"Our forwards need to drop deeper to support the play. Villa, be more aggressive."
"García, don't rush your forward passes. First, make sure we control the ball in midfield and defense, then look for openings. That's the main reason you're replacing Guti, understood?"
"Fàbregas, same goes for you—steady our midfield first."
"Ramos, they're attacking mainly down the left today. You'll be under a lot of pressure, but you have to hold your ground. Don't let them break through your side again!"
"Puyol, keep a close eye on your former teammate Saviola."
"If we can't completely shut down Riquelme, then at least limit him. Press him hard—don't let a player of his caliber operate comfortably."
"Raúl, your role is crucial. I need you to use your experience, your passing, and your attacking instincts. The team's tempo and transition in the final third depend on you."
"You decide whether we can mount dangerous attacks."
"Everyone clear?"
Aragonés fired off his instructions in rapid succession.
The players nodded repeatedly.
But Raúl's mind was clearly elsewhere.
Aragonés called his name a few times, but he didn't respond.
"Raúl? Raúl?" Simon tapped the distracted Raúl on the shoulder.
Raúl, who had been silent the whole time, suddenly stood up. He scanned the room, then met Aragonés' eyes. His voice was heavy.
"Coach… take…"
"Take me off."
"Huh?"
"Uh… what?"
"Raúl, what are you talking about?"
"Wait—Raúl, did you misunderstand something? The coach just said…"
"No one's blaming you. You played well in the first half."
"Take me off!" Raúl's voice rose, drowning out the others' attempts to console him. "It's not that I think I played badly."
"I believe I could still play well in the second half."
"But that's all I can promise."
"I can't promise a victory for the team."
"I know there's someone in this position who can help the team more than I can."
"Coach, let Su come on for the second half."
"It's time for everyone to see the strength of last season's best player in Spain."
"You can always trust Su!"
Raúl walked past Su Hang, patted him on the shoulder, and headed into the showers.
His match was over.
Inside, the water from the showerheads poured down in a steady stream.
But it wasn't just water that flowed—
It was the tears of an era.
The twilight of the gods—brilliant yet cruel.
A generation's legendary striker, captain of both Spain and Real Madrid, El Capitán —Raúl González Blanco—took his final bow.
And a new legend rose to take his place: Su Hang, captain of Spain and Real Madrid.
After a brief silence, Aragonés broke the tension, scribbling quickly on the tactics board.
"Time's short. Listen and don't interrupt. If you don't understand something, ask later."
"Villa, stop dropping deep. From now on, your only job is to attack their defense. Take every chance the team creates for you and put that damn ball into the net."
"Alonso, Xavi—keep an eye on Su Hang's movement. He's our pivot in the attacking half. Whether it's launching an attack or clearing the ball when under pressure, trust him."
"Fàbregas, García—pull wide often. Create space for Su Hang and draw defenders away from him."
"Mariano, Ramos—if you get the chance to push up and cross from the flanks, aim for Su Hang. He's our best header of the ball; we need to use that."
"Argentina's center-backs and holding midfielder aren't tall."
"Lastly, Su… play the way you do at Real Madrid. This team needs your help. You know what I mean, right?"
Everyone nodded in unison.
The locker room filled with an electrifying rhythm of battle music.
The drums of war were pounding—Spain feared no one!
Aragonés frowned. "Simon, turn off that speaker! It's too loud—I can't hear the players!"
Casillas then took off his captain's armband and placed it on Su Hang's arm.
He had been the on-field captain for this match.
But now, Spain's true captain had reclaimed his place.
"Don't get nervous—but don't get too relaxed either. Follow the manager's plan and we'll get a good result," Casillas said as he adjusted the armband for Su Hang.
Su Hang gave an awkward smile.
Are you sure about that? Follow Aragonés' plan?
Play the way I do at Real Madrid?
Ever heard of an "offside striker"?
Or a "dodge-ball shooter"?
Still, fair's fair—the tension was already sky-high, and the Argentinians were taunting them to their faces.
If he didn't go all in now, he wouldn't be a man.
This time, there'd be no deliberate offsides, no dodging the ball.
The new king was about to be crowned.
Who would be the first to fall before him?
The four Moment Cards in his deck were already burning to be played.
Curry: "Practice for three minutes. No interruptions."
Su Hang: "No worries. Three minutes is plenty impressive!"
Curry: "???"
...
When the teams returned from halftime, the commentators and fans quickly sensed something unusual.
"Huh? Why is Raúl sitting on the bench?"
"Was he subbed off? Is he injured?"
"He's even changed his jersey, but he doesn't look hurt—no bandages, nothing."
"Wait, where's Casillas' captain's armband?"
The camera zoomed in on the tunnel entrance. Casillas emerged first—his arm bare.
Could it be…
As the players filed out, the crowd erupted when the last man, Su Hang, stepped onto the pitch wearing the captain's armband.
"Su!"
"Su!"
"Su!"
Spanish fans chanted his name wildly.
Here he is, Argentina—the Su you wanted!
The youngest Real Madrid captain in history!
The youngest Spain captain in history!
The youngest La Liga MVP in history!
The youngest-ever Champions League Golden Boot winner!
A man who shines in fair winds, thrives in adversity, and conquers despair itself!
But the Argentinians weren't impressed.
"Hahaha! That Su actually came on?"
"Spain really let the taunts get to them."
"If they'd brought on Torres, maybe they'd have a chance. But Su Hang? Please."
"In this situation, veterans matter way more than kids!"
"Aragonés has completely lost it. This is the worst substitution of the World Cup!"
"To be honest, if Spain's putting Su Hang in, shouldn't we bring on Messi to show them what real young talent looks like?"
"Yeah! Bring on Messi!"
"Messi! Messi! Messi!"
Their playful jeers showed just how confident they were.
The camera cut to Argentina's bench, where Messi smiled awkwardly.
Technically speaking, even he believed he was far stronger than Su Hang.
But when it came to achievements and honors—while he had outshone Su Hang in youth football, his professional record couldn't compare.
The fans' hype felt like they were just trying to pick a fight.
But Su Hang… what would he do now?
Would he continue his stunning rise from the Copa del Rey, La Liga, and Champions League into the World Cup?
Or would this be his downfall—his confidence shattered, his momentum broken, never to recover?
Beep!
With the referee's whistle, the second half began.
...
(35 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser