Let Not the Left Hand Know What the Right Hand Does
"Let not the left hand know what the right hand does." -1
After crushing Tottenham Hotspur 7-0 in the Champions League tournament, media outlets around the world showered praise on Real Madrid's performance.
Countless clubs started sniffing around, inquiring about transfers to Real Madrid in that "sour grapes" kinda way. Real Madrid shut them down cold, like they weren't even worth the breath.
While Real Madrid enjoyed their peaceful routine, Tottenham Hotspur fans were up in arms, demanding the sacking of manager Joe Wright.
Eh, whatever. None of my business, so I'll ignore it. Real Madrid rotated the squad for the league match three days later, giving the starters some well-deserved rest.
Yohan came bounding over with sparkling eyes when he saw Dad chilling at home till afternoon.
"Daddyyy! Not going to soccer today?"
"Nah, kiddo, Dad's got the day off."
"Then! Play with Yohanni!"
The second the words left his mouth, Yohan bolted off to grab a soccer ball, and that twisted parental urge to tease the poor kid bubbled up outta nowhere.
Thud thud thud thud—!
"Daddyyy! Let's play soccer!"
As Yohan approached with his beaming smile, I put on a super serious face. His little expression hardened right up at Dad's grave look.
"Yohan, what're we gonna do? Looks like Dad's gotta head out suddenly."
His face crumpled instantly.
"...D-Daddy gotta go?"
Laughter nearly escaped at the sight of him on the verge of tears, but I held it in desperately.
Yohan forced a brave smile and said to me, though his shoulders were already slumping in defeat. "Yohanni's fine, so go ahead!"
His cuteness broke me—I burst out laughing. Finally catching on to Dad's prank, Yohan shot me a cold glare before storming off toward the room where Yuna was filming her YouTube video.
"Mooommmy! Mooommmy! Daddy teased me!!"
I barely snagged Yohan on his way to Yuna and had to play in the yard till he was satisfied.
"...Yohan, can we head in now?"
"Mooommm!!!"
"...Okay, just a bit longer then?"
"Nooo! Yohanni goes in when Yohanni wants!"
"..."
The short break ended. Valverde deployed the core players en masse for the first leg of the Copa del Rey semifinals.
The teams advancing to the Copa del Rey semifinals were Real Madrid, Mallorca, FC Barcelona, and Real Sociedad. We headed to Real Sociedad's home ground, Reale Arena, for the first leg against Real Sociedad.
Real Sociedad fans greeted us.
"Boooooo—! You disgusting bastards, do you even know where you are, crawling in here?!"
Unlike Athletic Bilbao, which was built purely by pureblood locals, Real Sociedad was more like "pureblood-adjacent." Still, they were Basque locals through and through.
Like their regional rivals Athletic Bilbao, Real Sociedad hated Real Madrid more than any local foes.
As I stepped into the stadium, I thought, 'Eh. Real Sociedad fans hating Real Madrid isn't all bad for me.'
"Boooooooooo—!"
"Sergio Pepe! You disgusting bastard!"
The ecstatic home crowd's cheers mixed with vicious jeers aimed at the Castilian-born players.
I knew plenty of Spanish swears pouring from the Real Sociedad fans' mouths. It was kinda comforting that more were aimed at Sergio Pepe than me.
Wait, hold up... Didn't one of my national team seniors say in a Real Sociedad club interview that he was going to Real Madrid?
...How's he still alive?
I scanned the pitch slowly. The dazzling young talents from Real Madrid and Real Sociedad shone bright.
If Ricardo had shown off his gifts early in the first half, now it was Real Madrid's Jesus Gonzalez flexing his.
Dodging a Real Sociedad tackle, Jesus Gonzalez cut into the box and lofted an out-front cross to Roberto Fabian breaking through.
Even as he tumbled, Roberto Fabian unleashed a shot. It was stopped by a brilliant save, but a quality strike that stemmed Real Sociedad's momentum.
On the ensuing Real Madrid corner, the Real Sociedad keeper punched it long to Ricardo.
Ricardo used his speed for a storming run. Closing in on the box in a flash, he calmly slotted it past Ter Noier, who'd rushed out to narrow the angle. Goal.
"Scheiße!! (Damn it!)"
Ter Noier's furious outburst contrasted with Ricardo sprinting to the corner flag, sharing the joy with Real Sociedad fans. With the World Cup looming, I quietly gazed at the sky as these prospects exploded with potential.
'If you're plotting to screw me over, I've got plans too.'
While Ricardo celebrated, I slotted Roberto Fabian up top as striker.
Then I shoved Luis Garcia out to right wing and took central midfield.
"Yo, when we get a free kick, I'll hook you up—go play wing."
"For real?"
Valverde's panicked face popped into view as I arbitrarily switched formations. I gestured like "trust me," and he nodded stiffly.
He looked pissed, but whatever. Valverde's chill—he overlooks minor stuff as long as we win.
Beep—!
With the whistle, Roberto Fabian kicked off to me. Ricardo, hyped from his opener, pressed high. I slipped the press and fed him a Yerae Shinjang right to the gut.
"Gwehk—!"
As Ricardo crumpled clutching his stomach, the passing lane opened. I slotted a through ball into space ahead of Luis Garcia, who was now in rabid dog mode.
"Kiyoooooot—!!"
Luis Garcia drooled and sprinted full tilt as the ball rolled into his path. Seeing him control it cleanly, I walked over to the downed Ricardo with a smile and offered a hand.
"You bastard! How dare you underestimate me!? Don't think you're limping off past the touchline in one piece!"
"...What'd I even do?"
I looked at the innocent Ricardo and declared boldly,
"Beats me."