Chapter 40
Everything's tough the first time. Like that striker from Jeonnam FC last year. Like Miguel Amaro this year. And... today, AD Alcorcon.
Alcorcon hosts Cordoba and claims a satisfying 4-0 victory, grabbing 3 points after seven games!
Plagued by a goal drought with a dismal 2 draws and 4 losses over six games, AD Alcorcon seized control early after Rubén Soriano's header. They poured in two more in the first half alone. Their attack stayed relentless in the second, though it tapered to just one goal—a shame, but four total strikes carried massive weight. This win lifted them to 12th place, easing relegation fears for now.
Was it a perfect game? Not quite. Sure, four goals, but not one from the central striker or wingers. Excluding an own goal, the other three came from a center-back, midfielder, and left-back. The midfield and defense bailed out the forwards. But hey, team issue—not mine. With next season's starting striker spot on the line, rivals flopping is pure profit for me.
"Just months ago, we were sweating relegation. Now? Nine straight wins, eyeing the title. You heard—Navalcarnaro drew today."
Our turn. Still topping Group 5, CDA Navalcarnaro had been hemorrhaging points lately. A win today shrinks our six-point gap to four. And if CD Numancia—second on goal difference—loses their simultaneous match, we snatch that spot too.
"We'll win today, no doubt. They're full of holes compared to you lot, and our organization just keeps tightening. But remember: no complacency, no lapses. Stay sharp till the end."
Jordi Calavera fixed his players with a steely glare.
"Run your hearts out until the ref's final whistle. Like I said in training: no slacker wears this kit on that pitch."
The squad nodded with grim resolve. Only then did Jordi Calavera soften, clapping to fire them up.
"Alright! Let's go fight! Victory's ours—stay locked in!"
We filed out of the dressing room toward the tunnel. I was steadying my breath, mindset shifting to game mode, when Miguel Amaro sidled up, dead serious.
"Theo."
"Yeah."
"A-team scored four today, right?"
"Yep."
"Let's double it."
"Double?"
"Yeah. We're the B-team. Gotta go twice as hard, no?"
Huh. Miracle mathematician.
Thwack! The net ripples wildly. Just 20 minutes into the first half, and it's already 4-0. All four goals? From one player's toes. Cha Tae-oh. Five shots on target, four goals—one a header. Insane finishing. Block all you want; give him an angle, and it's lights out. The opponents' will crumbled below rock bottom.
Victory was sealed the moment he notched his hat-trick. No surprise whose side: Cha Tae-oh's AD Alcorcon B.
"Every time I see him, it's unreal. Has Segunda Federacion ever had a presence like this in its history?"
AD Alcorcon's chief scout shook his head in awe. Beside him, watching live, technical director Iñigo Chapé nodded agreement.
"History? Nope. And for good reason. Why would a guy playing like that stick in Segunda?"
"True."
"A prospect this hot? The club would've fast-tracked him to the A-team squad."
"Duh. Burying him in B-team is nuts."
"And that's exactly what we're doing."
Iñigo Chapé's words drew a shrug from the scout.
"La Liga rules, though. If Theo joined before the winter window and lit it up like this, he'd be in La Liga 2 by now."
"That's my biggest regret. If I'd known him pre-winter, I'd have carved out an A-team spot, no question."
"We've got one non-EU slot open, luckily."
"Perfect fit."
Iñigo Chapé smacked his lips in frustration. "At least this blowout keeps relegation at bay."
"Forwards blanked, sure... but the win juices the vibe."
The scout glanced sideways. "So... how'd it go with Pablo?"
Iñigo Chapé, who'd been beaming at the match, frowned instantly. The scout caught it.
"...Not good."
Finding a permanent manager was Iñigo Chapé's top priority lately. Interviews done, favorites met. Results? Meh.
"Summer window wishlist was endless. Strikers especially."
"With Theo right there?"
"No faith yet. Hasn't seen him play. I pushed, but his heart wasn't in it."
Cash-strapped for transfers. Unless the owner went full sugar daddy—or took a bullet to the head—that wouldn't change.
"Makes sense. Betting B-team kids as your top option? Risky without proven pros."
The rift was stark: coaches wanted vetted strikers; Iñigo Chapé banked on Cha Tae-oh and Miguel Amaro.
"Sounds like 'no budget ahead' to them."
The squad wasn't relegation fodder, but promotion? Nah. Iñigo Chapé believed those two could change that. Ambitious coaches? Called BS.
"Need a promotion guy... they want cash... the no-frills talents charge too much..."
He muttered bitterly, a wry smile twisting his face.
Then—thwack! AD Alcorcon B's right-back, Joni Montoya, overlapped and whipped an early cross. Sharp, fast, pinpoint. It met Cha Tae-oh surging into the box.
Thwack! Net shakes again.
Five goals by the 25th from Cha Tae-oh's madness, yet their eyes locked elsewhere.
"Right foot's elite."
"Kicking wise? No one on A-team touches him."
Flaws visible, sure. But like Miguel Amaro, killer strengths too—pro-level ones.
"Theo's something else."
"Duh, that scoring..."
"Nah, not that."
"Hm?"
"Since Theo joined, Miguel and Joni play bolder. Young guns leaning into strengths. And it feeds Theo goals."
Iñigo Chapé stared long at Cha Tae-oh. "If that rubs off in first team..."
The scout finished: "...next season, we storm La Liga 2."
Iñigo Chapé's lips set firm, resolved.
"Can't watch anymore."
"The game?"
"Nah. See that guy?"
"Who... wait, rings a bell..."
"Getafe's chief scout."
"Getafe?"
"Yeah. Sniffing already. Won't hit the buyout clause yet, but 1.5 mil euros? Pocket change for them."
"Ugh..."
"More hyenas incoming. We're basically ads, bleeding 5k euros weekly."
"Ugh..."
"Enough."
He stood. "Theo doesn't need more B-team minutes."
Halftime, and Jordi Calavera yanked me—out of nowhere. "Stamina management," he said. Bull. One game a week? What stamina crisis?
Second half kicked off fine—no comeback. I'd bagged five, Miguel one; 6-0 lead by halftime sealed it. Coach's call on lineups, sure, but the sub irked me.
Post-match in the dressing room, a chat with waiting Iñigo Chapé solved it all.
"You've proven it. Like I guaranteed: next season, you're our top striker. Skip B-team—prep for the big leagues."
"...?!"
Why the halftime hook? Jordi Calavera's stiff face? Coaches' unease despite the win? I stared at Iñigo Chapé.
"What? Spill."
Another guy would've eaten it up. Director handing you the squad puzzle? Dream gig. But my stock here was sky-high—I blurted the unthinkable.
"No. I'll finish with B-team."
Defiance. "...What?"
"You know we're title contenders?"
"Yeah, aware."
"You think we win without me? Teammates leveled up since I joined."
"Felt that."
"I want that title joy together."
"Eh, from the bench..."
"No. Sweating every last minute."
Iñigo Chapé darkened. I got why he wanted me out.
"Players play games. Pros don't bail once settled."
"Hm..."
"Want B-team mates in better leagues next year. That's why I gave everything."
"Hmmm..."
"Next season? Alcorcon colors. Second goal. Agent hunt paused for it."
"...!"
"Love this club. Pro debut promise holds. Trust me."
"...!!"
"Pinky swear with Miguel: trash La Liga 2 together. Guys keep promises."
"...!!!"
Iñigo Chapé's pupils quaked. Moved? Baffled? Beats me.
"So, I'm playing out."
My firm line hung. He stood silent, then lips parted slow.
"One promise with me."
Obvious incoming. "Next season here, no worries—"
"Nah. Not that."
Huh? I tilted. He murmured low.
"Don't get hurt."
"...!"
"Our deal. You in?"
Oh. That. "Easy. Deal."
I grinned; he smiled back. Confidence? Ironclad. Pro walls smashed on physique alone—no breaks ever. Nickname: "Indestructible" Cha Tae-oh. That's me.