For José, the end of his perfect ho record felt more like a relief rather than a disappointnt. It was a relief for the entire Mallorca squad as well. Despite drawing this match, Mallorca still secured the title of Winter Champions with 10 wins, 5 draws, and 3 losses, totaling 35 points. They led second-placed Deportivo La Coruña by two points and third-placed Real Madrid by three!
In La Liga history, over 70% of Winter Champions have gone on to win the league title. Mallorca fans were already dreaming of the day they would lift the trophy...
But José remained calm. He knew that a two-point lead ant little. Since the start of the season, La Liga had been chaotic. Even Barcelona, who were struggling and currently sat in ninth place, had 27 points—just eight behind Mallorca. The gap between first and ninth was only eight points, aning this season was bound to be a battle until the very last mont. Winning the title would be anything but easy.
A few poor gas could an falling from the top spot all the way out of the Champions League places in no ti.
With this match over, Mallorca could finally take a break. The upcoming winter break lasted two weeks, and José gave his players a week off. After the New Year, the team would regroup to prepare for the league and Copa del Rey. From that mont on, the final sprint of the season would begin.
"This week, take the ti to rest properly," José told his players. "This will be the last ti you get to relax this season. After this break, you'll face a long and grueling schedule. And what we achieve by the end of the season will depend entirely on your performances!"
The players cheered collectively. Throughout the long season, this was their only real break. José was pleased with their effort so far, and this winter, he had no plans to sell anyone. Likewise, none of his players seed eager to leave. The team was on the rise, and it looked like they could win sothing by season's end. Leaving now would be foolish. Even for those without loyalty to Mallorca, a strong season here would boost their market value significantly.
José didn't care too much about player loyalty. He never planned to keep all his stars—financially, it wasn't feasible. Selling players was necessary for the club's long-term sustainability. Of course, if a player was loyal, he'd be happy. But he would only sell those who were no longer committed or didn't et his standards. Selling recklessly would only hurt the club.
Players co and go—that's the nature of football. José wasn't naive enough to think he could keep everyone as if they were chess pieces he could move at will. The real world didn't work like that.
This ti, however, José wasn't worried about his players slacking off. The World Cup was coming at the end of the season, and any player with a shot at making their national team would be extra cautious about their form. National team selections depended heavily on league performances.
For fringe players like Ronaldinho and Luque, this was their best chance to impress and secure a spot. Capdevila and Pablo García were in the sa boat. Luque's recent excellent form was proof of this. After all, Spain had no shortage of strikers—Raúl, Morientes, Tristán, Urzaiz... If Luque didn't outperform his competition, making Spain's 2002 World Cup squad would be nearly impossible.
With the World Cup as motivation, José had no concerns about his players' focus.
Instead, it was himself that felt lost.
Once the team was on break, José found himself with nothing to do. He was a workaholic, and when he wasn't busy, he felt restless.
A young man like him should have been full of energy, ready to enjoy life. But perhaps because of his reincarnation, José had no interest in distractions. And when it ca to won... deep in his heart, there was a shadow that would never fade.
That was why, ever since his rebirth, he had remained disciplined, living almost like a monk.
He would never forget it—just days before his death in his past life, on a beach in Mallorca, he had seen the most beautiful figure. Though they only spent a day together, the mory was etched into his soul forever.
Where was she from? He didn't know. What was her na? He didn't know.
All he rembered was the mont their eyes t—a single glance that sent a shiver through his entire body, as if struck by electricity. They breathed the sa air, felt the sa sea breeze. They didn't talk much, but their tightly held hands had connected their hearts.
Before that day, José never imagined he could be so impulsive. But after just one day, he was certain—he would rember her for the rest of his life.
That night, under the fading sun, she had pointed toward the deep blue sea. Her luminous eyes sparkled, and she spoke in a soft, almost heavenly voice. Her English was a bit stiff, but to José, it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.
"I've heard of a legend," she said. "Out in these waters, there exists the most beautiful kind of seashell. They don't wash up on shore; they stay a little farther out at sea, adorned with the most natural, intricate patterns—patterns more beautiful than anything in the world. These shells almost never reach the beaches, only appearing in the rarest of monts, and only the luckiest people can ever find one."
"I don't need to see it," José replied, gazing into her eyes. "I'm already the luckiest person, because I've t you."
She laughed, gently touching his face. "That's right. I'm lucky too, because I t you here."
"I'll find that shell for you!" José declared excitedly.
"Don't say that." She smiled. "These beautiful creatures belong to the ocean. Only in the well-preserved waters around Mallorca do they still exist. But they're already rare. Humanity's greed has driven so many species to the brink of extinction. I couldn't bear to take even one more away from the sea."
She stood up, stretching toward the sunset. "That's what makes so proud of Mallorca. In a world driven by materialism, this island still holds onto its natural beauty. I'm proud of it!"
But back then, José wasn't listening to her words. His mind was filled with a single thought: He had to find that shell for her.
The next day, he rented a small yacht and set out to sea, hoping to find that legendary shell. Instead, he was caught in a storm and drowned—only to be reborn, never even knowing her na.
He had wanted to search for her. But with 600,000 people living in Mallorca, how could he find soone whose na he didn't even know? And what if she was just a tourist? That made it even more impossible. He wasn't an artist who could sketch her face from mory, even though her image was forever imprinted in his heart.
So all he could do was wait. Wait for the sumr of 2011, return to that beach, and hope to see her again. He could only pray that despite changing history, this tiny mont would remain unchanged. He was willing to wait—even if it took ten years—just to see her once more under that starlit sky.
Deep down, José was a romantic. Even if he was now five or six years older than back then—even if he might be ten years older than her by now—he didn't care. In today's world, a ten-year age gap was nothing. As long as he was good enough and sincere enough, he believed he could still win her love.
That was why he had no interest in other won. Not yet.
"Nine and a half years left. I can wait," José told himself.
Whenever loneliness crept in, he reminded himself of this. And to pass the ti, he poured everything into his work. He wouldn't waste these ten years—he would use them to build a football empire.
"Darling, do you know how much I miss you?"
José gazed at the exquisite seashell displayed in his study—a rare specin he had bought at an auction in the U.S. The mont he heard it was "a shell from the Balearic Sea, one of the most beautiful in existence," he had bid on it without hesitation.
"When you see this, you'll be so happy," he whispered, smiling softly.
Reviews
All reviews (0)