Chapter 146: Carlo Ancelotti's starting lineup underwent a major change, with the main players resting together

Madrid Barajas Airport.

At 2:47 a. m., Cristiano Ronaldo’s private charter landed.

Before the cabin doors even opened, the arrival hall outside the apron was already packed to the brim.

Nearly ten thousand Lingge Terminal 4 was completely jammed.

White scarves, white flags, phone flashlights—from afar, it looks like a surging silver-white ocean.

Among the crowd were young girls holding CR7 light signs, middle-aged men in pajamas who rushed over from under the covers, and even several young mothers pushing strollers.

Anfield’s 5-2 scoreline has already sent the entire city into a frenzy.

The moment Cristiano Ronaldo stepped out of the cabin, the crowd’s screams were so loud that even the security guards outside the cordoned took half a step back.

He raised his hand and waved to interact with the crowd.

After passing through the security checkpoint, I signed for a child who rushed toward me.

This made several die-hard fans cry uncontrollably.

The next morning.

Locker room at the Baldebebas training base.

Once everyone had arrived, Carlo Ancelotti walked in.

Today, the old man wore a dark blue training jacket, his expression even darker than the color of his jacket.

He walked straight to the tactical whiteboard and lifted the cloth covering it.

The locker room instantly fell silent.

The starting lineup posted on the whiteboard.

No Cristiano Ronaldo.

No Kylian Mbappé.

No Vinícius Júnior.

No Jude Bellingham.

The entire lineup was almost entirely made up of substitutes and veterans returning from injury, with the words clearly written on it as long rests.

Kylian Mbappé was the first to sit still, and the Frenchman stood up directly from his chair.

“Boss, the league is in three days, and we can still fight.”

“Sit down.”

Carlo Ancelotti’s voice wasn’t loud, but the Frenchman’s butt obediently fell back into his seat.

“I watched each of your stats for the Anfield match.”

Carlo Ancelotti swept his gaze over everyone, his gaze lingering on the faces of several young players.

“Jude Bellingham’s right hamstring overloaded, Valverde’s left knee ligament pressure has reached the yellow line, and Camavinga’s body fat percentage has dropped by several points.”

He paused.

“And you.”

His gaze fell on Cristiano Ronaldo.

Cristiano Ronaldo leaned against the locker, arms crossed, his expression calm.

“You ran 12.7 kilometers in the second half at Anfield, sprinting 38 times.”

Carlo Ancelotti’s tone was not reproachful, but a firm tone tinged with concern.

“That stat is scary enough for a 25-year-old. Three days later, you won’t even play against Elche.”

“The Copa del Rey semifinals.”

Kylian Mbappé asked again.

“We’ll see.”

A low commotion echoed through the locker room.

Carlo Ancelotti raised his hand to press down.

“We want to win both the league and the Copa del Rey, but not for risking our lives.”

“I need all of you to be at full strength during the second leg of the Champions League quarterfinals and the final stages of the league.”

His gaze shifted to the corner of the locker room.

There sat a Croatian man who had just cut his hair short.

Modrić.

After more than a month of injury, today is the first day of returning to the team.

The thirty-nine-year-old midfield master sat quietly, his gaze gentle and steady.

Next to him was the equally quiet Kross, the German bowing his head and tying his shoelaces, moving at a steady pace.

“Modrić, Kroos, Nacho.”

Carlo Ancelotti called out names one by one.

“You three bring young players to these two games, and I’ll make some starters as substitutes.”

Modric nodded slightly and said nothing.

But he exchanged a glance with Cristiano Ronaldo.

Between two men nearly eighty years old, there was no need for extra words.

The meaning of that look is simple—leave it to us.

Game day.

Bernabéu Stadium, brightly lit.

Eighty thousand seats are packed to the brim, and the white sea surges in the night.

Although it was just a league match against relegation-threatened Elche, the Meilingers’ enthusiasm remained undiminished.

After all, everyone knows that Bernabéu’s story tonight is not just about the pitch.

VIP area corridor.

Cristiano Ronaldo wore a deep gray Tom Ford custom casual suit.

Today she didn’t wear a tie, and when the top two buttons of her shirt were undone, her collarbone line was revealed.

Georgina linked arms with him, dressed in a black dress with exquisite makeup.

The moment the two walked side by side into the VIP passage, six or seven photographers waiting at the end of the corridor simultaneously raised their cameras.

The shutter was as dense as a machine gun.

Cristiano Ronaldo tilted his head slightly and said something to Georgina. She

She gently blocked the strong light in front of the camera with the back of her hand.

The two of them entered the VIP box belonging to Real Madrid players.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows is a panoramic view of Bernabéu, and the green field shines dazzlingly under the lights.

Cristiano Ronaldo pulled out a chair for Georgina to sit first, then poured himself a glass of water.

Everything is normal.

Until.

Five minutes later.

The door to the next private room was pushed open.

A man walked in.

Short gray-white hair, olive skin, and a deep black fitted coat.

As he walked, his chin lifted slightly, and his eyes carried an innate rebellious spirit.

José Mourinho.

The Special One.

Madman.

News of his appearance in the Bernabéu VIP area spread throughout the media booth within seconds.

The reporters’ fingers were frantically typing on the keyboard.

The broadcast director is even more outstanding.

He switched the camera to Mourinho entering the private room, then cut to a side view of Cristiano Ronaldo’s private room.

Two private rooms were placed right next to each other.

separated by a single wall.

But the two didn’t greet each other.

They didn’t even make eye contact.

Mourinho sat down in his private room, with only a cup of black coffee and an absurdly thick tactical notebook on the small table in front of him.

After everything is in the picture,

Cristiano Ronaldo picked up a bunch of grapes from the table and casually popped one into his mouth.

Scene cuts again.

Mourinho opened his notebook and unscrewed the cap.

The media section completely erupted.

Within fifteen minutes, at least three mainstream media outlets had their headlines drafted.

Bernabéu, the madman’s late-night military parade!

Separated from Cristiano Ronaldo by just a wall, he is like a stranger.

Mourinho appeared at Real Madrid VIP, and Carlo Ancelotti’s position as head coach was in jeopardy.

The biggest suspense in the transfer window: the return of the Madman to the Whites is about to change the team

Every headline is spreading in the most explosive direction.

But in reality.

Cristiano Ronaldo didn’t even look next door.

It’s not that she’s deliberately avoiding it, but that she truly doesn’t care.

His attention at this moment was in a place ten thousand times more important than Mourinho’s.

Referee’s whistle sounded.

The race began.

Carlo Ancelotti’s rest lineup ran more smoothly than anyone expected.

Modrić anchored the midfield, with every pass meticulously calculated.

With Cross by his side, the tacit understanding between the two old guys had gone beyond words.

With a glance and a movement of the body, the ball was exactly where it was meant to go.

With these two solid anchors, the young players played very relaxed.

20th minute.

Kroos received the ball in the center circle.

He lifted his head, his pale blue eyes sweeping over Elche’s entire defensive line.

Kick out.

A through ball.

The ball isn’t fast, but the angle is extremely tricky.

The ball slid along the turf, precisely passing through the gap between Elche’s two center-backs.

Rodrigo followed up.

The Brazilian youngster’s timing was perfectly timed; the moment he received the ball, he had already shaken off the defender behind him.

Facing the goalkeeper one-on-one in the penalty area, he didn’t rush to shoot.

With a feint, he shifted his center of gravity half a step to the left.

The goalkeeper went down.

Rodrigo gently pushed with his right foot, and the ball rolled into an empty net.

1-0.

Bernabéu erupted in cheers.

In the VIP box, Cristiano Ronaldo smiled and applauded.

“Beautiful.”

He said softly.

Then he leaned back into the leather sofa, resting the back of his head on the top of the sofa, and slowly closed his eyes.

Georgina turned to glance at him.

Cristiano Ronaldo’s breathing quickly became even, his brows relaxed, and he looked genuinely tired.

She didn’t wake him, but gently picked up a gray thin blanket from the side and draped it over Cristiano Ronaldo.

She leaned down and pressed his forehead lightly.

Very light.

The broadcast camera happened to capture this scene.

The live comments and social media were once again filled with envy, jealousy, and resentment.

But no one knows.

At this moment, Cristiano Ronaldo had his eyes closed.

Consciousness is no longer here.