Once Shane Carter was subbed off, Real Madrid Castilla finally started to build momentum in the latter stages.
But the hole was too deep.
In the end, the match finished 6 to 4.
When the final whistle blew, Shane exhaled slowly on the bench, the tension finally draining from his shoulders.
In his mind, the system chimed.
[Ding! Match complete. Calculating results...]
[Match intensity: Low. Match rating: Excellent!]
[Ding! Congratulations. You have obtained: Random Black Iron Chest. Open now?]
Beating Castilla, and playing brilliantly, only earned him a Black Iron chest.
Shane felt a flicker of disappointment, but he understood.
The opponents were strong, sure.
But this was still the third tier. The system was not going to hand out divine rewards for a "low-intensity" game.
"Open it."
[Ding! Congratulations. You have obtained: +1 Strength.]
Shane blinked.
Compared to directly receiving Zidane-level passing and ball control, this reward felt... underwhelming.
Which only made him crave higher-level matches even more.
...
Atlético Madrid B had pulled off a shock upset against Real Madrid Castilla.
But the truth was, this match would not draw much attention.
The journalists who were actually there did note that Atlético B had produced a midfield prodigy. A kid who scored twice, assisted three times, and personally created five goals.
Yet those numbers came in Spain's third tier, between two reserve sides built largely around young players.
That kind of stat line rarely shook the wider football world.
Youth matches were chaotic. Hat-tricks, four-goal hauls, freak scorelines. They happened far too often for raw numbers to be taken at face value.
Only the people who truly watched this match understood how terrifying Shane Carter really was.
When the game ended, the B team players laughed and joked as they filed into the tunnel, heading back toward the dressing room.
What they did not expect was who was waiting inside.
"The first team manager is here!"
The room instantly snapped to attention.
Simeone smiled as the players walked in.
"Good work, boys. That was a statement."
Then he walked directly up to Shane.
"And you... kid," Simeone said, patting him on the shoulder. "Report to first-team training tomorrow morning."
Envy flickered across the room.
Simeone's gaze shifted slightly, landing on Saúl.
"Saúl. You too. Come with him."
Simeone was not the B team manager. He had not come here to give a long speech.
He came to deliver a decision.
And once he did, he turned and walked out.
For a moment, every pair of eyes in the dressing room fell on Shane and Saúl.
There was no bitterness.
Shane going up to the first team was something they had already mentally prepared for. A freak talent like him staying in the B team would have been stranger than him leaving.
"Congrats, Shane!"
"Can we get a photo? I swear you are going to be a superstar!"
"Yeah, and can I get your signature?"
In an instant, his teammates turned into full-blown fans, and Shane did not know whether to laugh or cry.
"Just sign for them," Pantić said, giving Shane a light smack on the shoulder.
In his eyes, a player with Shane's talent becoming a global star was not a matter of if, but when.
And inside this dressing room, there would definitely be players who never made it as true professionals.
Someday, Shane's signature might be worth real money.
Right now, it could even become someone's lucky break.
Shane did not refuse.
He signed shirts. He took photos. He played along.
When the room finally cleared out, Shane drew in a deep breath.
Goodbye, Atlético B.
This level was not meant for me.
...
Early the next morning, Shane took a taxi to the first team training facility.
He did not expect Saúl to already be there.
The moment Saúl spotted him, he practically lit up. "Shane, you finally made it!"
"What do you mean finally?" Shane raised an eyebrow. "Training starts at nine. I got here at eight thirty."
"Alright, alright. I did not wait that long." Saúl threw an arm around his shoulder. "This time you have to help me."
"Help you?"
"Yeah. I want to stay with the first team longer this time."
"This time?" Shane looked at him. "You have been up here before?"
"Once!" Saúl held up one finger, grinning.
"So why did you go back down?"
"Because I was not playing, obviously."
"And you are still this excited?"
"Training with the first team is still huge. It is basically a reward."
"That is not a reward," Shane scoffed. "That is a consolation prize."
Saúl rolled his eyes. "Not everyone is a psycho like you."
"Huh?"
"I did not mean that kind of psycho."
Shane stared at him. "That was somehow worse."
They walked and talked their way into the facility.
Then reality hit.
They were too early.
The dressing room was still locked.
So the two of them ended up squatting outside the door like kids waiting for school to open.
They did not have to wait long.
Team captain Gabi arrived.
When new players were brought into the first team, the captain was the one who handled the introductions.
Gabi first took them around the facility, mostly for Shane, since it was his first time. Gym. Training pitches. Dining hall.
Once the tour was done, Gabi checked the time.
"Alright. The guys should all be here now. I will take you in."
Inside the dressing room, most first-team players only glanced up briefly, then went right back to their routines.
Atlético's league form this season had been poor. If it had not been poor, they would not have fired the previous coach.
And with the new manager only recently arriving, training methods and tactical demands were shifting daily.
Morale was low.
The dressing room was quiet.
Gabi was not surprised.
When results were bad, the atmosphere was always heavy.
"Those are your lockers," Gabi said, pointing toward two units in the corner.
In La Liga, registered first-team players had to wear squad numbers 1 through 25.
But academy call-ups and B team promotions did not fall under the same strict limit right away.
Right now, Saúl and Shane were wearing 28 and 29.
Not ideal, but not outrageous.
...
It only took one training match for Shane to make the first team shut up.
"That kid is insane."
"That pass was filthy."
"Sixty meters and still that precise?"
Players kept turning their heads to stare at the teenager who had just slipped Radamel Falcao clean through on goal.
On the goal line, Thibaut Courtois threw his hands up at his defenders.
"What are you doing? Do not let him have time to set himself and hit those passes!"
From the far side, Arda Turan snapped back, furious.
"Like hell it is that simple. The ball sticks to this kid's feet. You think you can just decide to take it off him?"
Two senior players nearly started arguing.
But if anything, it proved the point.
Shane Carter was already putting pressure on seasoned professionals.
...
That was only an appetizer.
With peak Zidane-level control and distribution, Shane did exactly what anyone should have expected.
He conquered the squad.
The way his teammates looked at him shifted, completely.
Before, they saw him as an academy kid getting a brief taste of the first team environment.
Now they were sure of one thing.
There was no chance the first team would "send him back."
He was staying.
And more than that...
If this continued, he would soon be fighting for a starting spot.
...
In the blink of an eye, two days passed.
In those two days, Shane's standing inside the squad rose like a rocket.
He quickly formed a new central partnership with Gabi.
One attack. One defend.
Gabi sat deeper, shielding the back line.
Shane was given the keys.
He was expected to control midfield, set the tempo, and build attacks.
Handing that responsibility to a seventeen-year-old newcomer was bold, bordering on reckless.
But on the training ground, Shane was flawless.
He used close control to keep the ball under pressure.
He used precision passing to find the open man.
He moved like a veteran.
The first-team players did not complain.
Football was not a place where seniority mattered.
In competitive sport, the strong ruled.
If Shane could help them win, nobody cared whether he was seventeen or thirty-seven.
...
The day before Matchday 19, Atlético Madrid traveled to Málaga for their away fixture.
At the same time, the eighteen-man squad list was released.
Málaga's list looked normal.
Atlético's list, however, confused the Spanish media.
Reporters immediately noticed a name they did not recognize.
Number 29.
su.
Who is "SU"?
That single question exploded across newsrooms the moment the team sheet hit the wire.