani looks more than capable of filling Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink's boots."

On Deportivo's sideline, coach Javier Irureta felt the weight of the moment.

His stomach churned with unease.

Something was off. He had miscalculated, and badly.

Coming into this match, Irureta had assessed the individual quality of players like Pandiani, Vicente, Joaquín, and Deco. But he had underestimated Lucio and Evra.

Especially Evra.

A striker-turned-left-back had not only held his own but had been instrumental in the build-up to the game's first goal.

Irureta was unsettled. Even more troubling was the creeping feeling of uncertainty.

The unknown.

He didn't know enough about this remodeled Atlético. He didn't understand Yang Hao's methods or the full potential of these players.

"He seems to have drilled his team well," said assistant coach Francisco Melo, breaking Irureta's train of thought.

Irureta nodded mechanically. "Yes, surprisingly well."

For Irureta, who had witnessed many of Europe's top coaches struggle with team overhauls, this level of cohesion so early in the season was almost unthinkable.

How had Yang Hao pulled this off?

While Arrigo Sacchi, Claudio Ranieri, and other elite managers had struggled to rebuild teams under similar circumstances, Yang Hao seemed to have achieved the impossible.

And if this was the result after just one summer, what would Atlético look like in a few months?

Yang Hao didn't give Irureta much time to dwell on those thoughts.

On the touchline, Yang Hao stepped forward into the technical area, applauding his players for their efforts. Then, in a bold and unmistakable gesture, he waved his arm forward.

Push up. Press higher.

Deportivo's players barely had time to regroup before Atlético's pressing intensified.

The rest of the game promised to be a war.

"Fight as you forge."

This was Yang Hao's philosophy.

He believed that only through constant refinement in live games—tweaking and adapting tactics—could his team steadily improve its competitiveness and allow players to unleash their full potential.

Riding the momentum of an early goal, Yang Hao decisively signaled his team to press higher and implement a high-pressure game.

He wanted to see how well this tactical approach would hold up against the formidable Deportivo La Coruña.

Initially, things were chaotic, and Deportivo managed a few counterattacks. But as the game progressed, Atlético's tactics began to show their effectiveness.

Whether it was the towering forward Walter Pandiani at the frontline, the orchestrating Deco just behind, or the fleet-footed wingers Vicente and Joaquín, everyone was committed to the high press.

The coordination wasn't seamless yet, but it showed glimpses of promise and structure.

Behind this attacking quartet stood the midfield enforcers Thomas Gravesen and Rubén Baraja, a robust duo combining strength, mobility, and impressive passing abilities. Their relentless running and physicality made Deportivo's playmaker Djalminha's life miserable.

One of Irureta's long-standing frustrations with Djalminha had been the Brazilian's inclination to over-dribble. While his forward play was dazzling, his ability to connect the flanks left much to be desired.

That flaw was ruthlessly exposed in this match.

Atlético's relentless pressing cut off Deportivo's attacking flanks. Their wingers found themselves isolated, unable to link effectively with Djalminha or create meaningful chances.

Adding to Deportivo's woes, the departure of Flávio Conceição to Real Madrid had destabilized their once-reliable double-pivot midfield setup.

In contrast, Deco shone in Atlético's revamped 4-2-3-1 formation.

The Genius of Deco

Many in Yang Hao's previous life hailed Deco as an all-around midfielder, someone capable of both defending and attacking with finesse. Others noted his knack for scoring goals as a No. 10.

But Deco's true brilliance lay in his efficiency.

His dribbling was smooth, his technical ability top-notch, yet he rarely indulged in unnecessary flair. Every move carried intent, whether defending or attacking.

Deco had a sharp footballing IQ, always aware of his role on the pitch. His intelligence allowed him to run tirelessly but with purpose, positioning himself perfectly to facilitate quick transitions.

Few recognized how masterful his passes were. Deco consistently delivered the ball with precision and timing, allowing teammates to not only control it comfortably but seamlessly execute their next move.

Even Johan Cruyff, the legendary Barcelona coach, once remarked that Deco's passing was an exceedingly rare skill in football history.

To Cruyff, the heart of Barcelona's famed "Dream Team II" wasn't Ronaldinho but Deco.

Unfortunately, Deco's unquantifiable qualities—his nuanced passing and decision-making—were often overlooked by fans and media. Unlike flashy attackers, his contributions were subtle, yet they defined games.

In Yang Hao's 4-2-3-1 system, Deco was entrusted with the No. 10 role and given complete freedom to operate. Yang Hao was confident that Deco's intelligence and precision would deliver dividends.

At the Estadio Vicente Calderón and on televisions across Spain, fans were left stunned.

Before the game, speculation abounded about how badly Atlético might lose. Would Deportivo, the reigning La Liga champions, repeat last season's demolition job at the Calderón?

Even Atlético's own fans were nervous, bracing for the worst.

But what unfolded was unimaginable.

Not only did Atlético score first, but they also dominated Deportivo, pinning the champions in their own half for prolonged periods.

For nearly 10 minutes, Deportivo couldn't advance past the halfway line.

This was beyond shocking—it was absurd!

This was Deportivo La Coruña, the reigning La Liga champions.

And Atlético? A club that narrowly avoided relegation last season, endured a summer of upheaval, and was now dismissed by many as relegation fodder.

Yet, Atlético Madrid was outplaying Deportivo La Coruña.

If it weren't for the fact that everyone was watching it unfold live, no one would have believed it.

As the first half drew to a close, Atlético maintained their relentless assault.

Joaquín, charging down the right flank, dribbled past Deportivo's Romero and surged into the penalty area. His low cross found Pandiani in the center, but the Uruguayan's first-time shot was parried by goalkeeper Songo'o for a corner.

Deco stepped up to take the ensuing corner kick. His delivery was pinpoint, curling into the six-yard box.

Up rose Lucio, leaping like a titan to meet the ball. With a thunderous header, he powered it into the back of the net.

2–0!

Last season, set-piece defending was one of Atlético's glaring weaknesses. Yet now, they were scoring from corners with clinical precision.

As Lucio celebrated amidst the deafening cheers of the home crowd, the scoreboard ticked over to the 45th minute.

Deportivo coach Javier Irureta sat frozen on the bench.

His mind raced, trying to process the transformation of this Atlético team.

How had they become this organized? This aggressive?

And how was Yang Hao—an inexperienced coach—managing to outplay one of the strongest teams in Spain?

On the touchline, Yang Hao exuded confidence, gesturing animatedly to his players, urging them to maintain their intensity.

Irureta couldn't deny it anymore: this Atlético was no longer the relegation battlers of old.

Yang Hao had forged a new beast.

At halftime, the away team's locker room was dead silent.

Just last season, in this very room, there had been boisterous celebrations during the break, reveling in their goals.

But now, every player sat with their heads down, like defeated roosters.

As the reigning La Liga champions, their first-half performance was utterly disgraceful.

"That damn Frenchman," Victor Sánchez finally broke the silence. "He keeps cursing me nonstop! I told him my name is Victor, but he insists on calling me Juanma and saying he's going to kill me. Can he even understand Spanish?"

His voice carried a mix of frustration and deflection, trying to pin his poor first-half showing on something external.

Evra, however, had played like a madman. Despite his small stature, his relentless defensive and offensive energy was nothing short of insane.

And his stamina? Unreal.

He reminded everyone of Edgar Davids, the Dutch "Pitbull," rampaging down the flank like a wild boar.

Victor's complaints opened the floodgates, and the rest of the team joined in to air their frustrations.

Djalminha griped about Gravesen's rough play, blaming the leniency of the referee for favoring the home team. Makaay lamented that Lucio was "all brawn, no brain."

Left-winger Fran chimed in with a tactical suggestion:

"The midfield needs to provide more support upfront. One of the holding midfielders should push higher to share the defensive load and create some combinations."

He felt stranded on the left wing, receiving little to no support.

Djalminha's tunnel-visioned approach—pushing forward without much regard for the flanks—had become glaringly apparent.

As Atlético's double-pivot midfield, Gravesen and Baraja suffocated Djalminha effectively, isolating Deportivo's wings from any meaningful connection.

Hearing Fran's suggestion, Mauro Silva glanced at his midfield partner Jokanović. Both shared a bitter smile.

They would've loved it if someone else could step into their shoes and try stopping Deco.

The Brazilian midfielder was proving to be a massive headache.

His movements weren't flashy, but they were calculated and unnerving. Every time he got the ball, he created a sense of danger, making Deportivo's defense nervous.

What was worse, Deco was everywhere—his large range of activity made him nearly impossible to pin down.

Silva and Jokanović both knew the truth: if one of them pushed higher, Deco would likely tear them apart.

But saying that out loud would sound like making excuses.

Deco wasn't the kind of player whose brilliance could be immediately understood by everyone. His impact was subtle, yet game-defining.

"You know," Fran finally muttered, "this Atlético team is downright bizarre. They were a complete disaster last season, and now, after just one summer, they've transformed entirely. And that high-press style of theirs… it's insane. How long can they even keep that up?"

The room fell silent again.

Nobody had an answer, because Atlético seemed to have boundless energy.

But more troubling than their stamina was their tactical coherence.

Throughout the first half, Deportivo struggled to create meaningful chances. Meanwhile, Atlético repeatedly sliced through their defense with lightning-fast counterattacks, constantly threatening the goal.

In fact, Atlético's goalkeeper, Edwin van der Sar, had been the most relaxed player on the pitch.

Victor Sánchez let out a helpless sigh.

"How is this a relegation team? If every relegation team in La Liga played like Atlético, we'd all be doomed."

The media had labeled Atlético as relegation candidates for the upcoming season.

But judging by their performance tonight, calling them a relegation team was nothing short of absurd.

Their high-press system, particularly during the 28th to 37th minute, had suffocated Deportivo completely, making it nearly impossible to move the ball past midfield.

Of course, Atlético's players weren't yet fully accustomed to this style of play, and their coordination still had room for improvement.

But even in its current state, it was causing Deportivo immense discomfort.

What would happen once they perfected it?

In the adjacent coach's room, Irureta listened to the players' discussions with a heavy heart. Regret was starting to set in.

He regretted not bringing Atlético's "Three Musketeers" with him to Deportivo.

He had underestimated Atlético—and Yang Hao.

Irureta initially thought this match would be an easy win, but it was now painfully clear that Yang Hao had achieved far more in integrating his team than anyone had anticipated.

Even Evra, a converted forward playing as a left-back, had put in an eye-catching performance.

At 0-2 down at halftime, Irureta knew the match was slipping away.

Even more unsettling was the fact that Atlético's players showed no signs of fatigue as they left the pitch.

This confirmed rumors Irureta had heard: Yang Hao had hired two fitness coaches, one of whom was a Uruguayan with a background in rugby.

Combining this with Lucio's overpowering physical duels against Makaay, Irureta began to understand the new Atlético.

Still, he steadied his emotions and walked into the players' room.

Even if the odds were stacked against them, Deportivo needed to finish this game with dignity—and keep their hopes alive for the return leg at Riazor.

Meanwhile, in Atlético's locker room, Yang Hao addressed his players directly.

"One major issue," he began, without sugarcoating, "is that we completely lost control of our rhythm in the first half. It was all fast, fast, and more fast!"

"I've said it before: transition play must be fast. The point of playing fast is to exploit timing mismatches and strike before the opponent can organize their defense, delivering a decisive blow. But..."

Yang Hao deliberately emphasized his tone.

"If we transition and realize we can't create those mismatches or find a threatening opportunity, then we need to slow down. Hold possession, reorganize, and find another opening. It's not about swinging wildly every time!"

To underscore his point, Yang Hao presented a simple statistic: Atlético's first-half possession rate was just over 30%.

At this stage in European football, advanced data tracking systems like OPTA didn't exist yet. OPTA wouldn't emerge until around 2004. Atlético collected and calculated all its data manually, which made it rather crude.

However, even basic statistics had their advantages—they made problems easier to see.

For example, Yang Hao's point: Atlético had just over 30% possession in the first half. While the exact figure was unclear, the team had undeniably dominated both the flow of the match and the chances created.

Why?

As Yang Hao explained, it was because Atlético launched fast breaks regardless of whether there was a genuine opportunity.

"This is an incredibly foolish and crude approach, wasting effort for no tactical gain. Sure, it tires out the opposition, but it also drains our own stamina without achieving our goals."

"We have to play smarter, not just harder. Think while you play, always observe, anticipate what the opponent wants to do, and then don't give it to them. If they want us to play fast, we slow down. If they want us to slow down, we speed up. Keep them out of their comfort zone, and we'll win!"

Yang Hao turned his attention to Deco, Gravesen, and Baraja—the midfield trio who functioned as the team's backbone, controlling the tempo and direction of attacks.

"I've told you this before: if the opponent has organized their defense, don't force it. Focus on shifting the play, constantly moving the ball to stretch their defensive lines and force them to run. As soon as their defense starts moving, gaps will inevitably appear."

"And another thing: whether you're forwards, wingers, or midfielders, experiment more with combinations in the half-spaces."

After highlighting the team's shortcomings, Yang Hao immediately pivoted to praise. He commended the players for their impressive first-half performance, expressing how proud he was of their efforts. But he also encouraged them to aim higher in the second half.

"Last season, on this very pitch, we conceded three goals to Deportivo."

Yang Hao smiled warmly, instilling confidence in his players.

"Tonight, on the same pitch, let's return the favor with three goals of our own."

"Let's go!"

The players' spirits were visibly lifted.

After their strong first-half showing, confidence and determination were surging through the team.

When the referee's whistle signaled for the players to return to the pitch, Yang Hao personally sent off each player with words of encouragement.

When it was Evra's turn, the Frenchman glanced slyly at Juanma Lillo and brazenly said to Yang Hao, "Boss, that trick you taught me really works!"

Yang Hao coughed awkwardly, sneaking a guilty glance at Lillo. If looks could kill, Evra might've been launched out of the locker room.

"Are you trying to stir things up on purpose?"

As Evra passed Lillo, he cheekily reminded him again, "I'm a forward, remember? A forward!"

Lillo, choosing to maintain his composure, acted as if he hadn't heard.

"So, the insults from Evra... that was your doing?"

Back in the dugout, Lillo shot Yang Hao a suspicious glance.

"Rubbish. Do I seem like that kind of person?"

Yang Hao flatly denied it, his tone utterly serious. After all, there were no witnesses, and mere accusations couldn't tarnish his name.

"I just told Evra to find a way to channel his frustration and shift his focus. How was I supposed to know he'd resort to such a cheap trick? Absolutely outrageous."

Changing the subject, Yang Hao suddenly smirked. "But honestly, Juanma, the kid played brilliantly in the first half. Look at that tackle—so ferocious! If I were Victor Sánchez, I'd be furious too."

"Still, he won the ball," Yang Hao chuckled.

"That may be true, but he curses me with every tackle! I—" Lillo couldn't hide his frustration.

"I've said it before: part of your assistant coach salary includes a 'verbal abuse bonus.'"

Lillo cast a helpless glance at Yang Hao, convinced that he was behind it all.

Soon, the intensity of the match resumed, pulling both men back into its gripping rhythm. By the 58th minute, the game was in full swing.

When Baraja decided to stay at Atlético, he never imagined the team could become this strong.

Whether in friendlies or daily training, he had noticed the team improving. But to dominate Deportivo, the reigning La Liga champions, so thoroughly? That was beyond his wildest dreams.

He believed his teammates felt the same way.

Before the match, everyone was cautious, afraid of making costly mistakes.

But as the game progressed, as they settled into their rhythm, they began to realize something remarkable—Deportivo wasn't as unbeatable as they had feared.

Slowly but surely, Atlético began executing their game plan.

A telling moment came just before the start of the second half, as the players lined up to re-enter the pitch. Gravesen pulled Baraja aside.

"When you see an opportunity, go forward. I've got your back!"

Baraja was momentarily stunned, but the sincerity in the Dane's expression filled him with a surge of confidence.

When the second half began, and Atlético weathered Deportivo's initial attacks, they began pressing forward again.

Gravesen repeatedly urged Baraja to push up and support the attack.

By the 58th minute, Baraja saw his chance.

Joaquín had failed to break through on the right flank and passed back. The ball rolled into an open space, landing at Baraja's feet.

The Spanish midfielder stopped the ball with his right foot, quickly scanning the field. Deportivo's defensive formation had shifted, clustering on the right side where Deco and Joaquín were positioned.

Switch the play. Create gaps.

Yang Hao's halftime instructions echoed in his mind.

Baraja immediately turned and looked to the left.

Sure enough, it was wide open!

Baraja wasn't known for long passes—he preferred short, safe passes within 20 meters.

But this time, he saw an opportunity and struck a mid-range pass, sending the ball diagonally toward the left flank.

Evra charged forward, meeting the ball with precision. However, Victor Sánchez had recovered in time to confront him. Forced to turn his back on goal, Evra shielded the ball.

Most assumed Evra had lost the chance to attack and would pass back. Even Gravesen began moving into position for support.

But then, in a sudden burst of creativity, Evra pulled off a sharp turn, dragging the ball past Victor Sánchez as if the Spaniard were a stationary cone.

The unexpected move left everyone stunned.

Having beaten Sánchez, Evra darted diagonally toward the center, drawing the attention of Djalminha and Mauro Silva. With Sánchez trailing him, three defenders converged on Evra.

Yet, before the triangle could close in, Evra angled a pass backward and kept running forward, muttering under his breath:

"I am a forward! I am a forward!"

Gravesen, left unmarked by Evra's decoy run, spotted an open channel leading to Pandiani. Without hesitation, he delivered a direct pass toward the Uruguayan striker near the penalty arc.

Pandiani, with two defenders marking him, attempted to control the ball but took a slightly heavy first touch.

"Here!"

Deco had slipped into a perfect position. Pandiani reacted quickly, nudging the ball to him.

Deco shifted the ball to his left, dodging an advancing defender, and delivered a perfectly weighted pass to the left side of the box.

The ball landed precisely in Evra's path. Charging at full speed, the Frenchman took a touch into the penalty area, using his momentum to outpace the veteran Donato.

Donato reacted quickly, but his 37-year-old legs couldn't match Evra's explosive speed. Half a body's width was all Evra needed.

And in the penalty area, half a step is lethal.

Reaching the ball at the edge of the six-yard box, Evra struck it low and hard with his left foot. The ball traveled in a straight line, kissing the inside of the far netting before coming to a stop inside Deportivo's goal.

3–0!

The Calderón erupted into chaos.

Over 50,000 Atlético fans screamed in jubilation.

Evra, without a moment's hesitation, turned and sprinted toward the sidelines. Ignoring all attempts to intercept him, he ran straight to the home team's dugout and stopped in front of Juanma Lillo.

"I. AM. A. FORWARD!"

Yang Hao, standing in the technical area, couldn't suppress his laughter. Lillo's mortified expression was priceless.

Evra, the 19-year-old troublemaker, was living up to his reputation.

But truth be told, that goal was stunning.

This kid was playing out of his mind!

By the 65th minute, Deportivo's coach Irureta made a substitution, replacing Makaay with Tristán.

The Dutch striker had been neutralized by the combined efforts of Lucio and Pochettino, unable to capitalize on any of his signature scoring opportunities.

Yang Hao responded by bringing on Reyes for Vicente.

From observing friendlies and training sessions, Yang Hao had developed a deeper understanding of Vicente's capabilities.

The Spanish winger Vicente had a noticeable limitation in his game: he was far better at delivering crosses from the flank than cutting inside. When Evra made his forward run earlier, Vicente had stayed wide, sticking to his natural tendencies.

This wasn't surprising—Joaquín on the right side also preferred hugging the touchline. It was a hallmark of traditional Spanish wingers.

Reyes, however, was different. He was much more adept at diagonal movements, making him more suitable for interior play than Vicente. Yang Hao brought Reyes on to further assess his players.

Facing Deportivo, a formidable opponent, in a Supercopa match with a 3–0 lead was a rare opportunity for experimentation.

"You notice something about Baraja?" Yang Hao asked.

"He's too steady, plays it safe, like he's afraid to take risks."

Juanma Lillo, still nursing his bruised ego from Evra's antics, grumbled back, "Isn't that a good thing?"

Yang Hao chuckled, fully aware of Lillo's lingering resentment. "It depends on how you use it."

Safe players like Baraja were reliable and unlikely to make glaring mistakes. But they lacked the unpredictability and daring of craftier, more opportunistic players who could sometimes take calculated risks to change the game.

"The analysis from our lab says Baraja's ideal passing range is around 20 meters. He's not very tall, not particularly fast, but his burst acceleration is excellent, and he's incredibly composed under pressure. He's better suited to pushing forward rather than staying back."

"Gravesen, on the other hand, is an atypical Nordic player. Rugged and fierce, sure, but technically sound—his organization and distribution are arguably better than Baraja's. However, he's slower, less explosive, and not as agile."

Yang Hao nodded, agreeing with Lillo's analysis. Gravesen was a tough, technical midfielder—a type prized in the Premier League. But in La Liga, where finesse and tactical versatility often reigned supreme, he was competent yet unremarkable compared to the likes of Cambiasso or Xabi Alonso.

After Evra's brilliant third goal, the match was effectively over.

Deportivo tried valiantly to create chances, but Yang Hao kept the midfield trio of Gravesen, Baraja, and Deco intact, aiming to build their chemistry further.

He made some tactical substitutions later on. Aguilera replaced Belletti at right-back—a position the Atlético captain had played before.

The final substitution, however, was symbolic. Yang Hao brought on Kiko to replace Pandiani.

Kiko, once the darling of Atlético, had struggled for relevance under Yang Hao's leadership. Rumors of a rift between the two had swirled in the media, with speculation that Kiko had been sidelined permanently.

But as Kiko stood beside Yang Hao before coming on, it was clear to everyone that there was no bad blood.

The truth, however, was bittersweet.

Kiko's entry into the game marked a noticeable drop in Atlético's attacking threat. Despite his best efforts, Kiko simply couldn't keep up with the pace and intensity of the game.

It was a harsh reality, laid bare before the 50,000 Atlético fans at the Calderón: Kiko was no longer the player he once was.

The injury he'd suffered in Barcelona had robbed him of his prime.

During his time on the pitch, Deportivo gained a foothold, launching a few credible counterattacks.

Tristán, more versatile than Makaay, demonstrated why he was favored by Irureta. As a striker, he was technically gifted, capable of holding up play and bringing others into the attack.

Yang Hao understood now why, in another timeline, Irureta had sold Makaay despite his goal-scoring prowess. Deportivo already had Tristán, a complete forward who fit the team's needs perfectly.

As the referee blew the final whistle, the stadium erupted into thunderous applause.

Atlético had triumphed 3–0 in the first leg of the Supercopa, exacting revenge for last season's humiliating defeat to Deportivo at the Calderón.

It was a resounding statement.

Yang Hao's Atlético was not the same team that had narrowly escaped relegation last season.

At the post-match press conference, Yang Hao was bold and unapologetic.

"Everyone predicted that we'd be fighting to avoid relegation this season. But let me be clear—our goal was never survival."

"This match speaks for itself."

When Yang Hao sat in the press conference room at the Calderón Stadium for the first time as Atlético Madrid's head coach, facing a crowd of journalists from dozens of Spanish and European outlets, the atmosphere was electric with surprise.

First, there was his age—just 25.

On the pitch, that was the prime age for a player to make a name for himself. Yet Yang Hao had already proven himself as a coach, with a Copa del Rey trophy and a miraculous escape from relegation under his belt.

Second, his appearance. Young, stylish, and undeniably handsome, he exuded charm in a custom-tailored suit. His good looks weren't just notable among the managerial ranks—dominated by older, less photogenic figures—but could hold their own among players. Combined with the mystique of his role, it was clear why Yang Hao had become such a phenomenon.

Media reports suggested that Atlético wasn't paying Yang Hao a paltry sum either. His contract reportedly guaranteed him a €1.5 million post-tax salary for the season, provided the team avoided relegation—a figure comfortably in the middle range for La Liga managers.

For comparison: Vicente del Bosque's salary at Real Madrid, even after winning the Champions League, was €2 million post-tax. Arsenal's Arsène Wenger, whom Florentino Pérez courted over the summer, was earning €2.8 million.

Yang Hao's deal also included bonuses for qualifying for European competitions, winning titles, and progressing in tournaments like the UEFA Cup and Copa del Rey. Within Atlético's structure, Yang Hao's package was among the highest, even compared to the players.

Young, handsome, successful, and well-compensated—Yang Hao was a star on the rise.

Reports swirled that the bar Yang Hao and Miguel Gil frequented had become a magnet for Spain's entertainment elite, including top-tier models and actresses eager to meet him.

This wasn't surprising. Football had always been a star-making machine, and Yang Hao was akin to the managerial equivalent of David Beckham. For women dreaming of being the next "Victoria," Yang Hao was the ultimate catch.

But in the press room, Yang Hao seemed uninterested in the trappings of celebrity. Instead, he stuck to his signature approach: bold, provocative, and headline-grabbing. He declared flatly that Atlético Madrid's goal this season was never mere survival.

Yang Hao clearly had grander ambitions, and the journalists couldn't have been more delighted. They were tired of dull, cautious clichés from coaches; Yang Hao's bravado was a breath of fresh air.

Naturally, questions about Real Madrid couldn't be avoided. Yang Hao had been a topic of discussion even during Real Madrid's presidential election this summer.

"I honestly don't know why I was mentioned so much," Yang Hao quipped, flashing a sly smile. "I'm starting to wonder if I should charge them a licensing fee for using my name."

His next remark sent the room into a frenzy.

"Some people say one thing and do another. But I'm no liar—they're just following the exact plan I laid out earlier."

The room buzzed with shock.

Was Yang Hao accusing Florentino Pérez of copying him?

The insinuation was clear, and the journalists pounced on the bait.

Real Madrid's summer splurge—signing superstars like Figo and Zidane—was apparently part of Yang Hao's alleged "plan." Was there an untold story here? A scandal? A feud?

Yang Hao wasn't done stirring the pot.

He acknowledged Real Madrid's incredible squad, especially after adding Figo and Zidane, with rumors swirling about Vieira possibly joining as well.

"Yes, I believe Real Madrid has the strongest squad in the world right now. They're capable of competing for every title available."

The praise surprised the reporters. Was Yang Hao really giving props to his fiercest rival?

Then came the twist.

"But La Liga is full of teams ready to challenge Real Madrid. Look at Deportivo under Irureta, Mallorca led by Aragonés, or Valencia with Cúper at the helm."

"And of course, there's us—Atlético Madrid."

The final line landed like a thunderclap.

The reporters erupted, some even laughing aloud at Yang Hao's audacity.

"Mr. Yang, are you declaring war on Real Madrid?" one asked eagerly.

"Why not?" Yang Hao replied without hesitation. "We have the strength and the experience to challenge and beat them."

The room was momentarily stunned before it clicked.

Yang Hao's unbeaten record since taking over Atlético included victories against heavyweights like Deportivo, Barcelona, Valencia, and yes, Real Madrid.

Now, fresh off a commanding 3–0 win over defending champions Deportivo in the Supercopa, Yang Hao's bold proclamation seemed less like arrogance and more like a declaration of intent.

The media wasted no time amplifying Yang Hao's words, spreading them across Spain by the following morning.

Fans and pundits alike were stunned.

Real Madrid had just signed two of the world's biggest stars, Figo and Zidane. How could anyone, let alone a manager of a team once destined for relegation, dare to challenge them?

Even the most confident coaches, like Irureta and Cúper, had acknowledged Real Madrid's dominance.

This wasn't idle talk.

In the year 2000, football was still heavily reliant on individual brilliance rather than intricate tactical systems. With players like Figo and Zidane at their peak, Real Madrid had assembled a squad capable of dismantling any team.

But here was Yang Hao, undeterred.

"Atlético Madrid is ready to fight," he had said, his voice brimming with conviction.

The stage was set. Yang Hao had thrown down the gauntlet, and all of Spain—and Europe—was watching.

Yang Hao boldly stepped forward and declared to the world: he and his Atlético Madrid were declaring war on Real Madrid!

This proclamation immediately sent shockwaves through Spanish football.

The challenge perfectly encapsulated Atlético's fiery and defiant spirit, continuing the club's long-standing rivalry with their cross-city nemesis. Unsurprisingly, Atlético fans were thrilled. Many believed that their coach should possess exactly this kind of boldness and charisma.

When journalists approached Enrique Cerezo for comment, the typically reserved Atlético president offered rare and unequivocal support for Yang Hao.

"We have full confidence in the new season, in Yang Hao, and in his team," Cerezo stated.

"During the club's most challenging moments, Yang Hao led us to victory over numerous formidable opponents. All of us believe he'll continue to deliver surprises this season."

Yet, for all the enthusiasm, some noted that Atlético's opening match of the new season would see them host Real Oviedo—a team coached by Yang Hao's predecessor, Radomir Antić.

Both teams had barely escaped relegation the previous season, and both were considered favorites for the drop this year. Adding to the intrigue, the fraught relationship between Yang Hao and Antić lent the fixture considerable narrative weight.

Some media outlets even claimed that Antić had privately described the game as his chance to set the record straight.

"He wants to prove to the world that Atlético's survival last season was his doing—that he laid the foundation for their success," one report stated.

"He plans to expose Yang Hao at the Calderón."

After setting off a media firestorm, Yang Hao calmly left the stage.

Internal surveys within the club revealed that the players were energized by his remarks.

At 20-something years old, they were brimming with confidence and fearlessness. Real Madrid's galaxy of stars? Impressive, but so what? At their age, nothing seemed impossible.

Having achieved the morale boost he wanted, Yang Hao shifted his focus. For now, Real Madrid wasn't Atlético's priority. Even the Spanish Super Cup, where they had just defeated Deportivo 3-0, took a back seat in Yang Hao's mind.

His real concern was September's grueling schedule.

Traditionally, early September marked international duty for national teams. With many of their big-name players sold off, Atlético now had few international call-ups.

Among the exceptions was Rubén Baraja, who had earned his first call-up to Spain's senior squad. His invitation was the result of an impressive performance late last season and during preseason training. After every major tournament, the Spanish national team looked to integrate fresh talent—and this year, Baraja had made the cut.

Meanwhile, Edwin van der Sar and Mauricio Pochettino remained mainstays of their respective national teams (Netherlands and Argentina).

What worried Yang Hao more than the senior internationals, however, were the youth call-ups. Atlético's squad was teeming with young talent.

This created a headache when paired with September's packed schedule.

On September 10, Atlético would host Real Oviedo in their league opener. Just three days later, they'd travel to Slovenia to face NK Olimpija Ljubljana in the first leg of the UEFA Cup's opening knockout round.

The Slovenian team, last season's domestic league runners-up, was no pushover. But for cross-border matches like this, the biggest challenges weren't always on the pitch—they were logistical.

Here's an example:

After facing Oviedo on the 10th, Atlético's squad would have to fly to Ljubljana for the UEFA Cup match on the 13th.

At the time, Slovenia was not yet part of the Schengen Area. Moreover, Madrid didn't have direct flights to Ljubljana. Even their sponsor, Emirates Airlines, didn't offer that route.

This left Atlético with two options:

Charter a private flight—a costly choice for a match of limited financial importance.

Use commercial flights—which would require layovers in Paris, London, or Frankfurt, extending travel time to seven or eight hours.

When you factored in transit to and from airports, flight schedules, and match times, it became clear that the real challenge wasn't the 90 minutes on the field but the ordeal of getting there and back.

After playing in Slovenia, Atlético would return to Madrid and then immediately travel to Valladolid for a league match on the 17th.

Yang Hao found himself juggling concerns about international duty (especially the long journeys faced by South American players) and the rigorous demands of this schedule. He had already dispatched scouts to analyze NK Olimpija Ljubljana and assess local conditions, including accommodations and dining options.

Meanwhile, the coaching staff worked on contingency plans.

With such a dense calendar, squad rotation was non-negotiable. The real test was finding ways to maintain performance levels while shuffling the lineup.

This, Yang Hao realized, was why so many teams struggled when they qualified for European competitions. A club that excelled with a single focus often faltered when tasked with competing on multiple fronts.

It wasn't just about squad depth; it was about the entire organization's ability to handle the increased workload—from logistics to player management.

Atlético, for all their progress, were still new to this.

But Yang Hao wasn't one to give up. Skipping matches or treating competitions lightly wasn't in his nature.

As the coaching staff finalized preparations for the upcoming fixtures, César Mendiódo, head of the scouting department, walked into Yang Hao's office with an exciting update.

"We found Messi!"

The video quality wasn't the best, but on the dated monitor, the footage was still clear enough.

The screen showed a football match. A short player was up against defenders much taller than him, who looked nearly like adults. Yet, with his dazzling footwork, the small player effortlessly dribbled past them.

Not just once. Again and again, in every duel, the shorter boy left his opponents in the dust, drawing applause each time.

From the background of the recording, faint shouts could be heard: "Well done, León!"

The video, clearly edited, moved to another match. This time, the opposition seemed younger, likely around 14-16 years old. Even so, the diminutive player dominated, weaving through defenders as if they were training cones. He consistently dribbled past them, with his play best described as "effortlessly magical."

By the end of the match, the boy's team had won 15-0.

He alone scored 10 goals.

"Wow, unbelievable! Watching this kid play gave me goosebumps!"

Juanma Lillo, utterly astonished, couldn't hide his disbelief.

It was simply unreal.

"This boy's from South America, isn't he?" Lillo guessed.

Only South American players seemed capable of such technical brilliance, especially the kind of dribbling that appeared so casual yet deadly effective.

César Mendiódo, the scout who brought the video, glanced at Yang Hao and chuckled. "He's from Argentina, from River Plate."

"A River Plate player?" Lillo was intrigued. "No wonder—this boy's a prodigy."

"No," Mendiódo corrected, "he's just on trial at River Plate. Our scout followed him and captured this footage."

In truth, the story was more complex.

Mendiódo knew about the boy because Yang Hao had specifically instructed him to look into a young talent playing in the youth ranks of Argentina's Newell's Old Boys.

When asked how he knew about the boy, Yang Hao had mentioned a clip he'd seen years ago. It was from the 1996 International Friendship Cup in Lima, Peru, featuring youth teams of players around 10 years old.

Newell's Old Boys had excelled in Argentina's domestic tournaments, earning a spot in the event, where they clinched the championship. Among the standout players was a nine-year-old named Lionel Messi, whose brilliance was unforgettable.

Yang Hao had urged Mendiódo to investigate Messi's development.

Upon reaching Newell's Old Boys, the scout discovered Messi wasn't there; he'd gone to River Plate for trials. Adjusting their plan, the scouting team shifted focus to River Plate in Buenos Aires, where they captured the footage now playing before them.

"How old is he?" Lillo asked, his interest growing.

"Thirteen."

"Too short. He's much smaller than his teammates."

"Yes," Mendiódo confirmed. "At Newell's, they said he's always played against older kids. Players his age—or even a year or two older—simply can't challenge him."

Hearing this, Lillo became visibly excited. "Then we need to sign him immediately! This kid's a genius!"

Yang Hao stayed silent, though he felt a rush of satisfaction. Anyone watching Messi play could see his talent, even in just a minute or two.

However, Mendiódo's expression darkened. "There's a problem—he has a medical condition."

"What condition?"

"Messi has growth hormone deficiency."

Lillo's enthusiasm dimmed instantly.

This meant Messi was unlikely to grow taller.

"How could that be?" Lillo shook his head, looking crestfallen.

At this point, Yang Hao broke his silence. "Has he been receiving growth hormone treatments?"

Lillo's eyes lit up. "Yes! Growth hormone—has he been receiving it?"

"Yes," Mendiódo replied. "Since 1997. He's been on consistent treatments."

"How do you know?"

"Messi's father has been very vocal about it. After insurance and subsidies, they're still paying about $1,000 a month for his treatment."

Pausing briefly, Mendiódo continued, "According to our sources, Messi's father works for a state-owned company in Argentina. For the past two years, he's relied on insurance and union support to cover the costs, but now those aids have ended. They can no longer afford the treatment."

"What about Newell's Old Boys?" Lillo asked, confused. "A club wouldn't let such a talent slip away, not for a few thousand dollars a month."

It seemed an obvious solution—Messi's talent was undeniable, so why not support him?

"Newell's is controlled by local mafias. Messi's older brother, who was also a promising player, once played there but was sold to Córdoba Central by the club's technical director, Pablo Pupo. This sale angered Messi's father, creating bad blood between him and Pupo."

"Currently, Newell's promises to cover Messi's treatment costs, but over the past three years, his family has received just $300. That's why his father took him to River Plate for trials. He's also actively contacting agents and scouts, hoping to attract interest from other clubs."

"And River Plate's response?"

"They've reviewed the situation but say they don't have the budget. Argentina produces many talented kids who don't grow tall, including several already in River Plate's academy. If they cover Messi's expenses, how can they justify not helping the others?"

Everyone in the room fell silent.

The situation suddenly made sense.

Argentina, the land of Diego Maradona, had a long history of producing short, technically gifted players. Fans often celebrated this trait, dubbing new stars as "the next Maradona."

But behind this romanticized narrative lay a harsher reality—Argentina's socio-economic struggles were reflected in its football.

Yang Hao sighed inwardly. He had expected obstacles, but hearing the full details left him both sympathetic and frustrated.

Yet, even now, as the room digested the news, one thought dominated his mind:

"We have to sign him. Whatever it takes."

"Our scouts reported that Messi's father has already contacted renowned agent José María Minguella, who is working to arrange a trial for Messi at Barcelona," explained Mendiódo.

He added, "Minguella was the one who brought Maradona to Barcelona back in the day."

Everyone in the room immediately grasped the implication. If Barça made a move, what chance would Atlético have?

"What are their demands?" Yang Hao asked, cutting straight to the point.

"A house for the family, two jobs, schooling for Messi and his siblings, and a team for his older brother Rodrigo to join. And, of course, coverage for all of Messi's medical treatments," Mendiódo replied, though he sounded uneasy by the time he finished.

The demands felt excessive, even to him.

Lillo frowned.

"Providing a house big enough for the family? That's at least €50,000 a year just for rent. Add two jobs, schools for the kids, and the logistics of securing work visas and navigating the immigration process. Then there's Messi's treatment—it's at least €20,000 a year," Lillo calculated, his tone skeptical.

A quick estimation put the annual costs north of €100,000.

Was that a lot of money?

For Yang Hao, who knew Messi's future achievements, it wasn't just a small sum—it was a bargain. But in the present context, especially for Atlético, it was significant.

After their summer fire sale, Atlético had redirected a significant chunk of their budget into their youth academy. The total allocation for the academy? €5 million.

And that had to cover everything—from running the various youth teams to facilities and scouting.

The club was already making an exceptional effort for other prospects, like Sergio Ramos, investing heavily in their development.

Signing Messi under these conditions?

There was no precedent for this in European football.

If a young player in a club's academy developed a medical issue, teams might step in to help. But signing an outsider—a player with a condition as serious as growth hormone deficiency—was a different matter entirely.

After all, who would take such a risk on a diminutive player destined to remain small and slight?

Even healthy players like David Silva had been turned away by Real Madrid for being "too short and thin."

If even Spain's most technically inclined clubs were so strict, what chance would Messi have in more physical leagues like Serie A, the Premier League, or the Bundesliga?

Yang Hao recalled Messi's autobiography.

He knew that Barcelona's eventual decision to sign Messi had more to do with Minguella's relationship with Barça executive Carles Rexach than anything else.

Even after Messi joined Barça, the terms were far from favorable.

The initial agreement included a non-professional contract for three years, primarily to cover Messi's treatments. It wasn't until 2003 that Messi signed a formal nine-year professional contract, and even then, his salary was paltry.

Messi's breakout performances at the 2005 U-20 World Cup eventually forced Barça to renegotiate and offer him better terms. Until then, the club had dragged its feet on paying for his treatments.

Yang Hao knew that the reality of Messi's signing at Barcelona wasn't as rosy as it was later portrayed.

At the time, Barcelona was in turmoil, barely able to manage its own affairs. While everyone involved in the deal later sought to take credit for Messi's success, the truth was that the club's commitment to Messi had been half-hearted at best.

What if Messi hadn't reached his potential?

"Why is everyone looking at me like that?" Yang Hao asked, breaking the silence.

The room had gone dead quiet. Mendiódo, Lillo, Parales, and the others were all staring at him, waiting for his verdict.

"Messi is extraordinary, but…" Lillo hesitated.

"Have our scouts contact Messi's father. Let's see if they're willing to come to Atlético for a trial. If they're at the end of their rope, they probably won't refuse," Yang Hao decided.

The room was surprised.

If Atlético signed Messi, it would mean significant annual expenses—something that required board approval.

"I'll handle the board," Yang Hao assured them. "César, have the scouts reach out to Messi's father. We need to bring him to Atlético for a trial. A talent like this shouldn't have his potential weighed down by something like this."

Yang Hao's words sounded righteous and moved the others.

Here was a pure football enthusiast, willing to take a stand for the sport!

What they didn't realize was that Yang Hao was grappling with a different concern altogether.

Would Messi's father even consider Atlético?

After all, Atlético didn't have the financial might of Barcelona. The club had just emerged from bankruptcy and carried a tarnished reputation—it wasn't exactly inspiring confidence.

But this was Messi they were talking about.

Having already missed the chance to sign Cristiano Ronaldo, Yang Hao couldn't bear the thought of letting another generational talent slip through his fingers.

Yang Hao made an unexpected trip from Majadahonda to the Calderón Stadium—a rarity that caught the attention of everyone.

Both Enrique Cerezo and Miguel Gil warmly welcomed him, but when Yang Hao brought up the subject of Messi, their surprise was palpable.

An annual expenditure of over €100,000 to gamble on an uncertain future—was it worth it?

In the world of European professional football, investments in players were seldom treated like speculative ventures. On the contrary, football itself was already a high-risk industry, requiring prudence and caution.

Every year, countless "rising stars" failed to realize their potential due to various reasons. Even if Atlético covered Messi's treatment and helped him grow taller, how much would it actually increase his chances of becoming a star?

This was a business decision.

In Yang Hao's previous life and even in this one, it wasn't just European clubs that showed little interest in signing Messi—Argentine clubs were similarly hesitant.

Miguel Gil crunched the numbers: conservatively, a three-year investment would cost €500,000-600,000.

With that amount, Atlético could easily purchase a promising 20-year-old Spanish player, develop him for three years, and potentially sell him at a profit.

From a risk-control perspective, that option was far more secure than signing Messi.

Yang Hao understood Miguel Gil and Enrique Cerezo's perspective. Clubs like Atlético had to count every penny carefully.

Even cash-rich Barcelona in Yang Hao's previous life had hesitated to sign Messi. The difference was that Barcelona used the club's funds, while Atlético would be spending shareholders' money.

Realizing this, Yang Hao decided not to press further.

"Fine. Let's do this: I'll sign Messi myself. I'll cover all his expenses, and naturally, I'll retain his ownership rights," Yang Hao proposed.

His suggestion caught both Miguel Gil and Enrique Cerezo off guard.

"You really believe in Messi that much?" Miguel Gil asked, puzzled.

He found Yang Hao harder to read by the day.

"He's a genius," Yang Hao replied confidently.

"There are many geniuses, Yang," Miguel Gil countered with a wry smile.

He wasn't wrong. For top-flight clubs, talents were everywhere.

"He's different," Yang Hao insisted.

The two executives summoned Fernando Vázquez, the club's finance director, to evaluate the feasibility of Yang Hao's plan.

Vázquez immediately flagged the proposal as a legal gray area but noted it wasn't unprecedented. In football transfers, gray areas were commonplace—transfer fees could be inflated or reduced depending on agreements between clubs.

Once Vázquez confirmed there were no major obstacles, Yang Hao felt reassured.

Before leaving, he smiled and warned Miguel Gil and Enrique Cerezo, "You'll regret today's decision."

The two couldn't help but chuckle.

After Yang Hao left, Enrique Cerezo shook his head and sighed, "He's talented, but he gambles too much."

"Still too young," Miguel Gil agreed for once.

He admired Yang Hao's ambition but often disagreed with his methods.

Take Messi, for example—was it necessary?

Even if Messi turned out to be a star, how much would he ultimately be worth?

Wouldn't it be easier to let Argentine clubs develop him and then buy him later?

Why the rush?

As Yang Hao walked out of the Calderón Stadium, he couldn't help but smile bitterly.

He had anticipated this outcome.

In his previous life, Messi's father had approached countless agents and clubs across Europe, submitting reports to anyone who would listen. A few clubs showed mild interest—Como in Italy even invited Messi for a trial—but none were willing to pay for his treatment.

It wasn't surprising.

In 2000, over €100,000 a year was an exorbitant sum for a 13-year-old player whose potential would take three or four years to even begin to reveal itself.

Even Barcelona had hesitated. Internal opposition was strong, and their eventual agreement to cover Messi's treatment was largely due to private arrangements between agents and club executives.

When Messi's father later complained about unpaid treatment bills, it was clear Barça's commitment had been half-hearted at best.

As for Atlético? They had even less reason to take the risk.

Miguel Gil was more interested in selling the club than building it. He preferred managing his suburban farm—a venture Yang Hao had once tried to dissuade him from pursuing.

Enrique Cerezo, on the other hand, was entrenched in the Spanish film industry and saw football as more of a side business.

In Yang Hao's previous life, Atlético's meteoric rise wasn't due to exceptional management by Gil or Cerezo. Instead, it stemmed from their partnership with super-agent Jorge Mendes, who brought a slew of high-quality players to the club.

Of course, Diego Simeone's arrival marked the real transformation of Atlético into Spain's "third force."

During those years, Atlético had also been actively selling shares.

If Jesús Gil eventually left, Yang Hao wouldn't be surprised to see Miguel Gil sell the club for a hefty sum.

Miguel was a good friend, but not a visionary businessman, much less an ambitious one.

On this, Jesús Gil's judgment had been spot-on.

Yang Hao, however, remained undeterred.

He instructed the club's scouting team to maintain contact with Messi's family and explore the possibility of bringing him to Atlético for a trial.

Despite the financial challenges and boardroom hesitations, Yang Hao knew this was Messi—a once-in-a-lifetime talent.

Letting Cristiano Ronaldo slip through his grasp was regret enough.

Letting Messi get away as well?

That was a mistake Yang Hao refused to make.

On the evening of August 27th, Deportivo La Coruña's Riazor Stadium hosted the second leg of the Spanish Super Cup.

With Atlético Madrid holding a 3-0 lead from the first leg, Yang Hao approached the away match with caution, fielding his strongest lineup, which was nearly identical to the one used in the first leg.

Deportivo, on the other hand, made several changes. Juan Carlos Valerón, Enrique Capdevila, and José Molina all started, with Portuguese international Christovao replacing Donato to partner Naybet in central defense. The rest of the lineup remained unchanged.

Despite the adjustments, Atlético immediately seized the initiative at Riazor, launching an aggressive high press.

Even former Atlético players like Valerón and Capdevila were surprised by their old team's transformation. The intensity of Atlético's pressing and their relentless running were far superior to last season.

Just before halftime, Deco delivered a perfectly timed through ball to Walter Pandiani, who burst into the penalty area and fired home.

The Uruguayan striker had now scored in two consecutive matches for Atlético.

Deportivo coach Javier Irureta could only shake his head in frustration. Pandiani, the sharpshooter he had wanted to sign, had been snatched up by Yang Hao instead.

In the second half, Deportivo launched an all-out attack, determined to fight to the end.

However, in the 52nd minute, during an Atlético counterattack, Pandiani played a precise pass behind the defense. Vicente Rodríguez sprinted into the box and calmly slotted the ball into the net with his left foot.

This marked Vicente's first goal for Atlético since joining the club.

With an aggregate score of 5-0, Atlético seemed to have the trophy firmly in their grasp.

In the 60th minute, Yang Hao made his first substitution, bringing on Ricardo Carvalho for Mauricio Pochettino. Shortly after, Esteban Cambiasso replaced Thomas Gravesen, both changes aimed at giving the young players valuable experience.

However, the match took a surprising turn in the 77th and 79th minutes.

Deportivo scored twice in quick succession.

First, substitute Djalminha, who had replaced Valerón, received a pass in the box and scored. Moments later, Diego Tristán outjumped Carvalho to head the ball into the net.

Two goals in three minutes left Atlético unsettled.

In this critical moment, Yang Hao stood on the sideline, calling for calm, while Edwin van der Sar shouted instructions from his goal. Rubén Baraja, wearing the captain's armband, stepped up to steady the team, providing much-needed leadership.

Eventually, Atlético regained their composure and held onto a 2-2 draw.

With a 5-2 aggregate victory, Atlético Madrid secured their first trophy of the season.

After nearly slipping at Riazor, Yang Hao chose not to criticize his players in the post-match dressing room. Instead, he praised them for their performance, emphasizing that earning a draw at the reigning champions' home ground was a commendable achievement.

He reminded them, however, that Atlético was still a work in progress. Player chemistry was still developing, and defensive organization needed improvement.

The following morning, during recovery training, the team conducted a match review—a regular practice under Yang Hao's management.

For Yang Hao, these reviews were crucial for identifying areas of improvement and ensuring the team learned from its mistakes.

This time, he didn't hold back.

He criticized the team's complacency after taking a 5-0 aggregate lead, highlighting how their lack of focus had nearly cost them.

"I need to remind you all: this was just the Spanish Super Cup," Yang Hao said sternly.

"What happens when we make it to the Champions League? What happens in a major final? How will you stay composed and focused under pressure?"

The players were stunned.

Was their coach seriously talking about qualifying for the Champions League? Competing in major finals?

The room fell silent as they took in Yang Hao's rare display of sternness.

"Over the next two weeks, we have a break in the schedule. I'll be traveling, but I expect you to reflect on why you made those mistakes. Those without international duties must be ready to give me your answers when I return. The rest of you, when you come back from your national teams, I want your answers as well."

While Yang Hao was giving his team a dressing down, the Spanish media was full of praise for Atlético Madrid's 5-2 aggregate victory over Deportivo.

On paper, Deportivo had the superior squad.

Yet on the pitch, it was Atlético who dominated and dictated the game.

Yang Hao's tactical overhaul had produced a revitalized Atlético, leaving a lasting impression on fans and pundits alike.

Some were already speculating about Atlético's potential in the upcoming La Liga season.

Deportivo coach Javier Irureta, however, downplayed the loss. He attributed the result to his team's lack of preparation, as many players had participated in the European Championship and Olympics, returning late to training.

"We will have our revenge this season," Irureta promised.

With the Spanish Super Cup in hand, Yang Hao had set the tone for the season.

Now, all eyes were on Atlético as they prepared for the challenges ahead.

(End of Chapter)

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