For newly appointed Atlético Madrid manager Diego Simeone, the 2012 campaign was rapidly approaching.
But as a manager who had literally just taken the job, the sheer volume of work on his desk was suffocating.
Tactics aside, the abysmal morale of the squad was a massive crisis that needed immediate solving.
So when the phone rang and it was B team manager Milinko Pantić, Simeone felt a massive headache coming on.
He remembered the American kid, Shane Carter.
But he certainly did not believe a seventeen year old youth castoff was ready to contribute to the Atlético first team.
He watched the phone ring for several seconds before finally sighing and picking up.
"Diego, I am not joking," Pantić's voice boomed through the receiver. "The kid is absolutely phenomenal. Did you read the email I sent? Let me just bring you the training footage."
"Alright, alright," Simeone rubbed his temples. "I will look at it when I have some free time."
"You have free time right now, do you not? I can hear the echo. You are in your office."
"Excuse me?"
"Exactly. I am standing right outside your door. I am knocking now. Can I come in?"
Simeone stared in absolute disbelief as Pantić pushed the office door open and squeezed inside.
Are you kidding me?
All this fuss over a B team prospect?
If Simeone recalled correctly, the kid was only seventeen.
Pantić flashed a shameless grin and walked up to the desk.
"Diego, you absolutely must see what he has been doing in training over the last two days. I am absolutely certain we have stumbled onto a genius."
"A generational genius."
"Generational?" Simeone looked at Pantić with heavy skepticism.
Pantić pulled a flash drive from his pocket and tossed it onto Simeone's desk.
"Alright, my shift is over. I am heading home."
With that, Pantić turned around and walked right back out the door.
The veins on Simeone's temples throbbed.
Damn it.
Your shift is over, so you just dump homework on my desk?
Who is the boss here?
Pantić was clearly a master of managing up.
...
An hour later, Simeone closed the media player on his laptop.
The absolute shock on the Argentine's face was impossible to conceal.
He was sitting in his chair, completely paralyzed.
"Did I completely misjudge him? No, he was purely playing as a destroyer during that Real Madrid match. But his passing... his ball control right now..."
"Did I just accidentally recruit a teenage Andrés Iniesta?"
Simeone sat frozen in silence.
Just then, his assistant manager Germán Burgos walked in carrying a stack of tactical dossiers.
"Diego, have you made a decision yet? Are we starting Tiago or Diego Ribas in the midfield?"
In five days, Simeone would manage his first official match for Atlético Madrid.
They were traveling away to face Málaga CF.
Málaga had recently received massive financial backing from Middle Eastern investors. They boasted an incredibly star studded squad.
This upcoming match was a direct clash between two teams fighting for a top four finish.
If Atlético wanted to secure Champions League qualification this season, beating Málaga was absolutely critical.
Furthermore, it was Simeone's debut as manager. He desperately wanted to start his tenure with a statement victory.
For the past few days, he had been obsessively racking his brain on how to dismantle Málaga's setup.
Atlético's midfield depth was currently their biggest weakness.
But right now, looking at the black screen of his laptop...
If Shane Carter truly possessed the abilities shown in that training footage, throwing him onto the pitch could be the ultimate secret weapon.
"Hold off on that decision for now," Simeone commanded. "We will finalize the lineup tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow?" Germán paused. "Why wait?"
"Because the B team has a match tomorrow."
Germán checked the academy schedule on his clipboard.
"The B team is playing away at Real Madrid Castilla. That is going to be a bloodbath. What does that have to do with the first team?"
Simeone pointed a finger directly at his laptop screen.
"We are going to watch his performance."
Germán leaned over, looking confused.
"Shane? You want to scout the American kid? Wait, is he actually a genius?"
"Yes. He is a genius," Simeone said, his eyes burning with intensity. "The kind of genius that will make your jaw hit the floor."
...
Standing in the tunnel, Shane felt a deep sense of irony.
The past two weeks of his life had been an absolute rollercoaster.
He joined Real Madrid, got expelled, signed with Atlético Madrid B, and now his very first official match was a Madrid derby.
They were facing Real Madrid Castilla.
This was not going to be an easy fight.
In fact, the talent gap between the current Atlético B squad and Real Madrid Castilla was roughly equivalent to the gap between Granada and the Real Madrid first team in La Liga.
Halfway through the season, Castilla was sitting comfortably at the top of the Segunda División B table.
At this pace, they were highly favored to achieve promotion to the fully professional Segunda División.
Taking a squad primarily composed of eighteen and nineteen year olds and securing promotion into a rugged professional league was an incredibly rare feat.
The reason Castilla was so dominant this year was simple. Their roster was overflowing with generational star power.
Manchester United famously had their 'Class of 92'.
Real Madrid currently had their own equivalent. A golden generation of academy graduates born around 1992.
Dani Carvajal, Nacho Fernández, Lucas Vázquez, Joselu, Álvaro Morata, Jesé Rodríguez.
Every single one of these future stars was currently playing for Castilla.
Meanwhile, Atlético Madrid B was fighting tooth and nail just to avoid relegation.
One team was hunting for a title, and the other was fighting for survival. The disparity was massive.
Standing in the tunnel, Shane looked across the aisle at the pristine white jerseys.
There were several players over there who were already famous across Spain.
Álvaro Morata was widely heralded as the future starting striker for the Spanish national team.
Nacho and Carvajal were the defensive cores of Spain's youth squads.
While the Segunda B was technically a semi-professional tier, it was still a senior men's league. This would be Shane's true professional debut. Everything prior to this had been purely age-restricted youth football.
He glanced at the opposing lineup again.
Well, they were still essentially his peers. The Castilla stars were only two or three years older than him, mostly falling between the ages of nineteen and twenty one.
As the teams walked out onto the pitch, the stadium announcer's voice boomed over the speakers.
"Let's welcome the boys of the B team!"
Walking in line with his teammates, Shane looked up at the stands of the Alfredo Di Stéfano Stadium.
It was a small venue with only a few thousand seats, but it was absolutely packed.
When the local fans erupted in cheers, the atmosphere was surprisingly intense.
Shane stood in line just behind Óliver Torres.
"Number eight..." the DJ announced loudly. "Óliver Torres!"
A polite round of applause and cheers echoed from the away section.
"And next up... Number sixteen... uh... C... Car..."
The stadium announcer stumbled, struggling to pronounce the unfamiliar foreign surname.
The handful of traveling Atlético fans in the stands looked confused.
Who was number sixteen? They had never heard of him.
Fortunately, the DJ was a seasoned professional and quickly pivoted.
"And next, the absolute pride of the Atlético academy! Our number ten..."
"Saúl Ñíguez!"
The Atlético fans instantly forgot about the mysterious number sixteen. A massive roar of approval swept through their section of the stadium.
Shane pulled his gaze away from the stands, feeling slightly disappointed.
Behind him, Saúl proudly poked Shane in the back with his fist.
Shane glanced back at him.
Why are you grinning like you just won the lottery?
This is just a tiny B team match.
Shane was already daydreaming about stepping onto the pitch for the first team.
He scanned the VIP boxes but could not spot Simeone anywhere.
However, Manager Pantić had secretly informed him before kickoff that Simeone was absolutely in the building to scout him.
That knowledge made Shane's blood boil with excitement.
After this match, he was going to La Liga.
...
Reality, however, hit fast.
Facing an attacking trident of Morata, Jesé, and Joselu, backed by the creative engines of Vázquez and Carvajal, Atlético B was immediately put to the sword.
The quality gap was glaringly obvious.
Right after kickoff, Castilla used their possession to pin Atlético deep in their own half. Within minutes, they broke the deadlock.
Up in a private corner box, Simeone slowly shook his head.
Germán Burgos was entirely unfazed.
"This Castilla squad is ridiculously strong," Germán noted. "Several of these kids are fully capable of playing for the Real Madrid first team right now. Morata, Carvajal, Nacho. They are all top tier. The talent gap between our B team and theirs is too vast. Conceding early was inevitable."
Simeone nodded in agreement. "I am not here for the scoreline. I am here to see how Shane responds."
How would the young American handle a match where his team was so overwhelmingly outmatched?
...
Down on the pitch, Shane watched in surprise as Morata sprinted toward the corner flag to celebrate.
The guy was genuinely impressive. He had managed to muscle his way between two center backs and bury a bullet header.
Shane took a moment to reflect on his own positioning.
Prior to unlocking the system, his entire footballing identity was built on destroying attacks.
But things were different now. His true power lay in his world class passing and ball control.
If he kept playing like a pure destroyer, he would be wasting his greatest weapons.
Realizing this, Shane knew he had to completely alter his playstyle.
He clapped his hands loudly, gesturing to his teammates.
"Do not panic! Calm down! Just give me the ball!"
...
Having seen his brilliance in training, the Atlético B players trusted Shane implicitly.
Once play resumed, Shane massively expanded his operating radius. He dropped deep to collect the ball from the center backs.
As soon as he turned, Lucas Vázquez sprinted forward to press him.
Shane dropped his shoulder, faking a long diagonal pass. As Vázquez committed to the block, Shane elegantly chopped the ball to his left with the inside of his boot, leaving the fiercely confident Vázquez grasping at thin air.
Vázquez stumbled, looking back in shock as the American kid casually glided past him.
He had completely underestimated the new guy.
And he had paid the price.
However, Vázquez did not panic.
Dani Carvajal was covering right behind him.
Wearing the captain's armband for Castilla, Carvajal immediately stepped up to close the space.
He had seen Shane effortlessly dust Vázquez. He knew this opponent possessed genuine quality.
Carvajal lowered his center of gravity, jockeying backward, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
But Shane had no intention of forcing a dribble. He used the outside of his boot to flick the ball out wide to the fullback.
As soon as the ball left his foot, Shane sprinted forward into the empty pocket of space, raising his hand.
"Back to me!"
The Atlético fullback obediently played a quick horizontal pass back inside.
Carvajal's eyes lit up. He saw the perfect opportunity for an interception.
Just as the ball rolled toward Shane, Carvajal violently lunged forward from his blind spot.
But he grabbed empty air.
Just a fraction of a second before the ball arrived, Shane dragged it back with his left foot, executed a lightning fast roulette to spin his body entirely away from the tackle, and then pushed the ball forward with his right instep.
A nutmeg!
"Whoa!"
A collective gasp echoed across the small stadium.
Up in the VIP box, Simeone leaped out of his seat.
"Incredible footwork under pressure!" he shouted, leaning against the glass.
Down on the pitch, an embarrassed Carvajal desperately tried to snap his legs shut to block the ball, but the sudden awkward movement nearly made him faceplant into the turf.
By the time he regained his balance and turned around, Shane had already bypassed him.
Shane did not even break stride. He smoothly swung his leg, striking the ball purely with his instep.
Carvajal inhaled sharply.
The ball skimmed violently across the grass, slicing cleanly between Castilla's two center backs like a laser guided missile.
As the pass broke through the final defensive line, the heavy spin on the ball caused it to curl slightly at the very end.
It bent perfectly into the penalty area, meeting Saúl's perfectly timed run.
Saúl did not even need to take a touch. He stepped into the pass and unleashed a venomous right footed strike.
Swish!
The ball nearly ripped the net off its hooks.
Carvajal, Nacho, and the rest of the Castilla defenders froze. They slowly turned their heads, staring in utter disbelief at the player who had just delivered that surgical, defense splitting through ball.
Who on earth was this kid?