Kaká and Srna both turned to look out the window.
The awkwardness between them was almost unbearable.
In last season's derby, the two had been at each other's throats.
Tackles, elbows, trash talk — you name it.
But now, they were teammates, and thanks to Suker, they were even sitting in the same car.
"Ahem…" Srna cleared his throat and awkwardly chuckled, "You guys played really well at the World Cup."
"Thanks! You guys too," Kaká replied politely, and then the silence returned.
After a moment, Kaká added, "Congratulations on the treble."
He suddenly remembered—Srna was from Inter Milan.
Then he fell silent again.
"You guys also played well last season..." Srna tried to keep the conversation going, but trailed off.
AC Milan didn't win a single title last season.
The two exchanged a glance, then quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the scenery outside.
So awkward it made your toes curl.
"Pfffft..."
Suker, driving the car, couldn't stop shaking with laughter, his shoulders bouncing as he struggled to keep it in.
Srna exploded, "Say something, damn it!"
Suker turned his head, grinning, "Say what? It's just us two Milan guys here. Watch it or I'll beat you up!"
"I-I…" Kaká scratched his cheek, clearly embarrassed.
Suker looked at the rearview mirror and teased, "You don't wanna hang with him, huh? He's from Inter."
Kaká looked helpless.
Sure, that was true… but they were teammates now.
"Come on, knock it off," he said, shaking his head.
Suker burst into laughter. When he finally calmed down, he said, "No need for introductions, right? This is Kaká—great personality, bit of a softie, but no need to question his ability."
"Srna, he's my national team captain. Super intense and a bit of a brooder, but he's solid and dependable!"
"Now, say hello to each other!"
Finally, the two shook hands formally.
After that, Srna asked, "Weren't staff members supposed to pick us up?"
Suker scoffed, "I'm your welcome party—what staff? I am the status symbol."
Kaká asked, "So where are we headed now?"
Suker replied, "First to the medical center. Once you finish the checkup, you'll sign your contracts and attend the joint press conference."
"Good timing with both of you arriving together—we'll get it all done at once."
He continued, "By the way, your official signing ceremony is on the 20th. Get ready. Once that's over, preseason training begins."
At this, Kaká asked, "Will Coach Mourinho's training sessions be intense?"
Srna thought for a moment, "I think they'll be alright."
Suker said ominously, "You better prepare yourselves. You will throw up. No—definitely."
Suker successfully handed Kaká and Srna over to the club.
To show how important this was, Florentino Pérez himself came out to welcome them.
Under his arrangements, Kaká and Srna completed their medicals and appeared at the press conference.
Kaká held up the No. 8 Real Madrid jersey.
Srna held the No. 5.
Florentino stood in the middle, beaming with joy.
In his eyes, his Galácticos 2.0 squad was finally taking shape, and Real Madrid was ready to soar again.
The signings of Kaká and Srna became the focus of all of Spain.
Real Madrid had once again splashed the cash to bring in star players.
Kaká, no doubt the top dog among Brazilian players at the time.
Srna, fresh off a treble-winning season.
Both were expected to be starters in the upcoming season.
But how Mourinho would arrange them remained a question.
Kaká and Srna moved into the Real Madrid villa complex.
They lived near Suker.
Naturally, they started mooching meals from him.
Suker didn't mind—after all, it was a welcome gesture.
Srna sat on the carpet.
Kaká sprawled comfortably across the couch—so comfy it looked like he was in his own home. Give him a blanket, and he'd be asleep in minutes.
Suker, cooking in the kitchen, looked at the two of them and said, "Can you at least move a little?"
"Guests should act like guests," Srna replied without turning around.
Still watching TV, Kaká said, "I'll wash the dishes!"
Srna turned his head and said, "Tomorrow's our first training session. I'm actually looking forward to it."
Since joining Real Madrid, Srna had been in a state of excitement.
Compared to Inter Milan, Real Madrid was a true football superpower.
Kaká added, "We've also got the official signing ceremony tomorrow afternoon."
Srna scratched his head, "Wish we could skip it—I'm not really into that stuff."
Kaká nodded, "Same here."
Suker rolled his eyes.
Keep dreaming!
Asking Real Madrid to cancel a promotional event? That'd be worse than killing them.
Real Madrid's commercial machine kicks in the moment a player signs.
Besides playing football, players also have loads of promotional obligations.
"Food's ready!"
Before long, Suker called them over.
Kaká leapt off the couch and dashed into the kitchen.
"What did you make? What did you make?"
He looked like an impatient child.
Suker laid out the dishes:Salt and pepper lobster, foie gras, Spanish seafood paella (with special sauce), vegetable salad, and boiled broccoli.
Kaká blinked, then walked into the kitchen and even opened the pot lid to check.
"No grilled steak?"
Suker turned his head and said, "Eat what you're given."
Kaká didn't like anything that involved peeling—basically, he didn't like complicated food.
He preferred stuff he could fork straight into his mouth—rice, steak, stir-fry.
But considering the intense season plus the World Cup, Suker opted for a cleaner, healthier menu—at least for now.
"Fine," Kaká said, accepting his fate.
Thankfully, he liked the seafood paella and special sauce.
Suker even opened a bottle of red wine and raised his glass:
"Welcome to Real Madrid. If you ever need anything, come find me."
He pounded his chest and promised, "I've got your backs!"
Kaká and Srna both smiled.
The three clinked glasses and dug in.
The meal was delicious. Afterward, Kaká did the dishes, and they chatted until around 9 p.m. before heading back.
Suker took a shower to wash off the kitchen smell and lay in bed.
He, too, was starting to look forward to the new season.
This season, everything was ready—the wind was at their back!
As long as there were no internal conflicts, with this lineup, Real Madrid's Galácticos were ready to take off.
"Good morning!""Good morning!"
At 7 a.m., Srna and Kaká showed up for breakfast—mooching again.
After eating, the three of them drove to Real Madrid's training ground.
Along the way, Suker felt unsettled, like he'd forgotten something.
But he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
Meanwhile, next door to Suker's villa…
Di María stood on the empty street, staring at the deserted house.
He craned his neck to look at the parking spot—no car.
Suker had clearly already left.
Di María turned away, defeated, and headed toward the bus stop.
"Why didn't they take me!"
Real Madrid Manager's Office
Casillas walked in and greeted Mourinho warmly.
They shook hands and chatted amicably.
Then he turned to Kaká and Srna.
"Welcome to Real Madrid. I believe your arrival will bring more brilliance to our new season."
He then led them toward the locker room.
Along the way, Casillas introduced them to the club culture.
"Real Madrid holds the most Champions League titles. Every season, our goal is the same: to win. Anything less is an insult to this club."
"Every player who comes here has that same goal. This place gathers top-level talent, but also great personalities."
"Real Madrid is a disciplined, serious, brave, and passionate team."
Casillas went on.
Since Raúl's departure, he was now the first-team captain, so this was part of his duty.
This was his first time guiding new players into the locker room, and he'd prepared well.
He wanted to impress upon Kaká and Srna that this was a serious team.
Until…
"WHOA WHOA WHOA~~~ That's killing me! Marcelo, what are you doing?""Hahaha!! Ramos, that man-bun! HAHAHAHA!!""Suker! Why are you taking photos? Hand it over!""Back off! Try and take my phone—I'll kick your nuts!"
Laughter and chaos spilled out from the locker room.
Casillas froze in disbelief.
Kaká and Srna turned away to stifle their laughter.
To Kaká, this scene was all too familiar.
Back at AC Milan, Maldini had often worn the same expression.
As for Srna—he knew Suker's personality too well.
A serious locker room? Not with him around!
"Ahem…"
Casillas coughed awkwardly, covering his embarrassment. "A relaxed locker room atmosphere is important. But Real Madrid is a mature commercial brand with high exposure. So maintaining a proper image is essential—nothing that could damage it should—"
BAM!
The locker room door flew open.
Suker burst out, holding a pair of training shorts high.
Behind him, Ramos chased after him in white briefs, face bright red.
Behind them, a group of players whooped like monkeys, hollering and laughing.
"Ohhh! Sexy briefs, Ramos!""Don't let him get away, Suker!""Go go go!!""Hahaha! Take a photo!"
Kaká noticed Casillas' previously upright posture now slumped—his spirit seemingly broken.
Srna patted Casillas on the shoulder and said sympathetically, "We get it."
Kaká nodded in agreement.
Casillas forced a bitter smile.
Damn it!The classy Real Madrid of old was gone!All gone!
These people were all lunatics!
Back inside, the team's focus shifted from the new signings to Ramos.
Why?
He'd changed his hairstyle.
The once-flowing locks were now a buzz cut.
Bad move.
With a locker room full of trolls, you never make drastic style changes.
Now, everyone kept rubbing his head and laughing.
Pepe, watching from the side, nervously touched his slightly longer hair.
He'd been growing it out from his usual shaved look.
After seeing Ramos' fate, he decided he'd shave it all off that night.
CLAP CLAP CLAP!Suker suddenly clapped to get everyone's attention.
Once all eyes were on him, he smiled and said, "First, let's congratulate our teammates on winning the World Cup!"
He led the applause.
Thunderous clapping followed.
Casillas, Ramos, Alonso, and the others were stunned for a moment.
After their World Cup win, tensions with Croatia had been complicated due to FIFA's purge and media drama.
Suker's words were a gesture of goodwill—an acknowledgment of their victory.
The emotional barrier disappeared.
Hugs were exchanged between Casillas, Ramos, Alonso, Suker, and Srna—grudges gone.
"But that match was tough as hell!" Ramos laughed. "This guy nearly tore through our defense by himself."
They all recalled Suker's final breakthrough—it had them on edge even now.
If Croatia had scored then, the match would've gone to extra time, and a war of attrition was not what Spain wanted.
"Srna got injured. If Croatia's defense had held, we would've been in trouble too," Alonso added.
Mutual praise flowed.
Just then, the locker room door opened.
Mourinho and the coaching staff walked in.
The room instantly fell silent.
Mourinho's hawk-like gaze swept over the team.
He said coolly, "Everyone, assemble on the training field!"
Two minutes laterReal Madrid First-Team Training Ground
The players stood in two straight lines.
Facing them was Mourinho and his staff.
The sun blazed overhead—hot enough to burn.
Mourinho stood silently, saying nothing.
So did the players—standing upright and quiet.
After 2-3 minutes, Mourinho finally spoke:
"Very good. I can see the discipline of a top club. Discipline is essential for victory."
"No one's talking. No whispering. That's respect for me—and that respect will be returned."
He took a deep breath and continued loudly:
"My name is José Mourinho. I don't think anyone here doesn't know me. If you don't—look me up!"
"They say I'm a 'champion coach.' That's true. I've won many titles. I came to Real Madrid to win more!"
"My team has only one goal: the championship!"
Just his opening remarks left many players stunned.
He held up one finger and said:
"First—there are no guaranteed starters on my team. All positions will be earned through competition."
"Training performance determines your starting spot, and all your data will go into your player file."
"Second—I will shuffle the starting lineup. I haven't even looked at the player profiles. I only trust my own eyes. So, to the usual starters—prove yourselves. And subs—your chance has come!"
The players' hearts sank.
Mourinho wasn't joking—he was turning up the pressure immediately.
A classic "new boss, new rules" move.
"One more thing. Let me introduce the coaching staff. These people will be your closest allies moving forward."
"Assistant Coach: Rui Faria!""Analyst: Giovanni Cerra!""Goalkeeper Coach: Silvino Louro!""Fitness Coach: Antonio Pintus!"
A short, bald man stepped forward.
Suker's face twitched the moment he saw him.
It's him!
He's here!
The Devil Fitness Coach—Pintus!The unsung hero behind Real Madrid's three Champions League titles.
Pintus noticed Suker's expression and tilted his head, offering a friendly smile.
Suker forced a polite smile back.
Mourinho continued:
"I have an announcement. For the next two weeks, we will have continuous fitness training. All 14 days—run by Pintus."
"Your physical data will be compiled into reports and sent to my office. It will determine your role and starting position in the first friendly."
All eyes turned to Pintus.
He didn't look that scary…
But some players had heard the rumors.
This bald man had worked at Juventus, Chelsea, and Marseille—and left a trail of broken players.
His intense "Spartan" methods earned him the nickname "The Sergeant."
Word was, if Pintus approached you with a whistle—you were about to puke.
No one had ever finished one of his programs in one piece.
Everyone was trained to within an inch of their lives!