#58 Preseason (5)
Most of the starting-caliber players had been subbed off by the end of the first half. The second half that followed was... essentially a one-sided barrage from Rayo Vallecano the whole way through.
The passing game that Jordi Calavera envisioned never really materialized on the pitch. And that made sense. Among the confirmed starters, aside from those who'd been nailed-on regulars since last season, the lineup was filled with players who excelled at passing—like Miguel Amaro or Joni Montoya with their clear strengths—but lacked standout qualities otherwise.
In other words, the bench players out there right now just didn't have the skill to execute that kind of passing game. It led to half-hearted play all around, desperate clearances, and nothing more.
Jordi Calavera kept shaking his head, and around the 10th minute of the second half, he switched to a "defend deep and counter" setup.
...Not that it suddenly let them overwhelm Rayo Vallecano or anything.
Thud!
In the 14th minute of the second half, Rayo Vallecano equalized. With the score at 3-3, their coach pulled out a bunch of starters from the bench too. But the flow of the game didn't change much.
The only difference? Rayo Vallecano's attacks had dulled a bit compared to before.
It was just a friendly, after all—win or lose didn't matter much. The real point was to test what kind of soccer this current squad on the pitch could produce. That was the value of preseason.
Of course, that was just from the coach's perspective. The starters on the bench couldn't help focusing on the backups competing for their spots, not the overall performance.
I was no different.
"Rigo's height really stands out up close, huh."
"Yeah. If a good cross comes in, he could probably head one home..."
"That's 'cause I'm not out there. If I was, I'd rack up another beauty like that one to Theo. Heh."
Listening to Miguel Amaro and Joni Montoya beside me, I zeroed in on the player they were talking about: Rigo.
Alejandro Rigo. Our team's number-two striker and my direct backup. At 193cm, he was tall for a forward and surprisingly quick on his feet. But for his size, his physicality wasn't all that impressive, and his preferred left-footed shots lacked bite.
Until we signed a new striker last winter, he'd been the starter. Since joining AD Alcorcon three seasons ago, he'd consistently bagged double digits in the league for two straight years—not bad at all.
But a dismal first half last season pushed him to the bench. The new guy was even worse, though, so Rigo clawed his way back into the starting spot. He showed some late-season form, but nothing that made me sweat.
After last season, chatting with Tiago—the "La Liga expert"—we both figured those two strikers would probably leave. But Rigo stuck around. Guess he wants to give competing with me a shot.
How could I not keep an eye on him?
"Hey, Theo."
"Yeah?"
"You... you're probably not getting a single breather this season, huh?"
"...Hmm."
According to Rubén Soriano, Rigo had skipped vacation to prep hard for the season. But watching him all preseason... I didn't see him taking my starting spot anytime soon.
Sure, rotating in for stamina management might be smart, but I didn't want that. Back at Gimpo United, I'd always told my buddies I wanted to "run like a dog" every game. That's why I'd gone all-out on fitness training with Rubén Soriano this preseason.
Beep—beeeep!
Finally, the curtain fell on our last friendly. Final score: 3-3.
The second half? A slog from both sides—calling it dire wouldn't be unfair.
Rigo, who'd whiffed all three headers, looked glum the whole time without tasting the net.
"Without Theo's hat-trick, we'd have let the fans down big time today. Give him a round of applause, everyone!"
As we all filed back into the locker room, Rubén Soriano clapped me hard on the shoulder and said it with a grin. The teammates joined in, beaming and applauding.
I flashed a small smile and raised my right hand slightly in thanks.
"Remember when Theo scored his first? Rayo Vallecano's guys were totally lost."
"You gotta experience that bulldozer run to get it. Unbelievable if you haven't."
"Never thought we'd see that against a La Liga mid-table side... Man, Theo, you're something else. Haha!"
The praise poured in. They seemed shocked I'd notched a hat-trick against Rayo Vallecano as easily as I had in the fourth division. Even my teammates hadn't expected this level.
"Next up: league matches. Games where wins and losses are life or death. You've done well so far, but stopping here means nothing. You know what I mean. Good work, everyone."
Jordi Calavera wrapped up the locker room talk calmly, reining in any overexcitement. The vibe stayed upbeat, though—some were already dreaming of promotion and firing on all cylinders.
That's when it happened.
"What if a La Liga team triggers Theo's buyout and snatches him?"
"...!"
"...!"
Meant innocently enough, but some fool cracked open the Pandora's box no one wanted to touch.
All eyes snapped to me. Seeing their tense faces, I chuckled softly.
"I haven't even got an agent yet. You guys know that, right? Sure, a Champions League club might tempt me... but which big name's scouting off one friendly?"
Relief washed over them; smiles returned.
I'd made a promise with Iñigo Chapé too. They'd trusted me, built everything around me as the team's core—no way I'd bail now. Better to boost my value here and jump straight to a giant club than settle for some middling side.
As I slung my crossbody bag to leave, Miguel Amaro sidled up with wide-eyed curiosity.
"But seriously, Theo—if a Champions League team came calling?"
"If they guaranteed a starting spot? Yeah, well... that ain't happening."
"Europa League then?"
"...Huh?"
"Europa Conference League?"
The questions kept coming. As the locker room went quiet again, Rubén Soriano behind us smacked his forehead, sighed low, and muttered,
"Someone... please shut that idiot up."
A sleek building smack in central Madrid. Five stories—not towering, but quintessentially Spanish architecture, the new build boasted stunning looks.
This was the headquarters of BN Agency, the hot agency shaking up not just entertainment but sports lately.
CEO Borja Navas headed straight to his top-floor office upon arrival and summoned his executive director, Lucio, to hash out business—mostly transfers for sports clients.
No surprise there. They handled talent too, but with Europe's window closing in two weeks, the workload was mountainous.
"Vásquez is ready for competitive action. Looks like he'll start for the B team in their opener."
A faint smile crossed Borja Navas's lips at Lucio's report.
Ángel Vásquez. FC Barcelona player, Spanish wonderkid under Borja's special care. The winger had debuted pro at just sixteen last season—to massive hype from Barça too.
Unfortunately, injury cut him short, and now a €100M signing crowded his spot. Barça planned to develop him slowly, not rush him into the first team.
Borja and the kid weren't thrilled with the patience.
"I'll catch that game myself. Lucio, get me tickets."
"Right away."
"Hope Ángel shines. Makes it easier to push that big-league loan he wants."
"He will. B-team reviews are glowing. Word is, one game there then up to A-team as backup."
Borja frowned slightly.
"Nah, he needs starts. That's how he grows."
"Agreed. Incredible talent."
Borja twirled his pen, set it down with a clack, and stretched out the stiffness.
"Whew. That about wraps it up."
"Yes. Oh, one more thing to report."
"More?"
"Not sports-related."
Borja tilted his head, picked up the pen again.
"It's... about Niela."
"Niela? What? She get in trouble?"
"No, no. Nothing like that."
"Then?"
His half-sister Niela's name sharpened Borja's gaze.
"I got the report too, but... she's suddenly into soccer."
"What's the issue?"
Right then, realization hit—his eyes flashed.
Lucio continued. "She watched a game during her schedule. Staff said she regretted missing it live."
Borja's face hardened.
Dare... who the hell dares mess with my little sister!
"No way she's suddenly stanning a team... Must be in love with someone. Found the guy?"
"Wasn't easy."
Killing intent flickered in Borja's eyes. Half-sister or not, he doted on Niela like a daughter—age gap or whatever. Rage boiled inside.
"The game she watched: Alcorcón vs. Rayo Vallecano friendly a few days back."
"Hm?"
"Remember? She was hunting a guy for her MV lead."
"...No way he's a footballer?"
"Didn't specify, but Asian. And between those teams? One Asian player."
"Who?"
"Alcorcón's Theo Cha."
"Theo Cha?"
Never heard of him.
"Unique story. Joined Alcorcón this year via trial, B-team contract—quickly upgraded to A. Scored 75 in 14 B-team games, led them to a title."
"...Oh?"
"Last year, Korean second division—released by his club."
"...Released?"
"Fun part: hat-trick in that Rayo friendly."
The more he heard, the fishier it got.
"Checked: met Niela at training center once, no meets since."
"So... she's crushing solo?"
"For now."
Borja furrowed his brow. Relief-worthy, but his pride stung anyway. Tapping the desk with his pen, a detail flashed.
"Hold up. Who's Barcelona B's opener opponent?"
Preseason wrapped. Until the La Liga 2 opener, I kept it light—just casual workouts, nothing else. No sex either. The first match was sacred; I wanted max energy saved up.
Watched my diet close, moved carefully to avoid dumb injuries. Dad always said beginnings matter most.
And finally, opener day arrived.
Our home 37-38 La Liga 2 kickoff. Boarding the bus at training ground to Estadio Municipal de Santo Domingo, I breathed steady, eyeing posters everywhere.
Teammates looked resolute too—a touch nervous. Fair enough.
Last season's fourth-place finishers. B team of one of the world's biggest clubs.
Today's foe: FC Barcelona Athletic. One of Spain's two giants.