August 2014. The Spanish sun hovered high above Valdebebas, casting long shadows on the pristine pitch where Real Madrid Castilla trained. The preseason was nearing its end, and the season opener loomed just two weeks away. For most players, this period meant sharpening tactics, solidifying positions, and convincing Zidane they belonged on the team sheet.
For Sae Itoshi, it was the opening act.
He had dominated the Juvenil A squad. No one could keep up with his vision, timing, or control. Word spread quickly up the academy hierarchy—about the half-Japanese kid with the deadpan stare and the feet of a virtuoso. Zidane had taken notice. And now, the test would begin.
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Castilla's Training Camp
The Castilla squad was a different beast. Many of its players were already 18 or 19, taller, stronger, and physically more developed than Sae. These were players fighting to make the first team or secure loans to top Segunda clubs. The atmosphere was tense, competitive, and cutthroat.
Sae joined the squad on a Wednesday morning. The locker room buzzed with chatter and laughter as he entered, drawing curious glances. His reputation had preceded him.
"That's the kid Zidane brought up?"
"He looks like a child."
"Heard he embarrassed Juvenil A."
No one spoke to him directly. He didn't mind.
He found an empty locker, changed quickly, and tied his boots in silence. But in his heart, he was calm—colder than anyone in that room.
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A Different Speed
The first training session was a shock for many. Castilla's tempo was faster, more physical, and more coordinated than anything Sae had faced since his reincarnation. But while others assumed the leap would faze him, Sae relished it.
Tight rondos? He navigated them like a surgeon. High-press drills? He always found the exit pass. Positioning games? He turned even the smallest gaps into passing corridors. And in small-sided games, he displayed an uncanny ability to shift rhythm, slowing the game to a crawl before suddenly slicing through defenders with razor-sharp acceleration.
Zidane watched quietly from the sideline, hand on chin, expression unreadable.
He saw more than talent. He saw intent—the quiet arrogance of someone who didn't just play the game, but manipulated it.
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The Test Begins
On Friday, Zidane made his move.
"Tomorrow," he announced, "we play a closed-door friendly against Rayo Vallecano B. Sae, you'll start in the midfield."
The room went quiet.
"He's starting?" one of the senior players, Carlos Domínguez, muttered under his breath.
Sae simply nodded. His eyes were fixed on Zidane, reading him.
Zidane noticed.
"Everyone earns their place here," he said. "Show me why you deserve it."
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The Friendly
The next afternoon, the team bus pulled up at the Rayo B complex. The small stadium was nearly empty, save for staff and a few scouts. But for Sae, this match held more weight than any game he'd played in his first life. This was his true debut.
He wore the number 21 shirt. Positioned as the central attacking midfielder in a 4-2-3-1, Sae had freedom to roam, connect, and create. Zidane had set the system; now, he would see how far this boy could push it.
From the opening whistle, Rayo came pressing hard. Their midfield trio swarmed Sae, forcing him to release the ball quickly. But even under pressure, his decision-making was flawless. He dropped deep to collect, played one-touch layoffs, and broke lines with vertical passes no one else saw.
In the 17th minute, he intercepted a sloppy pass and countered with surgical efficiency. A feint sent one defender flying. He clipped a perfect through ball to the striker, who buried it calmly.
1-0. Assist, Sae.
Zidane didn't smile. He watched.
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The Clash
Not everyone was happy with Sae's ascension.
Carlos Domínguez, a burly 19-year-old midfielder who'd been part of Castilla for three seasons, wasn't pleased to be benched for a newcomer. In the second half, when he subbed on and moved next to Sae, tension was inevitable.
"Don't get cocky," Carlos hissed after a misplaced pass.
Sae didn't reply. But his eyes narrowed, just a fraction.
In the 70th minute, Rayo won a corner. As players jostled in the box, Carlos shoved Sae hard—too hard.
Sae stumbled, but kept his balance.
Zidane saw it. But he didn't intervene.
The ball was cleared, and in the next transition, Sae took over. He dribbled past one, two defenders, and when Carlos called for the ball in space, Sae ignored him. Instead, he curved a delicate chip over the defense to the winger, who volleyed it into the net.
2-0. Another assist.
As they jogged back, Sae finally spoke—his voice calm, icy.
"If you want the ball, earn it."
Carlos went red. But he said nothing more.
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Zidane's Challenge
The match ended 2-1. Sae had made his mark. But for Zidane, one game was not enough.
Back at Valdebebas, he approached Sae alone.
"You see the field better than most," Zidane said in French, testing if Sae could keep up. "But can you lead?"
Sae blinked. "That's not my job."
"It is now."
The next week, Zidane made Sae the focal point of Castilla's build-up play. Everything flowed through him. But he also tasked Sae with something new—communicating. He had to coordinate with the defensive midfielders, adjust pressing triggers, and direct positioning.
Sae found it annoying.
In his past life, he led with performance, not words. But Zidane forced him out of that comfort zone.
"You want to play for Madrid's first team?" Zidane asked during a post-training session. "Then act like someone who belongs in the center of the Bernabéu."
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Pressure Cooker
The following weeks were brutal. Zidane placed Sae in increasingly difficult scenarios—forcing him to work with mismatched teammates, play in altered systems, or carry the team when others were struggling.
There were games where Sae was man-marked the entire match.
There were sessions where he was doubled in training.
Zidane pushed him relentlessly.
At one point, Sae finally snapped during a training match, yelling at a fullback for failing to track back. The squad froze—Sae never raised his voice. Zidane, standing on the sidelines, smiled faintly.
"Good," he muttered. "He's starting to take ownership."
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A Glimpse of the Bernabéu
One evening, Zidane invited Sae to shadow a senior team training session at the Santiago Bernabéu.
It wasn't a test. It was a reminder.
Sae stood in the shadows of the tunnel, watching Modrić direct traffic, watching Kroos strike inch-perfect passes, watching Ronaldo train with obsessive intensity.
The world's best.
Zidane approached him from behind.
"You think you're close?"
Sae's expression didn't change.
"No," he replied. "But I will be."
Zidane nodded once. "Good. Then start acting like it every day."
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Sae's Internal World
That night, Sae lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His heart beat slowly, steadily.
This world was different from his first. It wasn't an artificial cage like Blue Lock. It was real. Harsh. Political. Ruthless. But that also made it beautiful.
In Blue Lock, everything revolved around ego. Here, the stage was larger. The stakes were higher. And the greats were untouchable until you earned your right to challenge them.
He was no longer the best in Japan. He wasn't even the best in Castilla.
But he had one advantage no one else had: he had already lived this once.
And he wouldn't waste his second life.
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A Call from Above
The next morning, Zidane pulled Sae aside after training.
"There's a first-team friendly next month during the international break," he said. "They'll need a few academy players."
Sae looked at him silently.
Zidane smirked.
"You're on the list."
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End of Chapter 2