Starting Lineups:

Real Madrid (4-3-3):

GK: Casillas.

Defenders: Srna, Ramos, Pepe, Marcelo.

Midfielders: Khedira, Alonso, Di María.

Forwards: Kaká, Adebayor, Benzema.

Villarreal (4-4-2):

GK: López.

Defenders: Català, Capdevila, Ángel López, Rodríguez.

Midfielders: Soriano, Borja Valero, Cazorla, Cani.

Forwards: Rubén, Rossi.

"This is Matchday 17 of the 2010/2011 La Liga season, with Real Madrid at home against Villarreal."

"In this match, Adebayor starts for Real Madrid, while Suker is on the bench."

"Since joining, Adebayor has only had one appearance. With the Copa del Rey coming up, Mourinho clearly intends to give these substitutes game time, to adjust their form in advance. Suker, on the other hand, was almost ever-present before the winter break, and he needs some rest."

"For Villarreal, Suker not starting is great news. Without him on the pitch, they might have a chance to score. If Suker were starting, most of their energy would have been spent trying to contain him."

Villarreal's coach Garrido's eyes lit up at the sight.

Suker sitting on the bench was indeed good news for them.

Even though he could come on at any moment, at least they could try to make some progress before he appeared.

This Real Madrid was still very strong without Suker.

But truthfully, with or without Suker, it was like facing two completely different teams.

His individual ability was terrifying.

On the bench, Suker sat wearing a substitute bib.

Even while sitting there, the cameras were constantly pointed at him—that was the treatment of a superstar.

Just as the commentators noted, Adebayor was starting to adjust his rhythm and prepare for the Copa del Rey.

Mourinho wouldn't let Suker play in every competition. As long as he carried the team in La Liga and the Champions League, that was enough. For the Copa del Rey, unless it reached the decisive stages, Suker wouldn't be risked—it would only interfere with his main objectives.

So, Adebayor had this opportunity to get sharp again in the league.

Yaaawn.Suker stretched and looked out at the pitch.

The players were lined up, the match about to begin.

A few years ago, Villarreal had been very dangerous. But now? The "Yellow Submarine" had declined.

Sure, they still had talents like Rossi and Cazorla, but Suker felt unless Real Madrid completely messed up, Villarreal wouldn't have much of a chance.

Whistle!The match began.

Villarreal kicked off. Real Madrid didn't immediately press high, but instead held their shape, forming a compact defense.

Against Villarreal, this wasn't about pressing—Madrid relied on defensive solidity.

After several tries, Villarreal moved the ball to Cazorla.

Receiving it, he shifted right, suddenly cut back, and with a sharp change of direction, left Di María behind before passing again.

He darted forward, received the ball back in space.

This time, he combined a "step-over feint + Marseille turn," beating both Alonso and Khedira, before threading the ball forward.

Bang!Rossi chased, but Ramos lunged across, cutting it out.

"Wake up! Don't let him dribble like that!" Ramos barked, glaring at Rossi.

Rossi glared back defiantly.

"Cazorla!! Brilliant play! His performance today is outstanding—after the winter break, his form has clearly picked up again."

From the bench, Suker watched.

He had deep respect for Cazorla.

Back in Arsenal's toughest years, it was Cazorla and Arteta who carried their midfield.

Arteta eventually succeeded at Arsenal and became manager, inheriting Wenger's vision.

Cazorla, however, suffered tragedy—serious injuries, eight centimeters of Achilles tendon removed. Even then, when he returned to his boyhood club, he was still their star player.

That showed just how good he was at his peak.

At least for now, he hadn't reached his most devastating years yet—still with technical shortcomings.

On the pitch, Cazorla exhaled.

He felt light, sharp, unstoppable.

"I can try something!" he muttered, rallying teammates.

Soon, Villarreal focused all attacks through him.

He dribbled constantly, stirring chaos in Madrid's midfield.

"Not stable…" Suker narrowed his eyes.

If Cazorla kept breaking lines, Madrid's defense would suffer.

Then—Cazorla stopped dead, turned 90 degrees sharply. Alonso lost balance and fell hard.

Suker winced.

Damn! Moves like that—it's no wonder his Achilles snapped later!

Football tricks could destroy the body—like Ronaldo Nazário's "pendulum dribble," or these violent stop-turns that punished tendons and joints.

Once or twice was fine. Too often, and the damage accumulated, exploding later in a career.

That's why Suker hoped Kaká could play deeper—fewer flashy moves, less physical wear. Kaká was already 28. The more years he could last, the better.

For young players like Cazorla, it wasn't too late—if only he adjusted training, recovery, or even changed roles.

But he clearly had no such thought.

The way he twisted his knees and ankles—Suker almost couldn't watch.

Yet, it made his dribbling deadly sharp!

"Cazorla, again!!"

This time he cut in from the left, faked, then surged past Alonso.

Alonso had been beaten too many times—he misread it, expecting another trick.

Breaking through midfield, Cazorla glanced at Rossi.

"Go!" Alonso yelled.

Srna charged to intercept, but too late.

Cazorla lofted the ball to the far post.

Marcelo had been caught out of position—Rossi slipped behind him.

"Rossi!! Madrid in danger!!"

Diving header!

Casillas stretched desperately, fingertips grazing the ball—but not enough.

The ball went in.

11th minute: Villarreal scored first. Real Madrid 0–1 Villarreal.

"Unbelievable! Villarreal take the lead thanks to Cazorla's brilliance. His dribbling tore Madrid's midfield apart, combining perfectly with Rossi's run!"

"Real Madrid trailing at home! This is a surprise, and a huge shock to their fans."

At the Bernabéu, fans held their heads.

Cazorla's constant dribbling had worried them—now their fears were realized.

"Ohhh my God!! This is—"

Assistant coach Faria clutched his head in despair. But he noticed Mourinho standing calmly, expression cold.

As if saying: Why panic?

Faria froze.

Mourinho simply signaled to Srna, gesturing to settle down.

The goal irritated him, but it was no crisis.

One goal was nothing for Real Madrid.

But it highlighted their weakness—without Suker's pressing up front, technical players like Cazorla could reach midfield and cut them apart.

And Marcelo's poor positioning hadn't helped—he should have stayed inside, denying Rossi's run.

Mourinho sighed. His dream of building the best defense in the world was still some distance away.

But no need to rush. Their trump card still sat on the bench. Time was on their side.

Villarreal, buoyed by the goal, surged forward.

Cazorla, full of confidence, dazzled.

In the 31st minute, Madrid countered—Adebayor nearly scored, but his shot smashed the crossbar.

A close scare for Villarreal—they began retreating.

A draw at the Bernabéu would already be a triumph.

Time ticked away.

Madrid stayed calm, showing no panic. The stadium was quiet—but commentator González sensed a storm brewing.

In the second half, Madrid would surely make changes.

They wouldn't accept defeat at home. Villarreal had forced Suker's hand.

Halftime arrived. Real Madrid 0–1 Villarreal.

"First half over. Thanks to Rossi's goal, Villarreal lead. Will Mourinho bring Suker on in the second half?"

Inside the Madrid dressing room, after a few tactical notes, Mourinho turned to Suker: "Go warm up."

Suker immediately left to get ready.

The squad smiled with relief—their superstar was about to enter.

Adebayor looked dejected. His second start, and he hadn't seized it. That one counterattack could have changed everything—if he scored, Suker might have stayed benched.

But Cazorla had been too good, breaking their lines again and again.

Luckily, they had only conceded once.

Back in the stands, fans were still discussing the first half when a sudden roar erupted.

They looked up—on the big screen, Suker was warming up along the sideline.

The stadium exploded.

"SUKER!!!!!!!"

"SUKER!!!!!!!"

"SUKER!!!!!!!"

Over 90,000 Madridistas thundered his name.

For them, as long as Suker was there, everything was fine.

Suker smiled, waved, and felt light, eager—hungry for goals.

He was in perfect condition, itching to prove it on the pitch.

Bang!

In Villarreal's dressing room, a coach burst in.

"...Suker might be coming on!"

The joy evaporated instantly.

The dreaded reality—Suker entering the game.

Even if expected, the pressure was immense.

Could they really stop him?

Coach Garrido spoke: "We did great in the first half. That proves we can compete. Keep this up, keep attacking—we still have chances."

The players' spirits rose again.

Cazorla shouted: "Let's show Madrid what we've got!"

The team echoed his call.

Halftime ended. Both sides returned to the pitch.

Villarreal eyes darted to the Madrid half.

Sure enough, Suker came on for the second half.

"Madrid make a change—Benzema off, Suker on. Adebayor stays."

"Suker's entry will put enormous pressure on Villarreal's defense. Can they handle it?"

On the pitch, Suker loosened up.

Adebayor warned him: "Watch out for No. 2—he's dirty."

Suker glanced at Gonzalo Rodríguez, the Argentine defender, and nodded coolly.

"Don't let him stick to you," Adebayor added.

"He can't catch me," Suker replied calmly.

Adebayor froze. Arrogant? Maybe. But true.

Defenders had said it before: unless they fouled, Suker couldn't be stopped.

Whistle!

The second half began.

Madrid kicked off, Alonso feeding Kaká, who burst through midfield.

Suker jogged forward, then suddenly cut across.

The Villarreal full-back panicked, overstepped, and fell into a splits.

Suker blinked in surprise. Kaká saw it too—perfect timing.

"Suker!" Kaká shouted, curling a pass between two defenders.

A rainbow pass.

Suker exploded, chasing it down the left, entering the box.

"Brilliant ball from Kaká, and Suker's through! Català slipped! Suker—"

The Bernabéu held its breath.

Suker shifted left, touched forward, raised his right leg as if to shoot.

Whoosh! Rodríguez slid in, the keeper rushed out.

Suker pulled back, leaving both sprawled on the ground.

With a flick of his toe, he lifted the ball gently—over them all, into the net.

Goal!

Barely two minutes into the second half, Madrid equalized.

Real Madrid 1–1 Villarreal.