"Celebrating Suker's 400 Career Goals!"
At Real Madrid's training ground, a barbecue grill was set up on the concrete beside the pitch. The team chefs handled the cooking while the players gathered in the shade for an outdoor feast.
As various grilled meats finished cooking and were arranged on serving platters, the players lined up with their plates to choose what they wanted.
Most opted for lean beef—nutritious and low in fat.
Though some couldn't resist the greasy sausages.
Once loaded up, the players scattered across the grounds in small groups to enjoy the meal.
Suker, Kaká, and Srna—the usual trio—naturally clustered together.
But this time, Benzema joined them.
Balancing his plate on his lap, the Frenchman stuffed his cheeks with meat and mumbled, "400 goals... How did you do it?"
Benzema's career tally was barely a quarter of Suker's.
Yet even that made him one of France's most prolific active strikers.
And this monster before him had quadruple his output?
What's more, Suker had spent most of his career in Serie A—a league renowned for its defensive rigor even during its decline.
To average 40+ goals per season in that environment was terrifying.
And this was just the average. Suker's early years dragged the number down—most came from recent seasons.
In fact, over the last few campaigns, Suker had been netting 60-70 goals annually.
Absolute madness.
"Don't try to copy me. Just play your own game."
Suker shrugged.
His outrageous numbers weren't something you could replicate through imitation.
They were built on [Fatigue Recovery Cards], an injury-free physique, and a arsenal of skills—not to mention being the focal point of every team's attack.
All earned through performance, in Suker's view.
"I saw an updated database ranking current young stars by career goals. You're top, with Ronaldo and Messi second and third."
Srna added, "Ronaldo's at 197, Messi at 186."
He couldn't help grumbling, "What's going on? Are defenders just decorations now?"
Suker stayed silent but sighed inwardly.
No matter how hard he pushed, those two just wouldn't be shaken off.
Sometimes, he had to admire their tenacity.
He had cheat codes—his success made sense.
But those two? Pure talent and relentless work ethic keeping pace with him.
Suker polished off his last few slices of meat, set his plate aside, and stood. "Finished eating? Meet at Field Two."
"Why?" Benzema looked up, confused.
Suker glared. "Why? Think you've mastered positioning? Stop stuffing your face and get training!"
Benzema's eyes lit up.
If Suker was this proactive, how could he, the main trainee, lag behind?
Wolfing down the remaining food, he scampered toward the training pitch.
Afternoon, Field Two.
An hour-long scrimmage unfolded under Mourinho's watchful gaze.
But the coach's expression was grim.
This season felt... off.
Typically, by the second half of the campaign, injuries would inevitably crop up due to fixture congestion and fatigue.
Top clubs especially—juggling multiple competitions—needed deep squads to cope.
Yet Real Madrid remained unscathed.
For Mourinho, a few early injuries might've been preferable—allowing players to recover and return fresher.
It would've created a buffer against a potential crisis.
What he feared most was a mass injury outbreak. Five or six starters going down simultaneously would be catastrophic.
In his career, he'd faced too many matches with no fit strikers.
Beyond form, avoiding injuries was key to any title charge.
But it was already February.
Not a single starter had been sidelined. Medical checks had flagged a few risks, prompting rotation—but that only heightened Mourinho's unease.
Like waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Of course, no injuries was good—but this eerie silence felt ominous.
The uncertainty forced constant adjustments to maintain readiness.
Mentally exhausting.
Like bracing for a shot—clenching your cheeks, waiting for the sting...
Only for the needle to hover indefinitely.
Rubbing his temples, Mourinho called out, "Suker!"
The Croatian turned, exchanged a few words, then jogged over.
Mourinho got straight to the point: "For Champions League readiness, I want you rested next match."
Suker blinked. "Rested?"
He didn't feel tired. Medical reports showed peak condition. No need for rotation.
Then it clicked.
"Making room for backups?" Suker frowned.
He had a Golden Boot to defend.
Mourinho coughed. "You'll play every UCL game. Just this one league match."
He had no choice.
His merit-based rotation promised Adebayor a league start if he impressed in the Copa del Rey.
Plus, Mourinho's paranoia was kicking in.
No injuries at all.
Not a single one.
The calm before the storm?
What if everything crashed down at once—Suker getting injured right before the decisive stretch?
Better to err on the side of caution.
Especially against their next opponent—a relegation-battling side fighting to survive.
Those were the most dangerous.
Willing to maim for points.
Better to bench Suker than risk some thug "sacrificing" himself to take out Madrid's crown jewel.
Hearing Mourinho's reasoning, Suker reluctantly nodded.
One game off wouldn't hurt.
His six-goal lead over Messi was practically insurmountable this late in the season.
But he needed justification—and this sufficed.
"Actually, skip the trip entirely. Full rest."
Mourinho waved. If Suker was resting, do it properly.
"Be fresh for the UCL Round of 16 second leg."
Suker: "..."
February 26th, La Liga Matchday 25.
Real Madrid visited Deportivo La Coruña.
Once-mighty "Super Depor" had fallen far.
After years of mid-table mediocrity, this season saw their final collapse.
Like a dam bursting—losses piled up post-Christmas, plummeting them into the drop zone.
Now 18th—with three teams relegated annually—Deportivo were fighting for survival.
Desperation bred brutality.
Recent matches resembled street brawls—fouls skyrocketing, opponents injured.
Exactly why Mourinho benched Suker.
With him, Madrid could face any elite side.
Without him? Even a single injury could derail their UCL ambitions.
As for Suker's "I don't get injured" claims? Mourinho wasn't buying it.
With the day off, Suker tuned in from home—though not to Madrid's match.
Deportivo's antics aside, the gulf in class made an upset unlikely.
No need to stress.
Instead, he switched to the Manchester derby.
Manchester United vs. Manchester City.
Ferguson's United remained formidable—perennial contenders domestically and in Europe.
The Scot embodied institutional stability.
As long as he helmed United, they'd never truly decline.
Now, with Ronaldo retained and Modrić anchoring midfield, they were even stronger.
Of course, City were no pushovers either.
After their 2008 takeover, the "noisy neighbors" had flexed financial muscle.
The 2009/10 season saw signings like Gareth Barry, Shay Given, Roque Santa Cruz, and Joleon Lescott—before sacking their manager for Roberto Mancini.
The spending spree continued:
2010/11 brought Yaya Touré, David Silva, Aleksandar Kolarov, Mario Balotelli, James Milner, and Bundesliga Golden Boot winner Edin Džeko.
On paper, a fearsome squad.
But against Ferguson's United—with Ronaldo and Modrić—City remained just that: noisy neighbors.
Notably, with Rooney injured, Ronaldo had fully embraced his centerpiece role.
This match showcased why—despite limited chances, he bagged a brace.
Paul Scholes added a comical long-range volley (eyes closed, full send) that somehow beat Joe Hart.
3-1 to United.
Watching this, Suker understood Ronaldo's scoring surge.
Tactical freedom was one factor—but more crucially, he'd accelerated his evolution.
From "Little CR7" to "Wing Flash" to now—a full-fledged goal machine.
Creak.
The front door opened as Srna's grumbling echoed in.
"Exhausting! What a shit match!"
Suker turned to see Srna, Kaká, and Benzema filing in.
"Over already?"
Srna nodded. "2-0. But we lost a man."
"Injured?"
"Nah." Srna shook his head. "Red card."
"Ramos or Pepe?"
No need to ask—it had to be one of those hotheads.
"Ramos." Kaká sighed. "Lost his cool. Deportivo were provoking, fouling hard—typical relegation scrapping. But Ramos snapped, racking up yellows before a wrestling takedown earned him an early shower."
Suker nodded. At least it wasn't an injury.
"Who scored?"
Benzema grinned smugly. "Me! Two!"
Suker raised an eyebrow. "Two?"
Kaká confirmed: "One rebound, one header. Karim was excellent today."
Suker studied Benzema.
The Frenchman had always been talented—just overshadowed by Suker's monstrous output.
With Suker rested, Benzema flourished as the focal point.
"Great win, but why are you here?" Suker pointed at the clock. "It's 9 PM. I've got sleep soon."
"Since when do you sleep early?" Srna plopped onto the couch.
"Chat a bit, then we'll go."
Suker rolled his eyes. His home was becoming their clubhouse.
Ding-dong.
Kaká answered to reveal Di María.
Perfect.
The gang's all here.
"There were issues today," Srna noted. "Midfield buildup was sluggish, and we got physically dominated at times."
Di María sighed. "I tried battling, but..."
His slight frame wasn't built for Mourinho's physical demands.
"Partner with Marcelo. Defense isn't just 1v1—it's about coordination."
Srna advised, "Your job isn't tackling. It's delaying—slow them down until help arrives."
Di María frowned. "I tried that. Still got bypassed."
"Positioning errors." Srna pondered. "Tomorrow, train with us defenders. Might help."
Suker side-eyed Srna—this felt like overcomplicating things.
Di María wasn't a natural defender.
He played midfield out of necessity—with Suker and Kaká occupying the wings.
"Actually, maybe I should switch with Ángel."
Kaká's suggestion drew everyone's attention.
"I can play midfield. Defensively, I'm more robust. Plus, linking with Suker on the flank creates more synergy."
Diplomatic phrasing, but Kaká was more complete—dribbling, passing, organizing.
A natural partner for Alonso.
His conversion to a deeper role remained ongoing—a season-long project at least.
Real Madrid's system wasn't set in stone yet.
Beyond core pieces like Suker and Alonso, roles for Kaká, Benzema, and Di María remained fluid.
Mourinho was still tinkering in his first year—building toward a final vision.
As debates swirled, Suker finally interjected:
"My take? No more changes now."
All eyes turned to him.
Usually the innovator, Suker was advocating stability.
He didn't elaborate—but the reasoning was clear.
Any tweaks now would require fresh adaptation.
With the title race heating up, who knew what ripple effects might follow?
Better to ride their current momentum.
Adjustments could wait until summer.
Moreover, Suker faced his own pressures.
That back-to-back UCL promise to Florentino Pérez.
Ronaldo and Messi breathing down his neck.
He needed consistency to keep padding his stats.