Friday, December 12. Barcelona's First Training Ground.
One day before El Clásico, Pep Guardiola stood with his arms crossed, looking at the training pitch with a dissatisfied expression.
"Why is everyone so excited with just one day left before the match?"
"It's almost Christmas. It's natural for the mood to be a little light," replied assistant coach Tito Vilanova.
More than just colleagues, they were like sworn brothers. The two were the perfect partners, always supporting each other.
Vilanova, who knew Guardiola to his core, continued without hesitation.
"I'll go talk to them, so don't worry. Just go back to your thoughts... you said you're not fully prepared for Ho-young."
With the decisive match just a day away, Guardiola's mind was still tangled in concern.
Because of Ho-young.
While the common opinion was that Raúl, who was in the race for the Golden Boot, or Robben, leading the league in dribbles and assists, were the real threats, recent performances told a different story.
Seeing Ho-young as just a long-term prospect was foolish.
Though technically still a youth prospect, he was already a core player at Real Madrid.
Much like Lionel ssi.
Therefore, a thorough response was necessary.
At least, that's how Guardiola saw it.
"I've been watching him since last year. He's a strange one. Against weak teams, he's absurdly dominant, and even against strong teams, he plays without the slightest hint of intimidation."
The first problem was clear.
His consistency. Virtually no fluctuation in performance.
And second...
"His build-up play and playmaking in the final third. If we can't cut that off, we won't beat Madrid easily."
Guardiola had rewatched the Copa del Rey match from early last month countless tis, where Ho-young played as an attacking midfielder.
The way he led the build-up and playmaking simultaneously was impressive every ti.
"The synergy he creates with his teammates is incredible. There's not a trace of internal discord. Everyone trusts Ho-young's talent, and he fulfills his role perfectly, maximizing the team's attack. He's both a supporting actor and a protagonist."
A glue guy and a key figure all in one.
That was how Guardiola viewed Ho-young's current value.
"Pep, you're right. But if there's one flaw, it's that the kid is still too young. And Asians tend to develop later physically, don't they?"
"Absolutely not. His age is his greatest weapon. At that stage, everything is possible. Like putting fruit in a juicer, you can squeeze every bit of talent from a youth player. If I had him, he'd already be playing at ssi's level. That kind of talent should be at that level."
"Don't tell you still want to bring that kid to Barcelona? You'd be better off hoping Pérez gets amnesia soday."
"Who would've thought Luis Figo would ever transfer to Real Madrid? You never know in football."
Guardiola couldn't hide his desire to one day coach Ho-young.
That's how appealing the player was.
Any coach would want a chance to work with him.
But right now, he was the opponent.
No, simply defeating him wasn't enough.
He had to crush him so thoroughly that Ho-young would never again pose a threat to Barcelona.
Guardiola spoke again.
"Schuster will most likely build his tactics around Ho-young."
"Then we'll have to keep the focus on him, just as we planned."
"But the information we have on him is limited."
The scouting report on Raúl was thick enough to fill a book. In comparison, what they had on Ho-young was far too thin.
Which ant there was only one answer.
"We'll crush them with our football."
Guardiola headed straight for the pitch after the conversation, closely observing his players and pointing out mistakes one by one.
If any player wasn't giving it their all, he imdiately raised his voice.
He looked more like a strict teacher than a manager.
But few players had any complaints.
The team's results validated Guardiola's thods.
There was no trace of distrust among them.
Tap.
Just then, sothing caught Guardiola's eye that didn't sit well.
Lionel ssi was trying to make a run into space.
Guardiola quickly shouted his nickna.
"Leo! Stop!"
"Yes?"
"Unless it's a switching situation, stick to your position. Our attack can't end with just passes and movent. Positioning is the most important. Got it?"
"Ah, understood."
This was how Guardiola drilled his football philosophy into his players.
And that was what would unfold in El Clásico.
The next day.
At the break of dawn, a call ca to Ho-young's ho.
Lucci, who was sitting on the couch, picked it up.
"This is the club. Has Ho-young woken up?"
"Yes, he just went to shower."
The club was calling to confirm his wake-up ti.
To ensure peak condition for the match, the club had scheduled everything, including his sleep and wake tis.
That's how important El Clásico was.
A legendary rivalry, entangled with social, cultural, political, and historical factors.
If decades ago, Real Madrid and Barcelona had fought with guns and swords, now the war was waged with a football.
Managing a top-class soldier going into battle was a given.
Click.
After finishing his shower, Ho-young stepped outside to loosen up.
The moon in the night sky seed to shine especially bright.
"El Clásico."
Who would've thought a day like this would co so soon?
A dream buried deep in his heart had grown and grown until it finally beca real.
Spain's greatest stage.
The biggest rivalry in world football.
And tonight, he would stand at the very center of it.
He was grateful for everything.
He took a deep breath in the chilly air to calm his heated emotions.
"Whew!"
The night air was cold now.
When he stepped back inside...
"Ho-young, you have a call. It's your phone."
"At this hour?"
He picked up the call and was greeted by a familiar voice.
"Oh, Monica?"
"Yeah. Just wanted to cheer you on."
"At this hour? Aren't you supposed to be asleep?"
"I snuck out. I have to go back now. Do your best. Don't get hurt. I'll be cheering for you. Bye!"
"Wait, Monica. About Christmas..."
"Ah! The security guard's coming."
Beep... beep...
2 a.m.
With those words, Monica disappeared like the wind.
A short call, but a valuable mont.
"Alright, ti to go."
3 a.m.
After arriving at Valdebebas, Ho-young joined the final early morning training.
At around 10 a.m., the team bus carrying Los Blancos left for Madrid Airport.
Their private jet was bound for Barcelona Airport in Catalonia, just an hour's flight away.
Over 2,000 Real Madrid fans had gathered from early morning to welco the team, waving enthusiastically as the players boarded the pre-arranged bus.
Everything was going perfectly.
Until they arrived at the parking lot of Juan Carlos Hotel, where they would rest before the match.
That's when it happened.
Clang! Thud!
"What the hell?! What is this?"
Pepe, who was resting his head against the window, cursed loudly.
A loud bang hit the bus, and the window began to crack.
Shatter!
Crack!
Disguised as Madridistas, a group of radical Barcelona ultras had begun hurling stones at the bus all at once.
The bus erupted into chaos.
Then—
"Hey! Duck!"
Zidane shouted, rembering Ho-young sitting by the window.
Ho-young was already crouched down, startled by the sudden commotion.
The security team quickly contained the situation.
So security personnel were injured in the process, but fortunately, none of the players were hurt.
"These lunatics!"
"Freaking Cule scum."
The bus was filled with curses.
This wasn't the first ti sothing like this had happened.
Occasionally, similar incidents occurred during away matches at places like Sevilla or Valencia.
Every club had a few malicious fans.
Depending on the severity, they could face jail ti, but usually it resulted in a stadium ban for several months and a fine of around €3,500.
But such punishnts ant nothing to these ultras.
As long as they could dampen Real Madrid's morale, it was worth it.
The tension between both teams this season had been particularly fierce.
Real Madrid and Barcelona were fighting over a single point in the standings.
And now, with Barcelona's symbol, Lionel ssi, being challenged by Real Madrid's rising threat, Ho-young, the stakes were even higher.
Especially with this being the final match before the Christmas break.
Once the situation was handled, Iker Casillas, sitting beside him, leaned in and asked quietly.
"Hey, you alright?"
"Yeah. Thank you."
Ho-young steadied his nerves.
He wasn't physically hurt, but the real problem ca after.
1 p.m.
After lunch, the players tried to rest in their rooms.
But several of them couldn't sleep.
Even with their eyes closed, rest wouldn't co.
To reset their internal clocks and ensure optimal performance, sleep was essential. But the earlier incident had left many too shaken to sleep.
In the end, the coaching staff urgently brought in professional sleep therapists to help the players relax.
Ho-young finally drifted off two hours later.
And by the ti Real Madrid's team bus arrived at Camp Nou, night had fully fallen.
Honk!
With police motorcycles and escort vehicles clearing the way, the white team bus pushed through the narrow road, horns blaring.
It was a riotous scene, flooded with angry crowds.
"Hey, puta!"
"Whores sold to a dictator!"
"Die, puta Madrid!"
As if rehearsed, the mob collectively raised their middle fingers and hurled curses.
They called them sellouts, traitors.
True or not, Real Madrid was simply an enemy to be attacked.
Inside the bus, every player had earphones in.
So listened to soft classical music, others to rock, steeling their nerves.
Ho-young sat in the center of the very last row with his eyes closed.
A considerate move by his seniors to keep him away from the windows.
'Whew.'
Sitting on the bus felt suffocating.
'Don't let it get to you. This is nothing.'
He patted his chest.
He had to overco the pressure.
Face it head-on.
Once the bus passed through the security checkpoint, Real Madrid's delegation, surrounded by heavy security, entered the stadium.
Schuster and the rest of the coaching staff, along with the players, walked silently down the corridor to the locker room.
Once everyone had gathered, a heavy silence filled the room.
Then, Schuster's firm voice rang out.
"So of you are playing in your first El Clásico. Listen carefully. If we lose today, this could be our grave. But if we take even one point, we can walk out of here with our heads held high. This is El Clásico. It is our fate to endure it. Accept it. And fight. ¡Vamos."
"¡Vamos!"
The decisive mont was just ahead.
Then Schuster returned with the final lineup sheet and addressed the players.
"Casillas, Carlos, Cannavaro, Pepe, Ramos, Diarra, Zidane, Raúl, Robben, Van Nistelrooy, Ho-young. Get ready."
(To be continued.)
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