Luis Garcia and Valverde: Three Weeks After the Shocking Truth About Jesus' Cost-Performance Myth
Three weeks had passed since that bombshell revelation with Luis Garcia and Valverde.
A lot had happened in the meantime.
Some deranged Spanish edgelord used a voice modulator app to call in a terror threat, claiming that if the match went ahead at Santiago Bernabeu, tons of people would die or get hurt—forty-five minutes before kickoff, no less.
Panic erupted among the Real Madrid staff, who immediately called the cops and rushed to evacuate the fans.
The police arrived, sealed off the roads leading to the stadium, and combed every inch of the place, but of course, no explosives turned up.
The prankster got nabbed, sentenced to real jail time, and shipped off to a regular prison.
The postponed Copa del Rey semifinal second leg happened just yesterday at Santiago Bernabeu, where Real Madrid crushed Real Sociedad.
The other matchup between FC Barcelona and Mallorca went off without a hitch. Yoo Youngbeom pulled off some insane saves, dragging Barcelona to penalties, and in the end, clinched it to send Mallorca to their first Copa del Rey final in thirty-nine years.
"Barcelona's idiots are out—it proves it! God wants our treble! Hala Madrid!"
Real Madrid fans were over the moon, not just for reaching the Copa del Rey final, but because their arch-rivals Barcelona got knocked out by underdog Mallorca.
"Madrid, Madrid, Madrid! ¡Hala Madrid!" "Y nada más, y nada más! ¡Hala Madrid!"
Real Madrid, the Champions League's most decorated club, had never pulled off a treble. The culprit? Their perennial flops in the Copa del Rey.
They were notoriously weak in that competition.
"Treble! Treble! Treble!"
So the Madridistas saw this as the perfect storm: league title locked, Champions League quarters secured, Copa del Rey final berth. The first treble in club history was within reach.
On the day of the Champions League quarterfinal first leg against Ajax, hyped-up Madridistas flooded the Johan Cruyff Arena.
Before kickoff, the trash talk flew thick and fast. Ajax fans mocked me for my suspension keeping me out of the tie.
"Where is Jesus!!"
Real Madrid fans fired back, twisting Ajax's "Sons of God" nickname to troll with Yohan.
"Booooooo-!" "You morons! The true Son of God is in Madrid right now!"
I'd come with the family for a bit of sightseeing and to cheer on Real Madrid at Johan Cruyff Arena. It was Yohan's first live Champions League match.
"Dadaaa-! Why isn't Dada playing soccer!?"
"…."
I couldn't even answer Yohan's question.
The Real Madrid vs. Ajax Champions League quarterfinal first leg was a brutal, thrilling battle.
"Vamos!!"
Roberto Fabian, starting up top for the first time in ages, unleashed Ju-eopsi Ro-wang—"If Jesus is absent, Roberto Fabian is king"—and delivered a masterclass, securing a 2-1 win for Real Madrid.
"¡Hala Madrid!"
Jesus and Song Yuna cheered the victory, and Yohan beamed with a big grin. After his first live soccer match, he got home and started whining that he wanted to be a soccer player too.
"Dadaaa-! Yohani wants to play soccer too!" "Yohan, hang on, Dada's just unpacking…"
"Nooo! Yohani wants to play soccer!" "Okay, Dada's just unpacking…"
"Waaahhh! Yohani wants to play soccer!"
Jesus finally got it.
"You wanna play a soccer game?" "Yeah-!"
"Hmm… You're still little, Yohan. How about waiting one more year?" "Yohani! Not little!!"
Jesus pointed out Yohan was too young for soccer school and tried to say no, but Nunez—the tycoon godfather with endless push—convinced Song Yuna by building a soccer classroom at La Fabrica. He raved about the kid's raw talent and suggested testing him out.
"Honey, shouldn't Yohan play with kids his age and build some social skills? Last time, he hit my knee 'cause I turned off the TV."
"…."
In the end, Jesus caved to the pillow talk persuasion and took Yohan to La Fabrica with Song Yuna. There, the little guy proved whose son he was.
"Oh Dios! Little Jesus was hiding here all along!"
The hyped youth coach slotted Yohan into La Fabrica right away—but sadly for him, regulations banned kids from matches until age 5 or 6 (Korean age).
"Kyaa-! Yohani do this now!"
Watching Yohan dash around laughing with the other kids, Jesus and Song Yuna nodded approvingly.
"Even though he can't play matches yet, he loves it." "Yeah."
Later, as he hit the pitch, Little Devil Yohan's reign of terror began—crushing the dreams of countless soccer prodigies. But it started small and cute.
The day after Yohan's La Fabrica test, Valverde made a speedy recovery and reclaimed the Real Madrid helm.
Clap clap clap clap clap clap—!
The players gathered to celebrate Valverde's return. He grinned awkwardly at the applause and thanked them.
"Thanks, everyone… And you, thief."
Mid-thanks, his eyes locked on Luis Garcia—the guy who'd "stolen" his daughter—and he shot him a death glare. But seeing Luis train hard and seriously after that, Valverde gave a subtle nod.
"I'll be watching you."
The moment Valverde's gaze shifted off Luis Garcia, I sidled up and whispered.
"Amigo, you haven't done the pregnancy celebration yet, right?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sophie told me not to. And I haven't scored since she told me anyway."
"Sigh. Dude, when a girl says 'don't' or 'it's fine,' it means she wants you to do something even cooler, just for her!"
"…R-Really?"
Luis Garcia's face went blank in confusion.
"Duh, moron! Whew, good thing you haven't scored yet. No celebration means no plan at all, right?"
Under my barrage of scolding, his pupils dilated. I kept hammering away, eroding his brain.
"Alright! I've got the perfect plan for you. Listen up."
"…Si."
"First, invite your girl Sophie to the match. I'll feed you free kicks or penalties—score, then run to her spot and celebrate for her!"
"What kind of…?"
"Beats me. Drag the boss along, do a cradle celebration in front of your babe Sophie."
Luis Garcia sank into deep thought hearing my pitch. Ever since the baby news, he'd been thinking more. Old Luis would've just gone along blindly.
…Wait. Have I been gaslighting Luis this whole time?
"Yeah, it's late, but I gotta do a killer celebration for my sky and love, Sophie."
While I grappled with that uncomfortable truth, Luis—after agonizing way longer than expected—accepted my idea.
Now, once he scores and goes full rabid-dog mode, lead him to Valverde and shake that cradle like mad in front of him. Mission accomplished.
League Round 31
Real Madrid 0 : 0 Real Valladolid.
My goal this match: wrangle a penalty somehow and hand it to Luis Garcia.
The chance came quick. Bursting into the box, Ghanaian center-back Kuaku Annan's standing tackle came flying at me. I nutmegged it through his legs, flopped with max drama.
"Uwaaaaaah-!"
Tweet—!
The ref pointed to the spot. I spotted Kuaku Annan protesting his innocence.
"Nooo! Hollywood!"
His Spanish still shaky, the pure-hearted Ghanaian CB yelled in English at the ref.
Seeing his teary-eyed plea, I apologized inwardly.
Sorry, Kuaku. Next time, I'll hook you up with your fave Ghana chocolate. No more Ku-and-Ku jokes either.
Luis Garcia nailed the pen I gifted him. Channeling Jesus Christ herding the lost sheep, I dragged the rampaging Luis straight to Valverde.
Valverde eyed us weirdly. We formed a cradle with our arms right in front of him and shook it like lunatics.
"Heh heh…."
The second I saw Valverde's smile, I ditched Luis Garcia and bolted.