The 40-minute scrimmage had ended.

The reserve players still stood in three rows, panting as they looked toward Mourinho.

Each of them had anticipation in their eyes.

Whether they could make the five-man shortlist for first-team trials was absolutely critical.

They too wanted to follow Álvaro Arbeloa's footsteps and step onto Real Madrid's first-team stage.

Mourinho lowered his head, organized his notebook, and said slowly:

"Alright, the results are in. I don't know if this match gave you any enlightenment, but I hope you remember it. When I return here next time, I want to see you already back on the stage of Segunda División!"

Hearing Mourinho's words, the Castilla players' expressions grew serious.

"The five names for first-team trials…"

"The first, Nacho Fernández!"

"Yes!"

Nacho clenched his fist tightly, turned his head, and smiled toward Carvajal and Lucas Vázquez: "I'm going first!"

Amid their envious gazes, Nacho walked to stand behind Mourinho.

"Next, Lucas Vázquez!"

"Pedro."

"Leivín!"

Finally, Mourinho slowly closed his notebook: "Carvajal!"

Carvajal stepped excitedly out of the line. He winked at Nacho and Vázquez, proudly puffing out his chest.

"The rest of you are dismissed!"

The remaining Castilla players left dejectedly.

Meanwhile, Carvajal and the other four stood before Mourinho.

"This is not the end," Mourinho said. "It's just the beginning. In the first-team trial, it's no longer about me remembering you—it's about you finding ways to contribute. If you want to stay in the squad, you must prove to me that you can contribute to the team. Real Madrid's first team does not keep anyone useless. Understood?"

"Understood!"

The five shouted in unison.

Mourinho glanced at his watch: "Exactly an hour. Time for me to go. On January 5th, report to the first-team training ground. Someone will receive you. Whether you can stay in the first team and earn a new contract depends entirely on your performance."

With that, Mourinho turned to leave.

Suker immediately followed.

Just then, someone called out.

"Suker!"

Suker turned his head.

Carvajal, looking a little shy, walked over, while Vázquez held five jerseys and a marker pen.

"Could we have your autograph?"

Suker blinked and said with a laugh: "My autograph isn't that easy to get!"

Still, he took the jerseys, signed them one by one, then waved: "I wish you success!"

With that, Suker turned and left.

Carvajal and the others jumped with joy.

"Oh my god! We finally got our chance at the first-team trial!"

"I'm already imagining myself playing at the Bernabéu."

"Hey! We still have to pass the trial to stay in the first team!"

"So what? I'll definitely make it!"

The youngsters were ecstatic.

Hearing their cheers from afar, Suker couldn't help but smile.

Long ago, he had been the same.

For a trial chance, for a transfer opportunity—training hard day after day. And every time success came, the joy in his heart was unforgettable.

At the parking lot, Suker sat in his car, tapped the driver's seat, and said to his bodyguard: "Let's go home first. I'll take a quick shower, then back to work!"

Work time always passed quickly.

In the following week, Suker constantly attended all kinds of events, boosting his exposure.

Meanwhile, the FIFA Ballon d'Or ceremony was approaching.

On January 18th, the award ceremony would take place in Switzerland.

The favorites were Suker, Xavi, Iniesta, and Sneijder.

Of them, Suker was the strongest candidate.

Because of the Ballon d'Or, every one of his appearances drew media coverage and fan discussion.

At the moment, Xavi and Iniesta were splitting votes. Already at a disadvantage, they were falling further behind Suker.

Aside from the World Cup title, they had little else to show.

Sneijder had been a strong candidate earlier in the season, but Inter Milan's poor form in the first half badly affected him.

As for Suker, he lacked certain team honors—no Champions League, no World Cup.

But with three Golden Boots, plus a league title and Copa del Rey, his performance made him the most powerful Ballon d'Or contender.

Many media outlets claimed Suker was about to win his third Ballon d'Or.

If he did, he would undoubtedly become the brightest star in world football—at present, untouchable.

January 2nd, 2011.

Suker, Kaká, Srna, and Di María lounged in deck chairs in the courtyard, sunbathing.

A new year—a new beginning!

Looking back at 2010, it had been Suker's first season after joining Real Madrid.

A season of ups and downs, inconsistent form, and numerous team issues.

At the start: the feud between Pellegrini and Casillas.

Pellegrini left, Leudrup came in as caretaker, and Madrid captured the league title and Copa del Rey.

And of course, the unforgettable 2010 World Cup in South Africa.

It was Suker and Srna's first World Cup.

Croatia matched its historical best performance, but made no breakthrough.

Still, the lessons from that campaign laid the groundwork for their push to the world's summit in the future.

"Slurp—ha~~~"

Di María sipped yerba mate, exhaled deeply, basking in the warm sunshine.

Even in January, Madrid's midday temperature reached 10°C. A little chilly, but with mate and sunlight, it felt cozy.

"This stuff is pretty good," Srna said after a sip.

"Told you," Di María grinned. "I'll get you a few extra packs later!"

After returning from Argentina, Di María had brought back an entire suitcase of mate.

Kaká also drank it—no stranger to the taste as a Brazilian.

Suker, however, didn't drink it. He didn't like the flavor.

"So you really didn't rest at all during this period? Today's your only break?" Kaká asked.

Suker, wearing sunglasses, eyes closed, answered lazily: "That's right. Don't disturb my vacation!"

"It's just one day. Training resumes tomorrow. Pintus even said we'll have three days of physical conditioning to carry us smoothly into May!"

"I don't care," Suker said lazily. "Today is my holiday. Mention it again and I'll beat you!"

Srna just shook his head.

Then Di María spoke: "I heard we have a friendly match coming up?"

"A commercial match. Supposedly in the U.S.!"

"They're paying," Suker said, rolling over. "They even contacted my team—they want me to play the full match!"

Given Suker's star power, to ensure he played the full 90 minutes, clubs had to negotiate not only with Real Madrid but also with his personal management.

As long as the money was right, Suker would play the whole game.

Moreover, he would wear a first-person camera during the match to record it.

"I heard it's against LA Galaxy—Beckham arranged it," Srna added.

To him, it was just another commercial show. The only real star of the event was Suker.

"MLS is kind of weird—Eastern and Western conferences, then playoffs after the season. And no promotion or relegation. Doesn't that make every team complacent?" Di María shook his head.

"Think of it like basketball, then it makes sense," Suker yawned.

MLS was the epitome of over-commercialization. More entertainment than competition, which was why European fans often dismissed it as a performance, not real football.

For this match, Madrid and Nike partnered on the first-person recording project.

The full match video would be promoted by Real Madrid. Nike would use clips for new football boot advertising.

Meaning: Suker got paid twice.

Actually, three times—

A share from Real Madrid (small).

Nike's sponsorship and payment.

LA Galaxy's commercial match fee.

So Suker was happy to cooperate.

January 3rd, Real Madrid ended their holiday and began winter training.

Five new faces joined—Carvajal and the other trialists.

But on day one, they were all crushed by Pintus' oxygen-mask fitness drills.

Three straight days of vomiting and exhaustion.

Meanwhile, the first-team regulars had lighter sessions, focused on fine-tuning.

On January 6th, Madrid departed for Los Angeles for the commercial match.

When they arrived, the airport was packed.

In America, football couldn't compare with basketball or football (NFL).

But Suker's fame was overwhelming.

If one day he wanted to expand into the U.S. market, he could—but for now, Europe remained his battleground.

"Long time no see!"

David Beckham appeared, personally greeting them at the airport.

A former Madrid player and AC Milan man, Beckham knew most of them well.

This commercial match was his doing.

"You're not planning to return to Europe?" Suker asked, arm around Beckham's shoulder.

Beckham shook his head: "Spare me. If it were a year ago, maybe—but not anymore."

He had once gone on loan to Milan to prepare for the 2010 World Cup.

But an Achilles tendon rupture in Milan forced him out for 5–6 months—ending his World Cup dream.

As for 2014 Brazil, he had no intention at all.

His MLS move was about building networks and U.S. business. He was shifting from footballer to businessman.

"Suker, got time later?" Beckham asked.

Suker glanced at Mourinho. Mourinho nodded.

"Sure," Suker said.

"I'll wait for you at the hotel café," Beckham smiled. "See you later."

At the hotel, greeted warmly by fans along the way, Suker was especially popular—so much that he wondered if he'd already made inroads in America.

But in truth, this was only his second time in the U.S.

After settling his luggage, he went down to the café, where Beckham was already waiting.

"What's this about?" Suker asked directly.

"Relax," Beckham smiled. "What do you want to drink?"

"Water's fine."

After a sip, Beckham asked: "So, what do you think of America?"

Suker shrugged: "No big impressions. My focus is still in Europe."

"I should congratulate you in advance on the Ballon d'Or," Beckham said suddenly.

"Stop right there," Suker waved. "Don't jinx it."

Too many flags raised already—if he lost, he'd look a fool.

But Beckham wasn't worried. From what he knew, most national coaches and captains voted for Suker, with media also backing him.

If Suker didn't win, something shady was going on.

"Alright, so what do you really want to discuss?" Suker asked again.

Beckham smiled: "From the airport to here, you saw it—your popularity here is huge. But few people or companies in the U.S. can directly connect with you. I want to handle your U.S. business."

Suker frowned: "Isn't that what agents do?"

"Not the same," Beckham explained. "I won't interfere in your decisions. I'll just introduce quality contracts and companies. Think of me as a middleman, building bridges. Of course, I'll take a cut—but the key is, I know this market and can create more value for you."

"I'm not planning to play in MLS," Suker replied bluntly.

Beckham burst out laughing: "Of course not! I wouldn't want you retiring at 24. Your future is much brighter. What I offer is a way to convert that success into wealth. Not just money—connections. Some contacts can help you climb higher. You know what I mean."

Suker stroked his chin, thoughtful.

Beckham wasn't wrong. Partnerships weren't just about cash, but also networks.

With American capital increasingly behind European media and clubs, those connections could matter.

And Suker had nothing to lose—it was just cooperation via Beckham's introductions.

"Fine," Suker nodded. "But now isn't the time to sign anything. I'll have my agent, Zorančić, come over. You two can discuss details."

Beckham grinned, raising his glass.

"To a happy cooperation!"

Suker clinked glasses.

"Happy cooperation!"

After finalizing this, Beckham left, inviting Suker to tour America, maybe watch the NBA.

But with matches coming up, Suker politely declined.

At LA Galaxy's request, he did record a short greeting video for fans—since they were paying, he cooperated fully, without complaint.