Javier Ángel Balboa.
The Equatorial Guinean had joined Real Madrid at just 14 years old, a highly touted prospect from the start.
Recognized early for his potential, he had grown up under the high expectations and attention of Real Madrid fans.
He was promoted to Real Madrid C at 19, Castilla at 20, and two years ago, he earned a first-team promotion and went out on loan.
Over the past three years, he had played around 100 matches.
It was practically full backing from Real Madrid.
But the result?
Utterly disappointing.
He had scored just three goals across those 100 matches.
Had he been a defender or a central midfielder, it might have been understandable. But Balboa was an attacking midfielder and winger who relied on dribbling.
Three goals in 100 gas?
That kind of stat was so baffling, people even speculated he had lied about his age.
And for good reason. His talent hadn't changed much since his youth.
Once hailed as the "African Pele," his brilliance had completely vanished.
Given all this, a release seed inevitable.
However, this season he had made six appearances for Real Madrid, scoring one goal and showing flashes of decent form.
There was a glimr of hope for staying.
Which ant Balboa had to prove his worth until the very end of the season.
And today, that opportunity had co.
In the Boxes drill.
Assigned to the first team, Balboa stood in the middle with Ho-young, tasked with intercepting the ball from the surrounding players. But the two of them were more rivals than teammates.
This was judgnt day.
For Balboa to survive, he needed to outperform the newly joined Ho-young.
So he threw himself into it.
'I'll do it.'
Even if he had failed to live up to the hype, Balboa was still a "first-team player" with over 40 La Liga appearances.
He had never gone up against Ho-young before, but he still believed he was better.
He was confident.
That's why he made the first move.
Confidence and initiative were crucial factors in evaluations.
"Balboa's stepping in first."
"Trying to show seniority?"
The seven players forming the circle passed the ball quickly and accurately in a relaxed atmosphere.
Balboa didn't think he could actually take the ball, but he still had to try. He chased the ball around, sweating profusely.
In contrast.
'That guy...'
A glance.
Balboa's eyes shifted right.
There stood Ho-young in the center, strolling around and simply watching the ball.
Balboa's expression brightened.
'Good. He's doing nothing.'
In terms of effort and initiative, he was clearly ahead.
If things continued like this, he would be the one getting praise from the coaches.
Still, Balboa didn't let his guard down.
'Focus.'
He poured all his concentration into tracking the ball's movent.
Then it happened.
Smack!
"Ah, shit!"
One of the players in the circle swore out loud.
It was the Portuguese centre-back, Pepe.
And he wasn't the only one.
"This kid's got sothing, huh?"
Sergio Ramos, the team's right-back, exclaid excitedly.
Others in the circle, like Sneijder, Saviola, Baptista, Guti, and Raúl, all showed surprised expressions.
In the blink of an eye, Ho-young had intercepted the ball.
But what shocked them more was whose pass he had cut off.
Guti's.
Of all people, he had read the pass of Real Madrid's master playmaker.
"Guti, not your day today? You look a little off."
"Heh heh."
While teammates joked lightheartedly, Raúl turned to Ho-young and spoke.
"Hey, Woo. What do you want us to call you?"
"Woo, Ho, or Young. Whatever suits you. You can even mix it up depending on the mood. That's what my Castilla teammates do."
"Perfect for calling signals during matches."
"Hahaha."
A light-hearted mont.
Everyone laughed—except Balboa.
But Raúl's next words brought a shift in the atmosphere.
"Let's go again."
Was it true ability, or just a lucky break?
The second round would give a clearer answer.
Smack.
As the ball started moving again, the expressions of the seven players beca serious.
No more joking.
Ho-young too braced himself.
'Whew.'
He didn't show it outwardly, but inside he was feeling the pressure.
It was hell in that circle.
It wasn't just training. It was an evaluation.
Naturally, it weighed heavily on him.
Still, he held his focus.
'Read the flow.'
This was where Ballack's advice ca in handy.
Rather than blindly chasing the ball, he needed to read the flow first.
Ho-young tracked the ball's path with his eyes and activated his brain.
Focus. Think. Observe. Analyze. Act.
This process had to happen instantly for his movents to flow with the play.
And his many talents made that possible.
'Now!'
At that mont.
Thump.
Saviola's lofted pass rose over Ho-young's head.
As if he had predicted it, Ho-young spun and leapt with excellent jumping ability, intercepting the ball cleanly.
Maybe there was a bit of luck, but without the fundantal skill, it wouldn't have been possible.
Ho-young had succeeded.
The mood imdiately changed, and within a second, reactions started pouring out.
"Oh..."
"Impressive."
"Wow. The kid's got serious instincts. Reads the ga like a ghost. Have you played with us before?"
"Hey, Zizou! What exactly did you teach this kid?"
A flurry of reactions.
Not everyone was smiling.
Saviola and Baptista began to feel uneasy.
As bench players, they couldn't laugh it off anymore.
They were already in danger of being offloaded during the sumr window. Now with a monster like this showing up, their spots were in jeopardy.
In other words, Ho-young's initiation was going smoothly.
He had gained a lot from today's session.
Though the session was short and interactions limited, he had made 50% progress toward acquiring U-grade talents from Carlos and Robinho.
It laid the groundwork for him to target their S-grade talents in the future.
And he did all that in just one day.
'Perfect.'
Everything was progressing step by step.
Today's session also helped him plan his next moves.
'I'll start with the players I can't afford to miss.'
Zidane's ball-trapping talent was urgent.
He was set to retire at the end of the season.
The hidden condition to unlock it was "promotion to the first team." Simple, yet difficult.
Next was the second "Pele"—Robinho.
Carlos and van Nistelrooy had contracts until next year, so there was ti.
But Robinho could leave Real Madrid soon.
At least, according to the future Ho-young knew.
However.
'This ti, it might be different.'
Florentino Pérez, not Calderón, was the current club president.
With the presidential elections scheduled for late July 2008, Pérez looked poised to secure a third term unless sothing unexpected happened.
So nothing was guaranteed.
Ho-young just needed to focus on what was in front of him.
'I just need to do my part.'
The first goal was to be promoted to the first team.
That was all that mattered.
May 25.
Castilla's squad traveled to Catalonia, to Barcelona.
The 41st round of the league. The final match of the season.
It was a clash between 5th-placed Castilla and 7th-placed Barcelona B.
If Castilla won, they would lock in 5th place.
For Barcelona B, a win would boost them to 6th.
And for Ho-young, this match ant even more.
Aside from the talents of Barcelona's young prospects, the most important one was Ronaldo's talent.
'I have to win.'
It was the striker's most critical trait—[Finishing of the Football Emperor (SU)].
Ho-young could not afford to lose.
He had prepared thoroughly, so he was confident.
But there was one concern, it was an away match.
"Stinking brat!"
"Go back to your country!"
Ho-young blocked out the hostile jeers as he stepped onto the pitch.
He fixed his gaze on the ball.
There was nothing on his mind except victory.
He could do this.
That belief solidified his winning ntality.
As a few raindrops began to fall, the match kicked off.
Beep—
Kickoff.
Barcelona, with first possession, lined up in their familiar 4-3-3 formation.
Bojan was deployed again as a center forward playing in a slightly deeper role.
The overall tactics hadn't changed, but the details had been refined—sharper and more solid.
It was a level of football Castilla hadn't experienced before.
Possession was even, but Barcelona posed more threat with their movent.
Up to the 10th minute, when the roar of the ho crowd was deafening.
But not long after.
The crowd noise abruptly died down as if cold water had been dumped over them.
All that echoed in the stadium was the sound of rain and the comntators' voices.
[Castilla is slowly mounting a coback!]
[With the midfield coming alive, Castilla is regaining montum. And with the rain picking up, the tempo is increasing. Barcelona must be cautious. The danger is palpable, even to the fans.]
[Exactly. Barcelona is trying to plug the gaps in midfield, but that's opening up space on the flanks. This is the mont they must be most careful…]
[Oh, just as you said! Left-back Marcos makes an aggressive overlapping run!]
Marcos split the pitch with a sharp pass.
Smack!
The ball reached Ho-young, who had been roaming between the lines.
"Push up!"
As Castilla steadily gained control of the midfield, Ho-young's genius began to shine.
Barcelona was facing a kind of talent they had never encountered before.
Since December, Ho-young had already surpassed the level of a Segunda player.
And then it happened.
With a flash of dribbling, Ho-young blew past the defenders.
The next mont, the goal shook violently.
His mid-range shot pierced the pouring rain and flew into the top right corner of the net.
The crowd's reaction split in two.
Stunned silence from the ho fans.
They were at a loss for words, unable to accept the reality.
anwhile, the away section on the east side of the stadium erupted.
Among them, one elderly man couldn't hide his excitent.
"Heh heh."
It was Pérez, who had made ti to travel for this away match.
He turned to Jorge Valdano, sitting beside him.
"Add Balboa to the release list."
Pérez and Balboa.
They had once shared a close relationship.
Pérez had known Balboa since his first term as president, nine years ago.
Even when Balboa scored earlier this season, it seed like a possible return to form.
But now.
There was no reason to keep him.
No point in paying 20,000 euros a week to a player they no longer needed.
It was only natural.
There's no sentint in the professional world.
You release who you don't need, and you bring in who you do.
"Who will take the open spot?"
"Ho-young. He's the only candidate. That's also the opinion of the socios."
It was a direct order.
Unless Pérez failed to get reelected, it was as good as decided.
Ho-young's promotion was 99% confird.
"Next year's going to be interesting."
Barcelona's ssi.
Real Madrid's Ho-young.
A massive storm was about to sweep through La Liga.
(To be continued.)
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