Capítulo 2: Chapter 2
Chapter 2
A small but significant detail revealed just how much support Miguel Gil was offering Yang Hao.
After Yang Hao's meeting with the captains, he arranged to visit Atlético's training base in Majadahonda, located in the northwestern suburbs of Madrid. Paulo Futre, newly appointed as the sporting director, naturally joined him. But Miguel Gil also insisted on accompanying them.
Futre, deeply familiar with Atlético and recently retired, still commanded immense respect within the team. His presence alone would have sufficed. Only a rookie like Yang Hao needed the club's heir apparent to back him up in person.
Yang Hao understood this well, offering Miguel a grateful glance.
"Today, you treat me like a trusted ally. Tomorrow, I will… serve with absolute dedication," Yang Hao thought, correcting himself mid-monologue to avoid sounding overly dramatic.
Leaving the Calderón Stadium, they took the M30 northward, then turned west onto the A6 motorway, passing an upscale neighborhood of luxury villas.
"Is this La Finca?" Yang Hao asked from the back seat, noticing that the area was still under development.
"Yes, Florentino's real estate company is involved in the project," Paulo Futre replied from the front passenger seat, slightly puzzled by Yang Hao's sudden interest.
What Futre didn't know was that La Finca would become a household name among Chinese football fans by 2010.
Cristiano Ronaldo, Kaká, Gareth Bale, Benzema…
These global superstars would all call this neighborhood home.
Even Zinedine Zidane, Raúl, and Iker Casillas, who initially lived in central Madrid, would eventually relocate to La Finca.
And yes, Fernando Torres would live there too.
"How's Torres doing in our youth team?" Yang Hao suddenly asked.
If memory served, Torres had suffered a significant injury—a fracture—before joining the first team. The exact timing was fuzzy, but Yang Hao was fairly certain it happened this year.
"You've heard of him too?" Miguel Gil asked with a chuckle as he drove.
Yang Hao nodded. "I've seen him play. I believe he has the potential to become one of the best strikers in the world."
That is, provided the team builds a suitable offensive system to maximize his strengths.
Both Miguel Gil and Paulo Futre were pleasantly surprised by Yang Hao's high praise for Torres.
The young striker was the most promising talent in Atlético's academy and had already garnered high expectations.
"He's doing well," Futre said. "But he's still very young—he just turned 16 and is currently in the U17 team."
Futre elaborated further, "Our training base has limited facilities. Only players U17 and older train here. Younger players are scattered across various affiliated academies."
"What about Gabi and Antonio López? Are they here?" Yang Hao asked.
Futre raised an eyebrow, then smiled. "It seems you've done your homework."
He was beginning to understand why Miguel Gil valued Yang Hao so highly.
"Gabi is in the U17 team, and Antonio López is in the U19s. Both are among our top prospects. There's also Manu del Moral, Diego Rivas, Nuno Rivas, and Jiří Rosický—players who've shown promise in the youth setup."
Yang Hao nodded subtly, though he wasn't particularly interested in most of the players mentioned.
Jiří Rosický, however, caught his attention.
He shared the same name as his younger brother, Tomáš Rosický, who was making waves back in their native Czech Republic with Sparta Prague.
The elder Rosický had always been considered the more talented sibling. In 1996, he joined Atlético's youth setup, a major achievement given the club's prominence at the time.
But who could have predicted that, just a few years later, Jiří would still be languishing in Atlético's youth system while Tomáš was rapidly rising to stardom back home?
Sometimes, choices mattered more than raw talent.
After passing La Finca, they turned south onto the M40 and entered the Majadahonda area. Like La Finca, this area was surrounded by high-end residential neighborhoods.
Atlético's training base was nestled among these luxury villas.
The rectangular plot was roughly the width of two standard football pitches placed side by side and the length of three pitches end-to-end.
At the southernmost edge was a single standard pitch with a modest stand for youth matches. Nearby were the team's training facilities and a small parking lot.
The setup was quite basic, reflecting the tight budgets of European clubs at the time. Few had the resources to invest heavily in infrastructure.
Upon arriving, the group headed straight to the coaching offices in the training building.
Antić's abrupt departure had left the first-team coaching staff in a state of flux. When they saw Miguel Gil and Paulo Futre escorting Yang Hao, they quickly realized that the rumors were true: the club had indeed appointed a 25-year-old rookie as head coach.
The office buzzed with murmurs of discontent. Many felt the club's decision was absurd—an act of surrender in the face of relegation.
Yang Hao, however, took note of everyone's reactions with quiet amusement.
One figure stood out: an older man with a head of white hair, likely in his mid-50s. Yang Hao guessed he was Giorgio Pellizzaro, the team's goalkeeping coach.
Pellizzaro was nearing retirement and would leave at the end of the season. Perhaps that was why he seemed indifferent to Yang Hao's appointment.
But his résumé was impressive. The Italian had worked as an assistant for legendary managers like Lippi, Bianchi, and Ranieri, with stints at Napoli, Juventus, Fiorentina, and Valencia. He had trained world-class goalkeepers such as Buffon, Toldo, and Cañizares.
Anyone who had played Football Manager (FM) would undoubtedly recognize his name.
However, what truly excited Yang Hao was the man standing next to Pellizzaro—his "apprentice," Pedro Jaro.
Veteran FM players would know Jaro as one of the best coaching talents in the game. In the classic FM 2006, Jaro was a must-hire for his perfect 20 rating in goalkeeping training, a streak that continued for several iterations of the game.
At 37, Pedro Jaro had retired just last summer and was now preparing for his coaching exams.
Pedro Jaro didn't yet have his coaching license, which was why the club retained Giorgio Pellizzaro after Ranieri's dismissal. A certified coach was still required for official matches.
Yang Hao made a mental note about Pedro Jaro. He couldn't let such a promising talent end up working for their arch-rivals, Real Madrid.
Outwardly, however, Yang Hao maintained his composure, shaking hands with each staff member.
Modern European football had yet to adopt the highly specialized structures it would develop in later years.
For example, coaching teams were much smaller than the 10- or even 20-person squads that would become common. Most first-team coaching staffs consisted of three to five people, supplemented by a few general club staff.
Among these club staff members, a young physiotherapist caught Yang Hao's attention: José Carlos García Parrales.
At just 20 years old, Parrales was already working with Atlético Madrid. Hearing his name, Yang Hao immediately recognized it and made a mental note.
Why?
In Yang Hao's previous life, Parrales was poached by Real Madrid in 2012. From then on, his face appeared in nearly every celebratory team photo featuring Madrid's championship victories.
The role of a physiotherapist was crucial. Beyond their matchday responsibilities, they served as vital links between the locker room, coaching staff, and medical team, overseeing player recovery plans.
For now, without an assistant coach to support him, Yang Hao refrained from interfering with the team's current routine. Everything continued as planned, leaving many staff members unimpressed.
They had expected someone who could convince the Atlético management to appoint him as head coach to bring bold ideas. Instead, he had yet to make any noticeable impact.
However, Yang Hao did make one request:
He called up Fernando Torres, Gabi, Pablo García, and Antonio López from the youth teams to train with the first team starting that afternoon.
"I need to assess their performances," Yang Hao said.
A staff member quickly jotted down the request.
Yang Hao also inquired about Kiko's recovery. Atlético's "Prince" had been struggling since his return from injury, and his current form was far from satisfactory.
It was the young Parrales who provided the update.
Kiko's condition wasn't ideal. Parrales explained that he and the medical team had done everything they could, but Kiko would need a lot more time to regain his form.
Fortunately, the team's injury list wasn't too concerning. As professional players, carrying minor injuries was almost routine as long as it didn't hinder match performance.
Yang Hao found Parrales knowledgeable about the team's condition and player health. Young and eager, Parrales was also more approachable than the older staff members. Recognizing his potential, Yang Hao decided to keep Parrales close.
Leaving the coaching office, Yang Hao bypassed his own office and headed straight to the players' lounge.
By then, the captains had already returned to the training base and briefed their teammates about the changes at the Calderón. They also mentioned Yang Hao's imminent arrival.
The players' reactions were overwhelmingly negative.
Ranieri and Antić, for all their shortcomings, were at least recognized names in European football.
But Yang Hao?
Where had this unknown figure come from, and what qualifications did he have to coach Atlético Madrid?
Their skepticism was evident when Yang Hao entered the lounge with Miguel Gil and Paulo Futre. The players' indifference bordered on disdain.
However, the sight of Miguel Gil and Futre accompanying Yang Hao made them straighten up slightly.
Having both the general manager and Futre, a club legend, present was far more significant than the introductions Ranieri or Antić had received.
When Antić took over earlier in the season, it was Luis Rubio Blanco, the government-appointed administrator, who had brought him in.
Yang Hao wasn't surprised by the players' attitude. If they had been enthusiastic, that would have been more suspicious.
Still, he knew he had to say the right words and set the right tone.
Yang Hao confidently addressed the players, stating his intent to lead Atlético to fight for every remaining match.
He guessed few would believe him.
He then called on everyone to rally together, work as a team, and help the club through this crisis.
Unsurprisingly, the players remained indifferent.
These were seasoned professionals, unlikely to be swayed by mere words or empty platitudes.
Yang Hao realized that he would have to bring out his trump card to win them over.
The issue of unpaid wages had long plagued La Liga.
Even giants like Real Madrid and Barcelona weren't immune to problems with unpaid salaries, bonuses, or appearance fees. Some clubs were so shameless that, at the end of a season, they'd just hand out IOUs instead of money.
Cash? None!
Yang Hao knew that if Florentino Pérez hadn't sold the Real Madrid training grounds to the government for a massive cash infusion, the creation of the Galácticos would have been a pipe dream.
That sale was Bernabéu's legacy.
But Atlético Madrid wasn't located on prime real estate. Their training base was in faraway Majadahonda.
With debts exceeding €70 million and overdue wages, the club's finances were in shambles.
The moment Yang Hao mentioned money, the players' frustrations erupted like a volcano.
Previously indifferent to their rookie coach, the players now eagerly aired their grievances.
One complained about months of unpaid wages. Another shared that he had a family to support. Several outright demanded answers: When would the club pay them back?
The most awkward person in the room was Miguel Gil. As general manager, he bore the brunt of their dissatisfaction.
If Jesús Gil had been present, the players might not have dared to be so bold. But Miguel Gil was far more approachable.
Paulo Futre glanced at Miguel, now surrounded by agitated players, and then at Yang Hao, who remained calm and even wore a slight smile. He couldn't help but sigh.
When someone likes you, they'll believe anything you say.
Futre couldn't understand why Miguel Gil was so convinced that Yang Hao could save Atlético.
The man was clearly being played and even seemed happy to help Yang Hao count the spoils.
Now, with Miguel in this mess, how could he possibly clean it up?
If Atlético had money, the trustees wouldn't have sold fan favorite José Mari while braving a storm of protests.
The mention of José Mari only fueled the players' resentment.
The club had promised that selling José Mari would bring much-needed funds, yet the money seemed to have vanished.
Yang Hao, playing along, joined in criticizing the trustees, calling them scoundrels who had betrayed the players. This unexpectedly aligned him with the players, earning a few nods of agreement.
Paulo Futre, observing from the sidelines, was left dumbfounded.
With an ability to talk like this, no wonder Miguel Gil trusts him so much.
However, Yang Hao knew when to stop. Seeing the opportunity, he smoothly shifted gears.
"The things the trustees did in the past were utterly despicable," Yang Hao began. "But they've now washed their hands of the club. Mr. Miguel Gil has just taken over and is still sorting through the accounts and tracking down where the money went. These things take time, and I hope everyone can understand that."
His words helped calm the players' anger toward Miguel Gil.
"But the players' concerns are also the club's concerns. We all see your struggles, and the club won't stand idly by. Mr. Miguel Gil has already assured me that while the past debts may take some time to resolve..."
"The club will ensure that no further wages, bonuses, or appearance fees are delayed from now on. Every cent owed will be paid immediately after each game. This is a promise, and we will keep it."
Yang Hao paused deliberately, gauging the players' reactions. Seeing their attention fixed on him, he continued:
"However, our matches will go on, and you all know how precarious our current situation is. If we're relegated, the club's revenue will plummet further, and it will become even harder to pay what you're owed."
At this, Yang Hao let the silence hang.
The players, visibly tense, waited for what was coming next.
"Of course, we can't expect you to fight on an empty stomach. So Mr. Miguel Gil has decided that from now on, even if he has to sell his last shirt, there will be no more delays. Salaries, bonuses, and appearance fees will be paid immediately after every match. That's a promise."
The room erupted.
"Is that true?"
"Are you serious about no more delays?"
The players couldn't believe their ears and turned to Miguel Gil for confirmation.
Having been cornered by the players earlier, Miguel now found some relief in their curiosity. Yang Hao's speech had given him a chance to take the reins.
"Yes," Miguel Gil affirmed, "the coach is right. The past debts will be sorted out, and we will pay you what you're owed. From now on, every match will mark a turning point. As soon as each game ends, your salaries, bonuses, and appearance fees will be paid without delay. That's a promise!"
Yang Hao's assurances carried little weight as the newly appointed coach. But Miguel Gil's promise carried credibility.
Moreover, there were only three days until the next match against Barcelona.
Since their contracts tied them to Atlético until the season's end and transfers weren't an option yet, waiting three days seemed acceptable.
After leaving the players' lounge, Yang Hao walked alongside Miguel Gil and Paulo Futre.
"Three days from now, before the match against Barça, you must have that money ready," Yang Hao told Miguel Gil bluntly.
During his speech to the players, Miguel had no choice but to agree. But the reality remained: where would the money come from?
"Take out a bank loan. Use the players' contracts as collateral and get some cash upfront," Yang Hao suggested.
"Spanish banks don't offer services like that, and even in England, it's unlikely," Miguel said, shaking his head.
"Then sell a player. Secure a pre-sale agreement with another club and ask for an advance payment."
Pausing for a moment, Yang Hao turned to Miguel, his tone resolute.
"Miguel, trust me. Once we get through this crisis, I promise to deliver you a strong and competitive Atlético Madrid."
The sheer confidence in Yang Hao's voice left no room for doubt.
Even Paulo Futre, standing to the side, couldn't help but wonder: Where on earth does this guy get the nerve to make such bold promises?
"You're overthinking this," Futre said. "Transfers between clubs often involve deferred payments."
"What?"
"A lot of clubs out there are in worse financial shape than us."
Yang Hao was speechless.
Is this what European football has come to? Everyone playing the IOU game?
"Think about it. Why do Bundesliga clubs always sell to Bayern? And why do La Liga clubs prefer to sell to Real Madrid or Barcelona?" Futre posed the question but didn't wait for Yang Hao to respond.
"Because when there's a financial dispute, dealing with domestic clubs is much simpler."
"What about the payments for José Mari and Chamot?"
Miguel Gil shook his head. "We've only received the first installment. It's not much, and it doesn't even cover player wages."
But Miguel Gil had already promised Yang Hao to resolve the issue, and he wasn't about to back down now.
After a brief pause, he looked at Yang Hao and said, "Don't worry. I gave you my word, and I won't go back on it. I'll figure out the money situation before the Barça game."
Yang Hao nodded, genuinely believing Miguel Gil's commitment.
Atlético might be broke, but the Gil family? Broke?
Don't make me laugh.
No one buys that. Around the world, how often do you hear about companies going bankrupt while their owners walk away with their pockets full?
The real question is whether the boss is willing to dip into their own funds.
Afterwards, Miguel Gil and Paulo Futre left.
The club was still reeling from recent upheavals, and they had a mountain of tasks waiting for them.
Yang Hao, meanwhile, remained at the Majadahonda training ground. He asked José Carlos García Paralles to fetch Juan Carlos Valerón from the player lounge while he took a moment to check out his new office.
The setup was simple—desk, sofa, TV.
But there was no computer on the desk, which was a bit disappointing.
For coaches like Ranieri and Antic, computers were probably seen as overly futuristic gadgets.
Mental note: Ask the club to provide one later. Even if it's just for a quick game of StarCraft, Warcraft, or Championship Manager during downtime.
Oh, right—this era was still all about Championship Manager (CM).
Seated in his office chair, Yang Hao briefly wondered how Antic must have felt receiving his dismissal call earlier that day.
Whatever the case, Yang Hao was determined not to follow in the footsteps of Ranieri and Antic.
To stay in this seat, he needed to stabilize the locker room.
While the players' overall mood was tentatively calmed, it all hinged on Miguel Gil fulfilling his promise before the Barça match. If that went smoothly, the larger problem could be managed.
But when it came to individual players, things required more nuanced handling.
As Pep Guardiola would later write in his book, My People, My Football:
"A head coach spends only 30% of their energy on football. The other 70% is devoted to everything off the pitch."
It wasn't about slacking off—it's just the reality of managing a team.
Football teams, like companies, are composed of people with diverse backgrounds, beliefs, and values. Melding them into a cohesive unit working toward a common goal requires far more than motivational speeches.
Those who've managed businesses know: It's one thing to rally a small group of three or four people, but scaling that to dozens? Impossible without proper communication and management.
Yang Hao believed in tangible actions over grand declarations. People wouldn't betray their own interests.
Just as this thought crossed his mind, Paralles and Valerón appeared at his office door.
"Come in, Juan."
Yang Hao immediately stood up from his chair, smiling warmly as he welcomed Valerón inside.
There was something amusing about the situation: both were 25 years old, yet one was the head coach, and the other was a player.
After warmly greeting Valerón and inviting him to sit, Paralles tactfully stepped outside, even closing the door behind him.
Smart kid.
Conversations between a coach and player were typically private matters. No one liked having their discussions overheard.
"When I decided to take charge of Atlético Madrid, everyone told me the same thing: 'Juan Carlos Valerón is a player you can trust, someone worth relying on. His abilities are vastly underrated.'"
Yang Hao began with a compliment, catching the introverted Valerón off guard. The praise seemed genuine, but it also put him slightly on edge.
Who starts with flattery right off the bat?
This coach doesn't seem trustworthy. Is he trying to con me?
Yang Hao believed one of his strengths was his ability to observe subtle changes in people's expressions and movements.
For instance, Juan Carlos Valerón's body language right now resembled a hedgehog curling up defensively. Sensing this, Yang Hao decided to adjust his approach.
He began guiding Valerón into a conversation about his two years at Atlético Madrid and the challenges he had faced.
"I'd like to get to know you better and understand this team more deeply," Yang Hao said.
Gradually, the two began to chat. Valerón opened up about integrating into Arrigo Sacchi's team, the way Ranieri had utilized him, and the differences between Antic's two stints at Atlético. He also didn't shy away from admitting his disagreements with Antic's views.
Valerón was an honest man, straightforward and unpretentious.
"To be honest, I think the biggest problem this season is that we've had too many young players, which has made our defensive issues worse. But Antic seemed to think otherwise—he believed the defense struggled because our attack wasn't effective enough."
In football, attack and defense are always part of a delicate, dynamic balance.
It wasn't necessarily wrong for Antic to view things that way. For example, if your attacking force is strong enough to keep opponents on their back foot, defensive issues naturally become less noticeable.
Yang Hao chose not to critique Antic's perspective.
Recently, Valerón had been subjected to jeers from Atlético fans, who felt the midfield was a weak link. Many blamed him for not contributing enough defensively.
"That's not really my strength," Valerón admitted candidly. "Sacchi always wanted me to improve my physicality, to become stronger. He wanted me to prioritize defense first and then think about creating attacks. But I never lived up to his expectations."
Yang Hao nodded. This was easy to imagine.
Italian coaches like Sacchi and Ranieri often prioritized defensive solidity.
While their emphasis wasn't inherently wrong, players inevitably had their own styles, which sometimes clashed with such philosophies.
"Do you know why I wanted to speak to you first?" Yang Hao asked, fixing Valerón with an intense gaze.
The midfielder from the Canary Islands found himself at a loss, unsure how to handle this coach's directness and unyielding stare.
"No... why?"
"Because if this team is going to turn things around and avoid relegation, you will be the most important and decisive player—our core."
Valerón stared at his new coach in disbelief, his expression brimming with doubt.
Yang Hao didn't let him linger in uncertainty for long.
He stood, grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen from the desk, and began sketching right in front of Valerón.
Yang Hao drew a 4-2-3-1 formation, emphasizing the central attacking midfielder's role in the system—the classic "No. 10" position.
"This system shouldn't feel unfamiliar. Deportivo La Coruña has been using it for years now. I want you in this position."
Of course, Valerón recognized it immediately. Deportivo, the current La Liga leaders under Javier Irureta, had a system many teams were studying.
"Like Djalminha?" Valerón asked, referencing Deportivo's Brazilian playmaker.
"No. I think Djalminha doesn't link up with the wings effectively enough. I want you to be the team's offensive brain—a forward threat feeding the striker while also serving as a reliable outlet for our midfield when we're under pressure."
Yang Hao pointed to the wings on his diagram.
"I want you to connect with the wide players as well. In key moments, I want you to collaborate with them in the half-spaces to break down defenses."
As he spoke, Yang Hao drew lines to highlight the half-spaces—those crucial channels between the flanks and the center.
Though Valerón was reserved by nature, he was an intelligent footballer. He immediately grasped the concept and, in his mind, connected it to Barcelona's infamous vulnerability in the half-spaces.
A single defensive midfielder had clear weaknesses.
Why had football evolved to include two holding midfielders, or the "double pivot"?
The answer was simple: players like Diego Maradona.
When a single defensive midfielder couldn't contain a world-class No. 10, teams began deploying two. This also allowed better coverage of the half-spaces, where many No. 10s thrived.
But currently, many teams still stuck to a lone defensive midfielder—Barcelona included.
"I believe this is what you're best at, and you'll excel here," Yang Hao said confidently, his tone brimming with conviction.
Valerón was visibly intrigued.
In his two years at Atlético, he had often been asked to play in roles that didn't suit him—helping with defense or being shunted out wide in a 4-4-2.
Traditional 4-4-2 setups demanded central midfielders capable of defending and covering large areas of the pitch. Unless a team played a diamond midfield, there wasn't much room for creative, attack-minded players like Valerón to shine.
Nowadays, few teams even used the diamond formation.
"What about defense?" Valerón asked.
"We'll rely on a cohesive defensive structure," Yang Hao explained. "You'll have two defensive midfielders behind you providing cover. Your primary focus will be on attack—passing, creating, organizing, and dictating play. I'll ensure that you're able to conserve your energy for what you do best."
At this, Valerón looked up, disbelief written across his face.
This system... it feels custom-built for me.
It maximized his strengths, minimized his weaknesses, and promised to unleash his full potential on the pitch.
If Valerón had harbored any doubts about Yang Hao's earlier flattery, those doubts were now fading rapidly.
No coach would bother crafting an entire tactical setup around a player they didn't value—especially one as intricate as this. Yang Hao was essentially placing Atlético's offensive hopes squarely on Valerón's shoulders.
Smart as Valerón was, he could already guess Yang Hao's plan for the striker role: Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink.
While Kiko was beloved by both the fans and the dressing room, he had never been a prolific goal scorer. Since returning from injury last season, he had yet to find the back of the net and his performances had been lackluster.
However, benching Kiko was no small decision.
Dropping a player of his stature could easily provoke a dressing-room mutiny.
After reaching a preliminary understanding with Valerón, Yang Hao delved deeper into his tactical philosophy with the Spaniard.
Many likened Valerón to a "Spanish Zidane," but this comparison only told half the story.
Both players shared similarities in height, technical prowess, and exceptional passing ability. However, Zidane's superior physicality set him apart, enabling him to retain possession under intense defensive pressure. Valerón, lacking this physical robustness, struggled in similar scenarios.
Even Sacchi, during his tenure at Atlético, had pushed Valerón to improve his physicality and strength, but the Spaniard never quite met those expectations.
This was the critical gap between the two players, and Yang Hao's tactical plans had to accommodate not only Valerón's limitations but also the specific attributes of forward Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink.
Building a 4-2-3-1 system with Atlético's current squad required careful adjustments. Unlike Deportivo La Coruña or Valencia, the team couldn't afford to implement a high-pressing defensive system.
Pushing up too aggressively would force both Hasselbaink and Valerón into physical battles with defenders, a scenario neither excelled in. Instead, Yang Hao planned to set the pressing zone between the opponent's 30-meter area and the midfield line, creating more space for Hasselbaink to exploit.
Defensively, Yang Hao tailored a system to minimize the weaknesses of both Hasselbaink and Valerón by forcing opponents to play down the flanks. This strategy reduced the defensive burden on the pair, though it increased the workload for the wingers, Santiago Solari and Juan Carlos Aguilera.
Yang Hao had no other options.
Valerón and Hasselbaink didn't perfectly fit his ideal tactical mold, but they were the best players at his disposal. His job was to create a system that maximized their strengths.
After a 30-minute discussion, Valerón left the office visibly more at ease. His attitude toward Yang Hao had shifted significantly, and Yang Hao could sense the Spaniard's excitement about playing a central role in this new system.
Valerón's agent had been exploring potential transfer options, perhaps even reaching out to Deportivo. While Yang Hao wasn't certain about the specifics, he knew Valerón was entertaining the idea of leaving Atlético, given the team's poor performances.
However, Yang Hao was confident. He had given Valerón not just a chance to prove himself but an opportunity to repay Atlético and boost his value for potential suitors.
Yang Hao believed in Valerón's professionalism and work ethic. If he could rekindle his passion and showcase his abilities, Atlético would be stronger for it.
Pleased with the outcome of his conversation with Valerón, Yang Hao summoned Hasselbaink next, with the help of young physio José Carlos García Parales.
Dealing with Hasselbaink was a completely different challenge.
Unlike the reserved Valerón, Hasselbaink was fiery, stubborn, and notoriously difficult to manage. Even seasoned coaches like Ranieri and Antic had struggled to keep the Dutchman in check.
Yang Hao had no illusions about his ability to dominate the conversation. Hasselbaink was unlikely to simply accept orders from a 25-year-old rookie coach.
If Yang Hao took a head-on approach, the situation could easily escalate into a confrontation.
To win Hasselbaink over, Yang Hao planned to take a different route. He needed to understand what motivated the Dutchman and appeal to those desires, rather than forcing compliance.
Before Antic's return, Hasselbaink had been in phenomenal form, scoring freely in La Liga. He led the scoring charts alongside Racing Santander's Salva Ballesta, ahead of Roy Makaay, Savo Milošević, and others.
However, since Antic's arrival, Hasselbaink's goal-scoring had slowed significantly. In the past six league matches, he had managed just two goals.
Meanwhile, fellow Dutchman Roy Makaay had been in red-hot form, netting six goals in the last three games, including a hat-trick against Atlético. Makaay's performances had overshadowed Hasselbaink and put him under pressure.
Yang Hao believed the key to managing Hasselbaink lay in appealing to his competitive spirit and professional pride. He needed to remind the forward of his own strengths and potential, reigniting his desire to dominate on the field.
And for that, Yang Hao planned to evoke a name—Frank Rijkaard, the Black Swan.
Atlético's players waited in the lounge for the afternoon training session.
When they saw Valerón emerge from the coach's office and return to the lounge, followed by the sharp-eyed physiotherapist Parales quietly summoning Hasselbaink for a meeting, murmurs rippled through the room.
It was no surprise that the new coach wanted to talk to players individually—it was standard practice for building rapport—but the order of those meetings caught everyone off guard.
Valerón went first, followed by Hasselbaink?
Laughter broke out among the players, with many expecting fireworks.
Everyone knew Hasselbaink's reputation: a temperamental hothead who didn't back down from anyone. If the coach had called Kiko first, even Hasselbaink might have accepted it—Kiko, after all, was a club legend with a résumé that demanded respect.
But Valerón?
The midfielder's two seasons at Atlético hadn't been particularly impressive, and his defensive deficiencies had drawn criticism from both fans and teammates, especially the defenders. Even now, the fans were booing Valerón for his perceived shortcomings.
"Just wait," someone joked. "This is going to blow up."
Their laughter spread throughout the lounge.
Different Reactions
The team's responses were varied.
The two captains looked concerned, while others seemed more interested in watching the drama unfold.
Valerón, still processing his conversation with the coach, glanced toward Kiko. The former star striker sat quietly, his expression unreadable. Since returning from his injury, Kiko had been distant and withdrawn—a shadow of his former self.
Valerón understood.
Falling from the pinnacle of success—being hailed as a hero, adored by fans—only to plummet to obscurity after a devastating injury would break anyone.
Yet Valerón couldn't help but speculate about the coach's strategy. Was the young manager deliberately avoiding Kiko, knowing how difficult he could be? Was he trying to stabilize the locker room by winning over other players first?
In professional football, the brutal reality was that an injury could ruin a career overnight, transforming a player's destiny forever.
As Valerón drifted in thought, teammate Rubén Baraja sidled up to him, patting him lightly on the arm.
"Hey, how's the new coach?" Baraja asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
Valerón, whose introverted nature often made it hard to connect with others, hesitated before replying. Baraja was one of the few teammates he could speak openly with.
"He's… different from Sacchi, Ranieri, or Antic."
"No kidding," Baraja quipped. "He's young, better-looking than those old men. But seriously, how is he different?"
Valerón considered his words carefully, then leaned closer to Baraja, lowering his voice.
"He wants to play with two holding midfielders."
Baraja's Shock
Baraja's jaw dropped in shock.
"Two…" His words faltered as he quickly clamped his hands over his mouth, afraid his excitement might draw unwanted attention and jeopardize the coach's plans.
Valerón nodded solemnly.
Baraja's reaction wasn't surprising.
Baraja had come up through Real Valladolid's youth academy, joining Atlético in 1996 on a free transfer. He had dreamed of making a name for himself at the reigning double champions.
But Baraja wasn't the most naturally gifted player, nor did he possess standout technical skills. His strengths lay in his work ethic and versatility.
Coaches from Sacchi to Ranieri to Antic had praised Baraja for his stamina, awareness of attacking runs, and ability to shoot from distance.
Yet Baraja had struggled for consistent opportunities.
With Atlético playing a four-man midfield, defensive midfielders were expected to act as brick walls. By that metric, Baraja fell short compared to teammates like Radek Bejbl, whose height, physicality, and defensive acumen made him the preferred choice.
Baraja's strengths—his passing, ability to join attacks late, and defensive contributions—often went underutilized.
But if the team transitioned to a double pivot, Baraja's fortunes could change.
In such a system, complementary skills between the two midfielders were critical. Bejbl's defensive solidity could pair well with Baraja's offensive instincts, creating balance in midfield.
"You're sure about this?" Baraja whispered, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Valerón nodded firmly.
"This is our last chance," he said gravely.
The team's survival depended on it.
If the new coach's tactical overhaul failed, it would spell disaster—not just for Atlético as a club but for every player involved.
Their names would forever be associated with one of the greatest failures in La Liga history.
Baraja clenched his fists, his eyes burning with determination.
"If the new coach really gives me a chance, I'll fight for him with everything I've got!"
Valerón knew his teammate's abilities well, but hearing Baraja's declaration of loyalty struck him as overly dramatic.
This was La Liga, after all. Atlético Madrid wasn't short on players eager to fight for someone who gave them an opportunity.
"I heard he's bringing up that Uruguayan kid from the reserves," Valerón mentioned, steering the conversation elsewhere.
"You mean Pablo García?" Baraja asked, intrigued.
Valerón nodded. García hadn't yet debuted for the first team but had trained with them. His build and strength were similar to Bejbl's, but as a South American, his ball skills were noticeably better.
"But don't we already have Fresnedoso and Hugo Leal?" Baraja frowned.
Adding another player would only increase the competition.
"Who knows what's going on in his head?" Valerón shrugged.
He could sense that the new coach had plenty of ideas, some of which reminded him of Sacchi's approach.
For instance, Yang Hao had described concentrating defensive efforts between the opponent's 30-meter mark and the halfway line. In other words, once the ball crossed the 30-meter line, Atlético would initiate their pressing game.
But even pressing came in different forms.
Sometimes, it was situational pressing—a functional tactic to slow down the opposition, buy time for the defense to regroup, or force the ball wide.
Other times, it was full-field pressing with the sole aim of winning back possession.
And occasionally, it was a feint—a pseudo-press designed to trick the opponent into passing backward, allowing Atlético to catch their breath.
Each scenario required players to adapt on the fly.
This wasn't foreign to Atlético's squad; Sacchi had similar expectations during his time.
But Yang Hao's approach had its own twist. He didn't want the opposition building attacks through the center, so his pressing scheme would force the ball out wide.
In these moments, the wingers would push higher than even the striker, applying pressure on the flanks.
It was unconventional.
What Valerón didn't share with Baraja was that Yang Hao had revealed even more tactical details to him.
One revelation stood out: Yang Hao intended for Valerón to be the team's focal point.
Earlier, Yang Hao had said something that still echoed in Valerón's mind, both thrilling and overwhelming.
"I've analyzed the past two seasons. Last year, our players struggled with Sacchi's demands, particularly the off-the-ball movement system he tried to implement. That was the root cause of our poor performances.
"Sacchi's tenure threw us off track. Then Antic and Ranieri tried to correct course, but by then, the players were caught between conflicting tactical philosophies. Many couldn't adjust.
"Our off-the-ball movement system is now a mess.
"Rather than having everyone run aimlessly on the pitch, we need to center our movements around one focal point.
"That focal point is you."
At that moment, Yang Hao's confidence and conviction were unshakeable. He had pointed directly at Valerón, leaving no room for doubt.
For the first time in his career, Valerón was being entrusted with such a pivotal role.
A system designed around him.
A team centered on his strengths.
What could be more motivating than that?
As he returned to the lounge, Valerón felt a long-extinguished fire reignite within him.
It burned brighter with every passing moment.
The Mystery Deepens
As time dragged on, the players in the lounge began growing restless.
The coach's office remained eerily quiet—too quiet.
The confrontation they had anticipated never came.
Had Hasselbaink acted so swiftly and decisively that he'd already overpowered the coach?
Should they rush over to rescue him?
Just as their imaginations were running wild, the office door finally creaked open.
Hasselbaink strolled out, grinning from ear to ear.
Before leaving, he turned back to the coach with a cheerful wave and a parting laugh, even making a point to shut the door gently behind him.
As he walked away, the Dutchman was practically glowing, his bright white teeth flashing with every smile. He looked like he was on the verge of bursting into song.
What was going on?
Had Hasselbaink been brainwashed?
He'd gone in with a storm cloud over his head and emerged with sunshine and rainbows.
The transformation was so drastic it left his teammates flabbergasted.
Hasselbaink noticed their bewildered stares and couldn't help but laugh heartily.
"Our new coach is so nice. I like him!" he declared.
Several players nearly fell off their seats.
What had just happened?
Had he been hypnotized?
This was the same Hasselbaink who had supposedly lined up his departure, ready to leave at the end of the season.
What could the coach possibly have offered him to change his attitude so drastically?
As the players exchanged glances, their curiosity grew.
They looked toward the coach's office with a newfound sense of intrigue.
One thing was clear:
Their coach was no ordinary man.
Yang Hao genuinely thought Hasselbaink was a good guy—well, a bit quirky, but overall decent.
Or maybe it was better to say that the Dutchman was just... direct.
Hasselbaink's career story was nothing short of a rollercoaster. He came through the youth ranks at AZ Alkmaar but was kicked out by the time he was 20. What followed was a two-year spell of not playing any football at all.
Eventually, he resurfaced in Portugal's lower leagues, slowly climbing his way up until he joined Boavista.
By then, he was already 24.
Some people called Ruud van Nistelrooy a late bloomer, but if that was late, then what was Hasselbaink?
Once he took off, though, it was meteoric. From Boavista, he made his way to Leeds United and then to Atlético Madrid. Now, he was considered one of Europe's most sought-after strikers.
But even now, Hasselbaink remained a polarizing figure.
Some fans adored him, praising his raw power, aggression, and ability to dominate defenders with his sheer physicality. For them, he epitomized football's primal energy—explosive, thrilling, unapologetically aggressive.
Others despised him, claiming he was a one-dimensional player—a "selfish lone wolf" who didn't pass, couldn't connect with teammates, and contributed little beyond padding his own scoring stats.
That criticism extended to coaches as well. Some loved his single-minded hunger for goals; others couldn't stand how he ignored everything else.
Case in point: Frank Rijkaard.
In Rijkaard's vision for the Dutch national team, the ideal striker was someone like Patrick Kluivert—a well-rounded playmaker forward. Even top-tier scorers like van Nistelrooy and Roy Makaay failed to win Rijkaard's full approval, let alone someone as polarizing as Hasselbaink.
As a result, Hasselbaink's standing with the Dutch national team was awkward at best.
With Euro 2000 fast approaching, every Dutch player was desperate to make the squad.
And with Roy Makaay's recent scoring spree, Hasselbaink was feeling the pressure.
Yang Hao had read that insecurity like an open book.
So, during their chat, Yang Hao made his pitch. He reassured Hasselbaink that Atlético would back him fully in his bid for a national team spot. More importantly, Yang Hao emphasized the competition with Makaay.
"You're Europe's best striker—believe it!" he told him.
Empty flattery? Maybe. But what did it cost to say something nice? Nothing.
And it worked like a charm. Hasselbaink left the room buzzing with energy, determined to outscore Makaay and earn a ticket to the Euros.
After all, with van Nistelrooy sidelined by injury, this was the perfect opportunity to shine.
He had God on his side now, or so Yang Hao joked.
Mission Accomplished
Once Hasselbaink left the office, Yang Hao leaned back in his chair, shaking his head in amusement.
Was it really persuasion? Not exactly.
The truth was, Atlético Madrid desperately needed Hasselbaink's goals.
But Yang Hao also managed to nudge him toward being more tactically involved.
Why?
"Make Rijkaard see your value, broaden his perception of you," Yang Hao had said, knowing full well that appealing to the Dutchman's ego wouldn't hurt either.
In the end, Hasselbaink reluctantly agreed to follow the coach's tactical plans—if only to prove a point to Rijkaard.
That made Yang Hao chuckle. Hasselbaink might seem unmanageable at first glance, but he was far easier to handle than Valerón.
Valerón hid his thoughts behind a reserved exterior, while Hasselbaink wore his emotions on his sleeve.
Just as Yang Hao was reflecting on his recent victories, his phone buzzed.
It was Miguel Gil.
"Hey, I've found someone for the coaching role," Miguel announced.
"Who?"
"César Mendiondo."
Yang Hao blinked. "Who?"
Miguel quickly explained.
César Mendiondo was a lifelong Atlético fan—practically born into it.
His father, José Mendiondo, had trained in Atlético's youth academy in the 1950s and eventually became a professional player.
César followed in his father's footsteps, joining Atlético's youth ranks in the 1980s and even making it to the first team for a while.
Though his playing career was unremarkable, César maintained strong ties to Atlético, bouncing between clubs before retiring in 1998.
After hanging up his boots, he became a part-time scout for Atlético, earning respect within the club for his sharp eye for talent.
He even recommended a few rising stars who later made it big.
Beyond his resume, Miguel believed César's deep connections within the club and Spanish football scene could make him an invaluable asset for Yang Hao.
He had personal relationships with many at Atlético, including vice-captain Aguilera, with whom he had played in the youth team.
"With him on your staff, you'll have someone to help you navigate the club and the league. Plus, he can manage relationships with the players," Miguel explained.
Yang Hao nodded thoughtfully. It made sense.
"Alright, let's meet him," Yang Hao agreed.
With the immediate task of shoring up his staff underway, Yang Hao felt the pieces starting to fall into place.
Now, it was time to focus on training.
Because words alone wouldn't save Atlético Madrid.
Yang Hao felt that César Mendiondo could indeed be a good addition to the coaching team. However, his most pressing need was still for a "head coach-type" assistant.
"Understood," said Miguel Gil, sighing heavily over the phone. "We've got a long list of candidates, but finding the perfect match isn't easy. Could you narrow it down a bit more for me?"
"I'd prefer someone experienced with the 4-2-3-1 formation, adept at high-pressing tactics, and skilled at player training."
Miguel groaned internally. Yang Hao's criteria shrunk the pool drastically while simultaneously raising the bar.
"Alright, I'll focus the search," Miguel promised, "but don't get your hopes up for a miracle. It's unlikely we'll find someone in time for the Barça match."
That was fair enough. Finding a qualified assistant coach within three days was no small feat.
Yang Hao hung up, rubbing his temples. Time was his greatest enemy, and there wasn't enough of it.
Even so, some things couldn't be delayed.
After the call, Yang Hao had Solari, Capdevila, and a few other key players summoned one by one to his office.
These were players Yang Hao planned to rely on heavily, especially Solari and Capdevila on the left flank.
The Left Flank: Atlético's Golden Wing
Solari and Capdevila made up Atlético's strongest attacking duo. On the right, Gaspar's defensive skills were solid, but his offensive contributions were average at best. Aguilera, being older, was steady but lacked the stamina for an attacking role.
As such, Yang Hao decided that Atlético's offensive focus had to be through the left wing.
Starting with Solari, Yang Hao opted to avoid addressing rumors of his potential move to Real Madrid. Instead, he chose to emphasize the team's reliance on Solari's skills.
"I need you to give everything for Atlético in the coming matches," Yang Hao said earnestly.
Solari, a consummate professional, gave his word.
A product of a football family—his father and uncle ran a football school in Argentina that had produced stars like Mascherano—Solari wasn't one to complain. Still, Yang Hao knew he had his own thoughts about his career.
When Yang Hao laid out his tactical plans, Solari immediately recognized the challenges awaiting him.
"Coach, this setup will demand a lot from me," Solari noted.
Yang Hao nodded, impressed by Solari's perceptiveness. "You're right. You'll need to run more, especially with Aguilera focusing on stabilizing the right flank."
After some thought, Solari agreed. He was in his prime, with the stamina to meet the challenge. After all, this was the same Solari who would later thrive in Real Madrid's Galácticos squad.
Next came Capdevila, the 22-year-old Spanish left-back. Yang Hao lavished him with praise, calling him a future European star.
While the flattery was slightly over the top, it wasn't baseless. Capdevila had shown incredible promise this season.
"Compared to Salgado on the right, Spain's left-back options are lacking," Yang Hao observed. "You're every bit as good as players like Juanfran—maybe even better."
Capdevila's eyes lit up.
"I'm sure you'll catch Camacho's eye—especially if you deliver standout performances against top teams."
Nothing drew attention like a strong showing against a titan like Barcelona.
Young and eager to prove himself, Capdevila soaked up the praise. By the time Yang Hao finished, the Spaniard was fired up, ready to turn Atlético's left wing into a game-changing weapon.
The Baraja Surprise
Yang Hao's final meeting before afternoon training was with Baraja, a player he considered crucial to his 4-2-3-1 formation.
Among the current roster, Baraja stood out as a versatile and hardworking midfielder.
"Double pivots are hard to come by," Yang Hao thought. "And Baraja's just hitting his prime."
If Yang Hao managed to keep his job beyond this season, convincing Baraja to stay would be a top priority.
What Yang Hao didn't expect was Baraja's over-the-top enthusiasm.
The moment Yang Hao mentioned the idea of a 4-2-3-1 with a double-pivot midfield, Baraja's eyes lit up.
"Coach, trust me! Give me this chance, and I'll give you everything I've got!" Baraja exclaimed, practically vibrating with energy.
Yang Hao froze.
Wait, what?
His persuasion skill was still on cooldown! How did Baraja already take the bait?
"Are you serious?" Yang Hao asked, half-joking. "I haven't even started the pitch yet!"
Baraja's determined expression didn't waver.
"You don't need to. I've been waiting for this chance my whole career. Just point me in the right direction, Coach, and I'll fight for you!"
Yang Hao couldn't help but laugh.
"Alright, you're on," he said, patting Baraja on the shoulder.
Baraja's enthusiasm was genuine, and Yang Hao wasn't about to waste it.
"Well, I guess I can't complain," Yang Hao thought. "But man, this guy's ahead of the script."
Where was the drama? The back-and-forth?
For now, though, Yang Hao decided to count his blessings. With Baraja's commitment secured, his vision for the double-pivot midfield was starting to take shape.
Evening Reflections
By the time afternoon training rolled around, Yang Hao felt a renewed sense of optimism.
His discussions with Solari, Capdevila, and Baraja had gone better than expected.
Still, he knew that tactical plans and player buy-in wouldn't mean much without results.
The Barcelona match loomed large on the horizon, and all eyes were on Atlético's new coach.
No more words.
It was time to act.
The afternoon training session followed the original plan, but not without minor setbacks.
Yang Hao had planned to call up four youth players—Pablo García, Antonio López, Fernando Torres, and Gabi—but only García and López showed up. Both had training commitments with Atlético's reserves and U19 squads, respectively. Torres and Gabi, both part of the U17 squad, were currently on a break following their weekend matches.
Unperturbed, Yang Hao instructed physiotherapist Palareles to coordinate their inclusion in future training sessions.
After his earlier conversations with players like Solari and Hasselbaink, a growing sense of optimism began to permeate the squad. Those who had already spoken with the new coach now seemed more assured, their demeanor and effort during training reflecting a newfound focus.
The rest of the team, however, remained on edge. Every player hoped to be the next one summoned, believing it would give them a competitive advantage in securing playing time or a favorable role.
Despite the productive training atmosphere, Yang Hao's thoughts drifted far from the pitch—to Barcelona, Atlético's upcoming opponent in the Copa del Rey semifinals.
A Star-Studded Barcelona
Barcelona's strength this season was daunting. From any angle, the team epitomized "star-studded."
Players like Luis Figo and Rivaldo, both Ballon d'Or winners, needed no introduction. Supporting them were elite talents such as Luis Enrique, Patrick Kluivert, Pep Guardiola, Zenden, Cocu, the De Boer brothers, Reiziger, and Bogarde.
In this constellation of stars, emerging talents like Xavi, Reina, and Puyol were mere glimmers of what they would become in later years.
Many modern fans often criticize Van Gaal's tenure at Barcelona as a failure, but that assessment overlooks his achievements.
When Van Gaal took over in 1997, he arrived as the reigning Champions League-winning coach of Ajax, inheriting a Barcelona side deeply rooted in the Dutch football philosophy cultivated by managers like Rinus Michels and Johan Cruyff. Tasked with revitalizing the team, Van Gaal leaned heavily into his Dutch connections, forming a strong "Dutch contingent" within the squad.
At its peak, Van Gaal's Barcelona had eight Dutch players, each integral to the team's success. During the 1997/98 and 1998/99 seasons, Barcelona dominated La Liga, claiming two consecutive titles with large points margins.
However, as results faltered this season, tensions both on and off the pitch began to boil over.
Barcelona's Internal Struggles
A key point of contention involved Rivaldo, who repeatedly clashed with Van Gaal over being deployed on the left wing rather than in his preferred central role.
Rivaldo, frustrated by this perceived "waste of talent," even drew interest from none other than Manchester United. Sir Alex Ferguson publicly declared his admiration for the Brazilian maestro, prompting Van Gaal to fire back:
"Before Manchester United looks at Rivaldo, they should check their wallet. Can they even afford him?"
Not content to leave it at that, Van Gaal threw another jab:
"It's curious how Ferguson talks about not increasing Beckham's salary while simultaneously dreaming of signing a player they clearly can't afford. Interesting priorities."
These public spats encapsulated the turbulent atmosphere at Barcelona. The team's struggles to catch up with league leaders Deportivo La Coruña only amplified fan dissatisfaction.
Even within the squad, discontent simmered. Veteran center-back Abelardo openly criticized Van Gaal's tactics, likening them to the unattractive football played by Premier League side Chelsea—a harsh comparison given the widespread disdain for English football's perceived lack of style at the time.
Atlético's Challenge
For Atlético, this dysfunctional yet immensely talented Barcelona posed a formidable obstacle.
Their recent 3-0 loss to Real Mallorca highlighted glaring vulnerabilities in Van Gaal's system. Mallorca's Eto'o and Tristán exploited those weaknesses, with Eto'o scoring twice in a stellar display.
Interestingly, Mallorca's success came using a simple 4-4-2 formation focused on defensive solidity and counter-attacking efficiency. However, replicating this strategy was easier said than done. Atlético lacked a game-breaking talent like Eto'o or the clinical finishing of Tristán.
Yang Hao knew his side's only hope lay in meticulous preparation. Defense would need to nullify Barcelona's threats while creating enough opportunities for Hasselbaink and the attack to capitalize on the counter.
Breaking Down Barcelona
Back in his office after training, Yang Hao delved into match footage from Barcelona's loss to Mallorca.
Van Gaal's signature 4-3-3 was still evident, though notable changes had emerged. Guardiola, long the team's midfield anchor, had been benched in favor of Cocu. The decision to sideline the 31-year-old captain raised eyebrows, particularly given the Dutch coach's growing reliance on his compatriots.
Players like Kluivert, Frank de Boer, Cocu, and Hesp were mainstays, while Bogarde frequently filled in at left-back—a position that had plagued Barcelona all season due to a lack of depth.
Finding Weaknesses
Yang Hao replayed key moments from the Mallorca match, pausing to take notes.
Barcelona's insistence on building from the back often left them exposed during transitions. Mallorca had successfully targeted this vulnerability by pressuring Barcelona's midfield trio, forcing them into turnovers.
Another glaring issue lay in their left flank, where Bogarde struggled to contain fast and physical attackers. Yang Hao quickly noted this as a potential avenue for Atlético's Solari-Capdevila partnership to exploit.
Of course, Barcelona's offensive firepower remained a massive concern. With Figo and Rivaldo pulling the strings and Kluivert leading the line, any lapse in concentration could prove fatal.
Next Steps
Closing his notebook, Yang Hao leaned back in his chair. The pieces were starting to come together, but the puzzle was far from complete.
His team needed a flawless plan to not just compete, but triumph against a team as formidable as Barcelona.
For now, Yang Hao focused on what he could control: his players' mindset and tactical discipline.
The odds were stacked against Atlético, but Yang Hao had already defied expectations just by taking the job.
"Let them underestimate us," he thought, a determined smile creeping across his face. "We'll make them regret it."
By all accounts, Barcelona's backline for the upcoming match would likely feature Bogarde, Frank de Boer, Abelardo, and Puyol. Yes, Barcelona's future captain was currently playing as a right-back, a role that spoke volumes about Van Gaal's trust in him despite his youth.
In midfield, Gabri, Cocu, and perhaps Xavi would complete the trio, showcasing a mix of experience and promise. Upfront, Kluivert was an obvious choice for the center-forward role, flanked by the talismanic Figo and the ever-dominant Rivaldo. Given Barcelona's desperate need for a victory after their humiliating loss to Mallorca, Van Gaal was unlikely to bench his marquee players.
This would leave Barcelona's bench stocked with capable reinforcements like Jari Litmanen, Simão, and Zenden.
For Atlético, even their most recognizable name, Hasselbaink, seemed a notch below the star power Barcelona exuded at every position. This stark contrast encapsulated the daunting challenge Yang Hao faced.
But as a manager from 2023 with the benefit of hindsight, Yang Hao didn't believe in worshipping star power.
He knew better than anyone that football is, at its core, a team game.
Even teams brimming with superstars—like the Galácticos—had succumbed to disunity, sometimes falling to underdogs from far lower divisions.
A Tactical Shift
Initially, Yang Hao had planned to focus on breaking through Barcelona's right flank, capitalizing on Figo's reluctance to track back.
But after analyzing Barcelona's match against Mallorca, he realized that their right-side defense, bolstered by Puyol, might prove impenetrable. Puyol's pace and tenacity would likely nullify any advantage Solari could create.
The left side, however, was another story.
Bogarde, a left-footed center-back deployed as a makeshift left-back, was physically dominant but lacked finesse and agility. At 1.88 meters tall, his Surinamese heritage granted him a commanding presence, but his slower reactions and clumsy footwork made him vulnerable to quick, technical players.
Yang Hao immediately identified this as a potential weak spot. The diminutive Aguilera, with his sharp runs and agility, could exploit Bogarde's weaknesses.
With this realization, Yang Hao adjusted his tactical approach: attack Barcelona's left side.
Long Hours, Big Decisions
By the time Yang Hao finished analyzing the game tape, the sky outside had turned dark.
Most of the players and staff had gone home after training, but Palareles, ever the reliable aide, had stayed behind. Yang Hao appreciated his initiative—this young physiotherapist seemed to have a knack for reading the room and stepping in when needed.
Not long after, Miguel Gil called to offer Yang Hao a ride and invited him to unwind over dinner and drinks. Yang Hao, who didn't own a car, gladly accepted the gesture.
Before heading out, Yang Hao stretched and took in the sight of the training grounds, dimly lit under the night sky. It felt surreal.
In just a day, he had gone from being an outsider to Atlético Madrid's head coach.
The whirlwind of meetings, decisions, and preparations left him no time to dwell on the enormity of the role. Yet, standing there in the quiet of the night, it all began to sink in.
The Unexpected Visitor
As Yang Hao walked out of his office, stretching his stiff muscles, Palareles approached him. This time, he wasn't alone.
With him was Kiko, the once-revered Atlético talisman whose career had been derailed by injuries.
Yang Hao's heart skipped a beat.
This wasn't part of the plan. He had intended to address Kiko later, after solidifying his relationships with the rest of the squad. Confronting him too soon, before he'd established authority, could destabilize the team dynamic.
Had Kiko sensed something?
Steeling himself, Yang Hao plastered on a welcoming smile and greeted the former Spanish prince.
"Hey, Kiko! Still here this late?"
Kiko's weary expression betrayed his emotional and physical struggles. The injuries, the dip in form, and the weight of being a fading icon had visibly taken their toll.
For a fleeting moment, Yang Hao saw shades of Ronaldo, the Brazilian phenom who had fought valiantly against injuries to reclaim his place in football.
Palareles shot Yang Hao a subtle, apologetic glance, silently indicating that Kiko had insisted on this meeting.
Realizing there was no avoiding it, Yang Hao took a deep breath and waved them inside.
A Direct Approach
Once seated in the office, Yang Hao wasted no time beating around the bush.
"Let's skip the formalities, Kiko. What's on your mind?"
His tone was firm but not harsh, leaving no room for pleasantries or evasion.
Kiko hesitated for a moment, then met Yang Hao's gaze. The weariness in his eyes was unmistakable, but so was the resolve.
It was clear that this conversation wasn't going to be easy.
For Yang Hao, this was a pivotal moment. Managing Kiko—once the team's pride and joy but now a shadow of his former self—was perhaps his greatest challenge yet.
Even while sitting in Miguel Gil's car, Yang Hao's thoughts were consumed by the conversation he had just had with Kiko.
He had expected the meeting to be confrontational, assuming Kiko had come to challenge him. But instead, the veteran forward had come to unburden himself.
"Please trust me—I will never become a problem for you or this team."
The sincerity in Kiko's voice had shaken Yang Hao.
It wasn't just the words themselves; it was the tone, the expression, the unguarded emotion that revealed how much this club still meant to him.
Kiko had confessed that he was fully aware of his struggles—both physical and emotional. He had even said something similar to Antic, who, despite Kiko's faltering performances, had continued to field him.
The reasoning was simple: Kiko wasn't just a player; he was a symbol. His presence inspired fans, steadied the locker room, and represented the soul of Atlético.
But Yang Hao couldn't repeat Antic's approach.
He had to be honest, and he told Kiko directly: under the new 4-2-3-1 system, the team's reliance on Hasselbaink as the main striker left no room for Kiko in the starting lineup.
Yang Hao watched as Kiko's face dimmed, the light in his eyes fading into resignation. For the Spanish "prince," it was a bitter confirmation that his era had ended.
Yet, remarkably, Kiko didn't lash out.
Instead, he lifted his head, forced a faint smile, and said, "I can accept your decision. If it's for the good of the team, I'll step aside. You can even leave me out of the squad list entirely."
Yang Hao had always viewed professional football as a ruthless arena driven by ego and ambition. But Kiko's selflessness had upended that belief.
This wasn't just about football. It was about loyalty, identity, and a deep emotional bond with the club.
A Role Beyond the Pitch
Moved by Kiko's openness, Yang Hao shared his own hopes for the forward.
"I still believe you have a crucial role to play—not just in the locker room or as a substitute, but for someone I have high hopes for."
"Who?" Kiko asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Fernando Torres."
"Ah, Torres," Kiko said, smiling faintly. He knew the young prodigy well.
Yang Hao explained how he wanted Kiko to mentor Torres and other rising stars. While Torres wasn't yet ready to lead the team, Yang Hao saw him as a cornerstone of Atlético's future.
"Trust me," Yang Hao told Kiko with conviction. "Stay here, continue to contribute in your own way, and you'll witness the rise of a stronger Atlético than ever before."
Kiko seemed to draw strength from Yang Hao's words. Though his own chapter as the team's leading man might have closed, a new purpose had been placed before him.
The Spirit of Atlético
Later, as they drove through the city, Miguel Gil broke the silence.
"I saw Kiko leave your office earlier. How did it go?"
Yang Hao recounted the conversation in detail, and Miguel nodded thoughtfully.
"Kiko may be from Cádiz, but Atlético's spirit is ingrained in his very being," Miguel said.
Yang Hao couldn't help but smile, but a question lingered in his mind. "This Atlético spirit you all speak of—what exactly is it?"
Miguel sighed, his smile tinged with bitterness. "It doesn't really matter anymore. No one seems to care about it these days."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. I've never looked too deeply into it," Miguel admitted. "But I feel like the world has sped up somehow. Everyone's busy, stressed. Nobody seems to have the patience or the heart for things like this anymore."
It wasn't often that Miguel shared such introspective thoughts, and Yang Hao listened closely.
"When I was younger, in school, our class was split evenly between Real Madrid and Atlético fans. We were so passionate about it that we'd fight each other after school over which club was better."
He chuckled at the memory.
"But now? I visited a local school not long ago, and out of thirty kids in a class, I couldn't find a single Atlético fan. Not one."
"What happened?"
"I asked them why they liked Real Madrid, and the most common answers were simple: because Real wins, or because of players like Raúl, Redondo, Suker, or Mijatovic."
Miguel paused, his voice heavy with frustration.
"Kids these days, journalists too—they all gravitate to the big winners like Real and Barcelona. Nobody wants to support a team that struggles. It's not just football. The whole world feels different now."
Yang Hao, though an outsider, could sense Miguel's melancholy. He understood the underlying truth: the world was indeed changing.
Life had become faster, more demanding. People had less time and emotional energy to invest in football, let alone a struggling club like Atlético.
The passion and identity that once defined the sport were fading, overshadowed by the relentless march of success and spectacle.
A Time for Revival
Yang Hao gazed out of the car window, reflecting on Miguel's words.
If Atlético had lost its way, then perhaps his task wasn't just to save them from relegation. Perhaps it was also to help rekindle the spirit that once made this club the pride of its fans.
It wasn't just about winning.
It was about making people believe again.
Even though fans still bought tickets to games and gathered in front of their televisions to watch matches, their relationship with football was changing.
Football had become, as Van Gaal once said, an entertainment product—a show.
For many, entering a stadium or tuning into a broadcast wasn't about devotion anymore. It was a fleeting form of escape, a brief emotional outlet. Enjoyable, yes, but superficial.
This trend wasn't yet glaringly obvious, but with the coming rise of the internet and globalization, it would become undeniable. Fanbases would diversify, and loyalties would grow more fragmented.
This was the new reality: adapt and evolve, or be left behind.
"Did you know," Miguel Gil began, "a lot of people think that because we and Athletic Bilbao both wear red-and-white stripes, they must have copied us. But it's the other way around."
"Really?"
"Yes," Miguel replied with a faint smile. "Atlético was originally Athletic Bilbao's branch in Madrid. They were the second football club founded in Spain, thanks to their northern proximity to England and early exposure to football culture."
Yang Hao was surprised by this piece of history.
"Our first crest was identical to Bilbao's, combining symbols like the bridge of San Antón, the Haro wolves, and the oak tree of Gernika."
"It wasn't until years later that Atlético created its own identity—the red-and-white stripes representing the Colchoneros, the seven stars from Madrid's regional flag, and the bear reaching for the strawberry tree, a nod to Madrid itself."
Miguel paused, his tone growing reflective.
"Just as Bilbao's people have historically resisted central authority, Atlético has always stood as a symbol of defiance—against power, against inequality, against the establishment. If Real Madrid represents royalty and grandeur, then we represent the ordinary people of this city."
"In our values, Atlético stands for hard work, humility, sacrifice, and resilience. We fight for the underdog. For over a century, we've embodied this spirit in defiance of the city's other footballing giant—Real Madrid."
Yang Hao sat in silence, absorbing every word. He suddenly understood Miguel Gil's conflicted feelings about Atlético.
Miguel had grown up steeped in this ideology, only to watch it crumble before his eyes.
Atlético once represented the working class of Madrid, but those very people had drifted away. Some had even defected to Real Madrid, the very symbol Atlético had long resisted.
The Gil family lacked the financial resources to compete with Real. Emotionally, the situation was even worse. Jesus Gil clung stubbornly to the fight, while Miguel struggled with growing doubts.
To many loyal fans, the elder Gil remained a warrior defending Atlético against systemic oppression. His legal troubles—even accusations of embezzlement—were dismissed by supporters as a witch hunt by the establishment.
There may have been some truth to these claims—after all, the courts had just cleared Jesus Gil of charges. But that victory felt hollow.
The real battle was being lost elsewhere. Fewer people shared their devotion. Among the younger generation, finding an Atlético supporter was becoming increasingly rare.
This was what terrified Miguel Gil.
What was Atlético's identity now? How could the club remain relevant in a city increasingly captivated by Real Madrid?
Miguel didn't have the answers.
And so, Atlético drifted.
Yang Hao thought of Athletic Bilbao.
Some might call the Basque Lions a peculiar club, but anyone who had coached them knew their culture was unique.
Perhaps that's what made them special.
Bilbao was fortunate—they didn't have to contend with a titan like Real Madrid in their backyard. Yet even in their relative isolation, Bilbao's insistence on fielding only Basque players was seen by some as antiquated and self-limiting.
But Yang Hao saw it differently.
That steadfastness was Bilbao's way of protecting its culture and values from being diluted by modern football's relentless commercialism.
"Let's work hard together," Yang Hao said suddenly, turning to Miguel.
He smiled.
Miguel hesitated, then returned the smile. "Yes, let's."
Yang Hao had his own mission: to establish himself as Atlético's manager and guide the team to success on the pitch.
Miguel's mission was more complex.
He needed to navigate Atlético through an identity crisis—carrying its proud history into the future while finding a way to connect with a new generation of fans.
In that moment, they were truly aligned.
For the first time, Yang Hao and Miguel Gil were united by a shared sense of purpose.
(End of Chapter)
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