The full-time whistle blew, and Arsenal lost at home to Real Madrid in the first leg of the Champions League Round of 16.
For the Arsenal players, the entire match was a massive blow to their morale.
Although the scoreline showed only a two-goal deficit, the nature of the game left their confidence shattered.
This was especially true for those who had hoped to challenge Suker.
Despite Suker scoring just once, his overall performance and influence on the game highlighted an enormous gap between them.
A gap so vast that it seemed almost impossible to bridge.
That was the most demoralizing part.
After the match, Cesc Fàbregas remained silent. As captain, he should have been consoling his teammates and lifting their spirits.
But right now, his own mentality was on the verge of collapse.
In his mind, he had naively believed that even against Real Madrid, even against Suker, they could still win.
But in the end, reality hit hard—the gap was undeniable.
This gap wasn't just about squad quality or performance; it was about ability and level.
The former could potentially be closed, but the latter? Without significant financial investment, it was nearly impossible to catch up.
Real Madrid was charging toward greater glory, with Suker as their key figure.
Meanwhile, Fàbregas was still struggling just to secure a Champions League spot in the league.
One team was aiming for the Champions League title.
The other was fighting for a Champions League qualification spot.
With such a disparity, how could Fàbregas possibly keep his composure?
At this moment, it seemed he had made a decision—his expression grew firmer.
But regardless of Arsenal's situation, Real Madrid had already secured the win and returned to Spain in high spirits.
From this match, it was clear that Real Madrid's form remained outstanding, further fueling the fans' expectations for the season.
Last season, Real Madrid had also been strong, but their tactical limitations meant that if Suker didn't step up, the team struggled to win.
That wasn't ideal for a team.
But with Mourinho's arrival, the tactical system had been rebuilt, and their competitiveness soared.
At the very least, last season, they wouldn't have been able to dismantle Arsenal so easily.
This match gave many a glimpse of Real Madrid's future potential.
After the victory, the journey back was filled with joy.
By the time the plane landed in Spain, it was already 11 PM.
As the team bus headed toward the training base, Benzema suddenly spoke up:
"The Champions League top scorer rankings have changed!"
Hearing this, the players turned to look, while some glanced at Suker.
Suker also turned toward Benzema.
Benzema flipped his phone screen to show the updated stats.
It was a live Champions League data website, and on the scorers' list, the previous sole leader was now tied.
Cristiano Ronaldo and Suker were now level at the top with the same number of goals.
Suker was surprised.
There had been a two-goal gap between him and Ronaldo.
After this match, Suker had extended his lead to three goals.
Now that they were tied, it meant Ronaldo had scored a hat-trick in his Champions League knockout game.
And that was exactly what happened—in Manchester United's home game against Marseille, Ronaldo netted three goals to complete his hat-trick, catching up to Suker's tally.
Suker frowned slightly.
Timing-wise, Ronaldo was entering his peak years.
As the all-time top scorer in the Champions League, Ronaldo had always maintained an incredibly high scoring rate.
Now that he was hitting his stride, he posed a serious challenge to Suker.
"What about Rooney?" Suker asked. He didn't follow Manchester United closely.
With Rooney in the team, Ronaldo wouldn't get as many tactical resources—Rooney would naturally take a share.
Moreover, after their fallout during the last European Championship, their relationship had soured.
Rooney wouldn't play second fiddle to Ronaldo, nor would he support him like Benzema did for Suker.
"Rooney's injured. He's been out for a while now. Since the last Euro qualifiers, Ronaldo has been United's main attacking focal point."
Suker nodded in understanding.
That explained it.
With Rooney absent, Ronaldo naturally became United's primary attacking force.
Tactical resources and most of the passes would be funneled toward him, making this kind of explosion inevitable.
If Rooney had stayed fit, he could've held Ronaldo back for a while.
Suker didn't think Rooney could suppress Ronaldo permanently, but at least he could've delayed Ronaldo's peak by a year or two.
But monsters are monsters.
Given the chance, they rise to the occasion immediately.
Barcelona's Messi was the same.
Manchester United's Ronaldo was no different.
And Ronaldo's situation was even more complex.
For him to rise like this now meant he had already gone through his refinement phase and was ready to explode.
Once this explosion happened, even if Rooney returned, he wouldn't be able to hold Ronaldo back.
Ferguson wouldn't let go of such a prolific scorer.
Sigh...
Suker turned his head and exhaled slowly.
He had thought he'd created enough distance to enjoy a period of stability.
But it seemed these guys just wouldn't stay quiet.
The pressure was back.
Suker realized he needed to score more goals.
Otherwise, with Ronaldo in this kind of form—and with Modrić feeding him—Suker might lose the Champions League Golden Boot.
Time to step up.
Suker's gaze sharpened.
He had already suppressed these two—he couldn't afford to slip up now.
He wouldn't give them a chance to overtake him.
Every time they tried to rise, he'd hit back harder.
Manchester, England. Carrington Training Ground.
After the post-match analysis session, Ronaldo and Modrić walked out of the tactics room together.
Compared to his usual self, Ronaldo was much quieter.
In the past, he had been relatively outgoing, but since the start of the season—more accurately, since the FIFA awards ceremony—he had become increasingly reserved.
Just being near him, you could feel the immense pressure radiating off him.
He was pushing himself relentlessly to improve, and in turn, forcing those around him to keep up.
Back in the locker room, Ronaldo didn't leave immediately.
Instead, he put on his training gear again.
The others were used to this by now.
Soon, Ronaldo was back on the training pitch, running laps under the floodlights.
Lap after lap, his pace grew faster, until he was practically sprinting the final 400 meters.
By the last lap, he collapsed onto the grass, gasping for air.
"Not enough... still not enough!"
Ronaldo gritted his teeth.
In this match, he had given everything to score, but he had only managed to draw level with Suker—not surpass him.
So far, Suker already had three Ballon d'Ors.
Ronaldo? Not a single one.
2008 should have been his year—they had won the Champions League.
But it was a European Championship year, and Croatia took the title, crushing his Ballon d'Or dreams.
And now, watching Suker's performances grow even more dominant, the pressure on challengers like him was immense.
When he first joined Manchester United, Ronaldo had been full of confidence, believing he was the most talented player of his generation.
Even then, he hadn't slacked in training, meticulously shaping his future.
But the reality now was far from what he had envisioned.
At the very least, he should have won a Ballon d'Or or FIFA World Player of the Year by now.
Yet he had nothing.
Faced with the widening gap in individual accolades, Ronaldo grew increasingly frustrated.
"Damn it!"
He clenched his fists, cursing under his breath.
It wasn't clear whether he was angry at himself for falling short or at Suker for setting the bar so high.
Just then, something cold pressed against his forehead.
Ronaldo looked up to see Modrić standing over him, holding out a chilled water bottle.
"It's midnight. Training like this will only get you injured, not better."
Modrić jerked his chin toward the exit. "Time to go back."
Ronaldo took a swig from the bottle and exhaled. "You go ahead. I'll do another half-hour of shooting practice."
Modrić shrugged. "Then I'll have to tell the boss."
Ronaldo scowled. "Really? That necessary?"
Modrić grinned. "If you get injured, how are we supposed to play in the Champions League?"
Ronaldo sighed in resignation.
Modrić studied him for a moment before asking, "That frustrated, huh?"
Ronaldo didn't answer, but his expression said it all.
Modrić sat down beside him. "I've known that guy for eight years now. We first met in a small town in Bosnia called Mostar."
"I know, you've told me," Ronaldo muttered.
Modrić nodded. "Back then, I was Croatia's golden boy in midfield. I was just in Bosnia for experience. But Suker? He couldn't even get into a proper match... I remember it was during the 2002 World Cup. I went to a restaurant with the coach of Zrinjski Mostar, and Suker happened to be working there as a waiter."
Ronaldo blinked. "He had a part-time job?"
Modrić chuckled. "He had to. If he didn't work, he wouldn't eat. But that's not the point... Back then, Suker seriously introduced himself to the coach and earned a trial with a Bosnian league club."
"Then in Croatia, he did the same thing with Dinamo Zagreb's coach."
"He's the kind of player who knows exactly what he wants and plans for it. Every time an opportunity came, he was ready. When he needed to perform, he always delivered."
Modrić continued, "I remember you once asked me about Suker's talent. I'll be honest—aside from his technical skills, his natural talent isn't exceptional. Frankly, I think he's not as gifted as you."
"Back in Bosnia, he could barely compete with players his own age. But look at him now..."
Modrić stood up. "The reason I'm telling you this is simple—timing and opportunity matter. Mindless training won't cut it. You need to find your role, your strengths, and the right path forward."
"I wasn't going to mention this, but here's some good news for you."
"What?"
"Suker is wary of you."
Ronaldo's eyes widened. "What?"
Modrić smirked. "He's never said it outright, but I can tell. He pays attention to you. He sees you as a threat. Maybe you're the only one who can challenge him right now."
Hearing this, Ronaldo felt a flicker of pride despite himself.
Suker was the rival he had set his sights on, the benchmark he aimed to surpass.
And if Suker saw him as a threat, wasn't that a form of recognition?
"Are you going to Real Madrid?" Ronaldo asked hesitantly.
It was a question he had been meaning to ask.
"Real Madrid?" Modrić looked puzzled. "Why?"
Ronaldo shrugged. "You and Suker are so close. Don't you want to play together?"
"Being close doesn't mean we have to be teammates," Modrić laughed. "Besides, I've already promised the boss—as long as he's at United, I'm not leaving."
"Same here," Ronaldo said quickly, then added cautiously, "You're sure you won't go to Madrid?"
He would never join Real Madrid himself, but he worried about Modrić going there and strengthening Suker's side.
Suker alone was hard enough to deal with.
Surrounded by Kaká, Alonso, Benzema, Di María, and others?
For Ronaldo, Modrić was his only world-class midfielder. He needed Modrić more than Suker needed any of his teammates.
Modrić grinned. "I didn't say I'd never consider it. If they offer me a massive salary, I might go for the money."
"Don't go to Madrid," Ronaldo said firmly. "Stay at United with me. We make a great pair—you assist, I score. It's perfect. Or maybe someday we'll both transfer—"
"Hey! If the boss hears that, he'll bench you."
"I'm just saying. If the boss ever leaves, would you stay?"
As they chatted, the two walked off the training pitch together.
Madrid, Spain. Early Morning.
Yawn...
Suker yawned as he walked his dog.
Luna sprinted wildly across the grass, circling back to Suker before darting off again.
This dog was impossible if not walked daily.
Chewing furniture was one thing, but the random peeing and pooping were unbearable.
He used to have security staff handle dog-walking, but after downsizing his team, the task fell to him.
As he passed Di María's villa, the Argentine stepped out in a robe to fetch his milk.
"Morning!" Di María greeted cheerfully.
Suker nodded. "Morning."
"Want to come over for breakfast?"
"Can you make enough for three?"
Suker pointed toward his own villa.
The moment Di María remembered the freeloaders—Srna and Kaká—he turned right back around.
"See you later!"
Suker led the dog inside, where Srna took the leash and headed to the bathroom to wash Luna's paws.
Kaká had already laid out the breakfast ingredients on the table.
These two were self-aware—since they were mooching meals, they at least helped out.
"The nutritionist wants us eating lighter from now until May. Simpler meals to keep our form up."
It was Suker's routine in the second half of the season—clean eating to maintain peak condition.
The other two had no objections.
For one, Suker was the cook.
For another, his logic was sound.
Most of the team ate breakfast at the training base's cafeteria.
But Suker preferred cooking at home.
It saved time, and by the time they arrived at the training ground, their stomachs would be settled, ready for intense workouts.
Every minute counted.
If they did things the same way as everyone else, how could they stay ahead?
Even some of Real Madrid's other players—like Di María and Ramos—had taken inspiration from Suker and started preparing their own breakfasts.
Only on match days, for dietary safety, would they eat at the training base.
By 7:30 AM, they finished eating, grabbed their gear, and headed out.
Di María was already waiting outside.
The four of them drove to the training base together, parked, and entered the locker room.
The rest of the squad trickled in, most heading straight to the cafeteria for breakfast.
But Suker's group had already eaten and digested, ready to train.
When they reached the training pitch, Benzema was already there.
"Morning!"
"Good morning, Karim!"
"Hey!"
They exchanged greetings.
Benzema turned to acknowledge them, sweat glistening on his face—he had been training for a while.
At the moment, he was doing some unusual drills.
He had set up a row of uneven bounce boards in the middle of the field.
These were typically used for goalkeeper training.
The uneven surface caused the ball to rebound unpredictably, helping goalkeepers improve their reflexes.
But Benzema was kicking the ball into the boards, then sprinting chaotically to chase it.
Given the erratic rebounds, the ball flew in random directions, making it impossible for Benzema to predict.
Of course, no player could anticipate such bounces.
"What's he doing?"
Suker watched for a moment, utterly baffled.
"No idea. Some new training method?"
Suker shrugged. "Let's just ask."