"Beautiful!"
Diego Simeone could not hold back his praise.
"We might have genuinely misjudged him, old friend."
Germán Burgos stared down at the pitch in astonishment.
In his mind, he repeated the phrase he had been constantly saying to himself over the past few days: Is this kid actually a genius?!
The two men exchanged a look, both seeing the undisguised pleasant surprise in the other's eyes.
"Let's keep watching," Simeone murmured. "His passing and ball control... if he can consistently produce this level of output, there is absolutely a place for him in the first team."
...
Down on the pitch, the Real Madrid Castilla players turned in shock to stare at Shane Carter.
Dusting Lucas Vázquez, nutmegging Dani Carvajal, and delivering a surgical, defense-splitting through ball to gift wrap a goal.
At least eighty percent of the credit for that equalizer belonged squarely on the shoulders of the surprising American midfielder.
In the stands, the local Atlético Madrid fans erupted into cheers.
"That number sixteen... he is incredible!"
"Looking at his build, I thought he was just a pure enforcer!"
"Who knew he had feet like that?"
"We are level!"
The atmosphere inside the small stadium instantly caught fire.
In the press box, a few local journalists scribbled furiously into their notebooks: 7th Minute: A young American player for Atlético B produces a brilliant piece of individual skill to assist Saúl Ñíguez.
Scattered throughout the stands, several scouts began whispering to one another.
On a football pitch, true genius burns as bright as a flare in the dark.
On the touchline, Castilla manager Alberto Toril looked deeply unsettled.
He immediately realized the truth. That number sixteen was undoubtedly the engine driving this Atlético B side.
He stepped to the edge of his technical area and waved frantically at his players.
He pointed directly at Shane and roared, "Lock him down! Do not give him an inch!"
...
The defensive pressure on Shane intensified dramatically.
But that was exactly what he wanted.
If the Castilla players were focusing all their energy and bodies on pressing him, it meant there would inevitably be massive pockets of space opening up elsewhere on the pitch.
All he had to do was break the initial press, and he could effortlessly funnel the ball into high-danger areas.
Moreover, this kind of aggressive man-marking was the perfect canvas to showcase his true abilities.
As the match progressed, Shane constantly drifted into pockets of space.
Receiving, passing, dribbling out of tight areas, and threading lethal through balls.
Driven entirely by his individual brilliance, the mighty Real Madrid Castilla was gradually being suffocated by the home side.
The Atlético fans in the stands were absolutely loving it.
Their cheers echoed relentlessly around the stadium.
Up in the VIP box, Simeone watched in pure awe.
He is completely dictating the game! Simeone thought, genuinely amazed.
In the center of the park, not a single Castilla midfielder could keep up with Shane's rhythm.
On paper, Castilla had a far vastly superior squad.
But through Shane's sheer individual dominance, that talent gap had been completely erased.
No, that was wrong.
Atlético B was actually beginning to overpower them.
Less than five minutes after the equalizer, Shane carved open the defense again, creating a pure one-on-one chance with the keeper.
Unfortunately, his B team teammate fluffed the finish.
Watching from the stands, Simeone nearly stood up to applaud the pass anyway.
"His ball control and his vision are world-class," Simeone muttered, turning to Germán.
"World-class?" Germán took a deep breath.
That was incredibly high praise coming from Diego Simeone.
...
The second goal arrived shortly after.
Shane received the ball deep in his own half, glided past his marker, and sprayed the ball out wide to the flank.
Beside him, Lucas Vázquez was tracking him like a rabid pitbull.
But throughout this match, the highly touted Castilla graduate had been reduced to an absolute training cone.
When the ball was cycled back to Shane, he dropped his left shoulder, faking a heavy drive toward the center. Vázquez bit hard on the feint, completely shifting his weight. In that split second, Shane violently chopped the ball in the opposite direction and left him for dead.
In just fifteen minutes of play, Vázquez had genuinely lost count of how many times Shane had sent him to the shops.
The Real Madrid prodigy could only watch with a dark expression as Shane drove the ball forward once again.
"Watch the pass!"
"Drop the line! Do not give them space to run in behind!"
The Castilla defenders desperately shouted instructions at one another.
The last few times Shane had been on the ball, he had repeatedly broken their lines with lethal through balls.
Now, seeing him driving forward with the same intent, they were naturally terrified of the pass.
Shane, however, noticed that all the passing lanes were tightly shut. But that was fine. He could just take the space they were giving him and drive straight into the box.
He refused to believe the Castilla defenders would just casually let him walk the ball into the penalty area without stepping up.
Shane slightly broke his rhythm, taking a heavy touch toward the edge of the box.
Center back Nacho Fernández was the first to react.
He aggressively stepped out of the defensive line, dropping his center of gravity, hunting for the exact moment to lunge in and win the ball.
Right now, Shane felt absolutely phenomenal. The ball felt like a natural extension of his own body.
He manipulated it with effortless precision.
Just like right now.
He dragged the ball toward his left side while keeping his eyes locked on Nacho's hips.
Nacho decisively shifted his weight to cover his right side.
In that exact fraction of a second, Shane suddenly snapped the ball back and chopped it to the right.
A flash of triumph crossed Nacho's face.
He thought he had completely read Shane's intention.
Faking left, going right!
Nacho's initial shift to his right had actually been a deliberate feint. The moment he saw Shane drag the ball back, Nacho violently threw his body to his left, thrusting his leg out for a clean, crunching tackle.
But halfway through his tackle, Nacho looked down in absolute horror.
The ball was gone!
"Whoa!!"
Another collective gasp ripped through the stands.
From the elevated angle of the VIP box, the sequence was crystal clear.
Halfway through pulling the ball to the right, Shane had instantly reversed the momentum, pushing it back to his left with the inside of his boot.
Nacho had completely thrown himself out of the way.
Shane broke cleanly into the penalty box!
"Absolutely brilliant!" Germán praised from the stands.
There were many ways to beat a defender.
The most common was utilizing pure physical speed—knocking the ball past a man and simply winning the footrace.
But what Shane was doing was entirely different.
Without relying on explosive pace, he was humiliating defenders purely through elite close control, body feints, and manipulating their momentum. It was far more difficult to execute and infinitely more beautiful to watch.
Shane never seemed rushed. He maintained a smooth, unhurried rhythm.
Yet he had just effortlessly dismantled Nacho Fernández.
As Shane broke into the box, the Castilla goal was completely exposed.
He glanced up and saw the target clearly.
Since he was already here... there was no need to pass.
Shane pulled his leg back and lashed a vicious strike!
The ball drilled low across the grass, skimming just past the keeper's fingertips and slamming into the bottom corner!
Two to one!
The home side, Atlético Madrid B, had taken the lead!
...
"He is a natural-born midfield maestro," Simeone admitted, completely abandoning his previous assumptions.
What pure destroyer?
What defensive anchor?
This was Zinedine Zidane in the flesh!
Making him play purely as a defensive workhorse?
Were the coaches over at the Real Madrid academy completely braindead?
Simeone stood up and applauded.
"This is a true genius!"
Germán was equally thrilled.
Compared to Shane, the so-called "golden generation" of the Castilla Class of '92 was looking incredibly fraudulent right now.
At the very least, it was glaringly obvious that the intensity of the Segunda B was utterly incapable of containing Shane.
Anyone with eyes could see it.
He was operating on a level several tiers above every other player on that pitch.
"He might just be our secret weapon for the next match," Simeone said as he sat back down.
Germán paused. "You want to debut him in the next match? Isn't that... a little too soon?"
"Too soon?" Simeone smiled faintly. "I think it is the perfect time."
The next match was Simeone's official managerial debut for Atlético Madrid.
If Shane played and produced a masterclass, it would be the ultimate gift from Simeone to the Atlético supporters.
Besides...
Judging purely by this performance, Shane already possessed the absolute quality required to start in La Liga.
"He is the real deal," Simeone said, leaning back in his chair.
He already knew how this match was going to end.
Atlético B had this in the bag.
...
And he was entirely correct.
The defining characteristic of youth football was its heavy reliance on emotional momentum.
Right now, the young Castilla stars were completely shell-shocked.
Under these circumstances, an immensely confident Atlético B side could likely dominate them even without Shane on the pitch.
But with Shane orchestrating the play?
It turned into an absolute massacre.
By halftime, Atlético B was leading four to one.
Shane was directly involved in all four goals.
He had scored one, provided two direct assists, and delivered the pre-assist that unlocked the defense for the fourth.
He was the absolute architect of their destruction.
In the away dressing room at halftime, Toril was nursing a massive migraine.
He desperately needed to find a way to breathe some life back into his shattered squad.
As the second half kicked off, Toril's halftime adjustments seemed to have an effect. Castilla came out with renewed energy.
In the forty-seventh minute, they managed to pull one back.
The score was now four to two.
But moments later...
Shane glided into the box, drew three defenders toward him, and calmly squared the ball across the face of the goal.
An unmarked teammate arrived at the back post and hammered it into an empty net.
Five to two!
With that single goal, all of Toril's halftime motivational work evaporated into thin air.
In the sixty-third minute, Shane bagged his second goal of the match.
Six to two!
His performance had completely conquered the stadium.
Immediately following that goal, Pantić signaled for a substitution, pulling Shane off the pitch.
They had already scored six goals. Shane was the absolute focal point of the match, and young players were notoriously hot-headed. Pantić was genuinely terrified that a frustrated Castilla player might snap and violently tackle Shane, risking an injury.
Furthermore, Pantić knew perfectly well that Diego Simeone was watching from the stands. Given a performance like this, there was a very real chance Shane would be called up to play in La Liga in just three days. Taking him off now to preserve his legs was the smartest possible move.
"Let's go. We will wait for our genius in the dressing room," Simeone said, standing up from his seat.
"Oh, and call Miguel Ángel Gil Marín," Simeone added. "Tell him to draft a contract for Shane immediately. And make sure it is a contract with significant weight."
"Significant weight?" Germán paused. "How heavy are we talking?"
Simeone thought for a moment before replying. "Let me put it this way. If you were suddenly handed a twenty-year-old Zinedine Zidane, what kind of contract would you offer him?"
"But Diego, he is only seventeen!"
"Honestly, I think he might be better than a twenty-year-old Zidane."
And Simeone was actually spot on with that assessment. Shane's passing and control stats were directly copied from peak Zidane.
"There is another issue," Germán pointed out. "He is under eighteen. He legally cannot sign a professional senior contract yet."
"Then we sign a pre-contract agreement! The second he turns eighteen, we make it official."
Simeone waved his hand dismissively and walked out of the VIP box.
More PS = More chapters