Chapter 9
Chapter 9
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 9
Chapter Title: Civil War
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The faces of the divided teams split into stark contrasts.
Naturally, the first-team starters needed to gel together to maintain their performance, so the teams had sorted themselves into first team versus second team.
The current Espanyol first team was a mix of the first group and the third group.
It made perfect sense.
The starting lineup from their Primera División days took priority, of course.
And for the remaining spots, would they use raw youth prospects fresh from the academy, or the expensive signings they'd brought in?
They didn't completely ignore academy products, but typically, the starting eleven consisted of established players plus new signings.
That meant this 11-v-11 scrimmage would pit the starters against the prospects.
"Si-eon, which side do you want to play on?"
The coach asked me where I wanted to play.
If I wanted to break into the starting lineup as quickly as possible, joining the starters was the obvious choice.
I could build chemistry early, integrate fully, and besides, they'd be the ones winning.
No matter what I showed, it was hard to shine if the team was getting overrun.
That would be the standard pick.
But if I was content scraping by for one starting spot through sheer grit, why would I have joined this crumbling team?
My goal went beyond starting—it was to become the coach on the pitch.
Sure, modern soccer was called a "coach's game," but coaches didn't play.
They paved the way before kickoff, and it was up to the players to walk it.
The reason it was a coach's game was because tactics had evolved so much that even lesser players could succeed on an easy path—just follow the lines.
But what if the opposite happened?
If the path twisted and jagged, but a player bulldozed through with raw athleticism?
Done.
No matter the pre-game tactics—even custom plans to mark an ace—if that ace shattered them all?
They'd crumble harder than a basic defense.
Devote three players to stop one, fail, and watch the gaps you abandoned bleed goals in chains.
An unstoppable force that blasted through blocks, dragged clinging opponents, and marched forward.
That was me right now.
In Spain's second division, no one could stop me.
"I'll play for the second team."
"Hmm... Alright, let's get started then."
Martin Leo eyed me with intrigue, clearly surprised by my choice.
"Sigh... Here we go again, stress-relief duty..."
"Right? Lose the league games, then rampage here—what's the point..."
"Practice-game Yeopo—guess we just take our lumps."
As I approached the second-team huddle, I caught their grumbling.
"What? The coach said you're playing here? Guess you're not that hyped either."
They welcomed me with knowing smirks, like at least he's in the same boat.
"I'm here."
"What're you talking about? You don't get to pick your team."
"Yeah, I do."
"Huh..."
Their reactions suggested they had zero say in things.
Come to think of it, my words might've sounded like I'd appointed myself starter or sub.
And chosen sub, no less.
"Do you guys always scrimmage like this?"
"Yeah, maybe one or two swap out occasionally, but it's mostly the same crew."
"This is the bench mob. You telling me you don't even know the starters? Didn't you pick them yourself?"
They all looked baffled by my choice.
Time to drop the real declaration.
"I joined the team with more starters."
"What does that even mean?"
"In my eyes, this side's closer to the real first team within a year. Building chemistry with the starters early? Huge win for a newbie like me."
"Haha... Appreciate the flattery, but wrong crowd."
"If only..."
They didn't buy it yet, naturally.
Espanyol's youth wasn't Barcelona's La Masia, and not every kid they signed turned into a star.
But I remembered the huge buzz from my past life.
The true Barcelona youth.
Barcelona's La Masia was famed for churning out top talents.
And it was true.
Pep Guardiola's invincible Barcelona? Eight of the best XI were La Masia products: Lionel Messi, Xavi Hernández, Andrés Iniesta, Sergio Busquets, Carles Puyol, Gerard Piqué—names even casual fans knew, perennial GOAT candidates in their positions, all academy gems.
Even in slumps after their peak, with inept boards squandering cash on antics, fans said one thing:
La Masia will save them.
Post-peak generational woes? La Masia fixed it.
Current Barcelona roster from La Masia: Ronald Araujo, Eric García, Pablo Gavi, Alejandro Balde, Iñaki Peña, Marc Casadó, Fermín López, Pau Víctor, Dani Olmo, Marc Bernal.
Honorary mentions: Pedri and Frenkie de Jong.
Impressive? Wait for Lamine Yamal and Pau Cubarsí.
Yamal was the attacking Cubarsí; Cubarsí, the defensive Yamal.
No need to say more.
Teens just starting out, outshining primes.
What monsters would they become?
Fans of rivals shuddered at the growth potential.
Off-topic, but crucial.
Because in two years, these trembling kids before me would rival La Masia.
Espanyol's full name: RCD Espanyol de Barcelona.
So much so, jokes flew about La Masia kids wandering into the wrong academy.
Two years from now.
Even without me.
In this dire club, they'd drag Espanyol back to Primera, even contend for titles—a miracle.
I couldn't just watch it unfold.
No reason to twiddle thumbs praying for two years.
I knew their optimal styles, strengths, weaknesses—even how to deploy them.
To make it happen, I needed influence first.
Simple.
"Let's crush them overwhelmingly."
Just show it.
Smash the star starters with benchwarmers, and no coach would ignore changes.
Especially this one, banking on me.
One slip, and I'd be out—but exceed expectations consistently?
It happens.
A player greater than the team.
In my past life, even with game-changing talent amid the worst, I was just a cog.
Not this time.
I wouldn't allow myself that mistake again.
And now, I had a fan who'd never allow it—cheering only for me.
"Hey, rookie! Stop spacing out—get over here!"
One teammate dragged me from the pitch center, where I'd stood lost in thought, wind in my face.
Let's fix this one first.
"Hey, you—for this game, or just the first half: follow my lead?"
"What?"
"You always hesitate on decisions, best path—then lose the ball. I'll call it for you."
"What do you know?!"
"That's why."
"..."
Yep, matched my memory.
"How...?"
"Exactly that. I'll be your best judgment. Unsure where to go? Pass to me, always."