May 2001 – Madrid, Spain
The cheers at the Bernabéu were louder than usual today. We had just won our first La Liga title of the new century, and the fans were in full celebration mode.
But it wasn't just the league title that had them so fired up. We had made it to the Champions League semi-finals, only to be knocked out by Bayern Munich in an unlucky tie.
Sure, they were disappointed, but at least they had something to celebrate. La Liga was ours, and Florentino Pérez, the club's new president, had promised an even brighter future.
With his vision of a team full of superstars, things looked promising. We had already snatched Figo from Barcelona, and our midfield had been strengthened with Makelele and Flávio Conceição. Everyone was looking ahead with excitement.
Everyone except me.
I stood on the pitch, staring into the sea of ecstatic fans, but my mind was elsewhere. While my teammates were celebrating like mad, I felt... lost.
Because I wasn't really me.
I was Lucas Hernández, a man from 2025 who had somehow woken up in Guti's body six months ago, armed with knowledge of the next 24 years.
And right now, that knowledge was my second greatest weapon in football.
[Congratulations. An achievement has been completed: Winning La Liga (2000-2001). Template reward: Xabi Alonso (2010-2011).]
The system.
My golden finger.
It was the only thing that had followed me into this world. The system had one core function: it allowed me to obtain a player template per season based on achievements I completed.
For example, if I had won La Liga while topping the assist charts, I might have gotten someone like Messi. But since I had only won the league without any standout individual honors, the system simply matched me with any player who had done the same.
It could have been anyone, a world-class star or some benchwarmer who barely played a minute but was technically part of the squad.
This time, though, luck was on my side.
Xabi Alonso, 2010-2011 season.
At first glance, Xabi and I had some similarities. Both midfield maestros. Both wore the number 14 for Real Madrid. But that's where the similarities ended.
I was left-footed. He was right-footed.
And that alone was enough to change everything for me.
With Alonso's template, I wouldn't have a weak foot anymore. A true ambidextrous midfielder, able to dictate play from either side, a complete player.
And Alonso's 2010-2011 version came with a decade's worth of advancements, better stamina, sharper tactical awareness, and a body conditioned by modern training.
Midfielders in 2010 were covering 10-12 kilometers per game, far more than the 9-10 kilometers we managed in 2001.
Oh, and his legendary long passes? The man was a maestro, picking out teammates from 50 yards away like it was nothing. His defensive skills and tactical intelligence surpassed almost everyone in this era. A true midfield general.
I wanted it.
But not here. Not now. I didn't know how the system's integration worked exactly, what kind of reaction my body would have. It was safer to wait until I was alone at home.
For now, my focus was elsewhere.
Should I stay at Real Madrid? Or leave after one more season, win the Champions League, and then move on?
I already knew how next season would unfold. Morientes would return from injury. Zidane was coming. Figo and Raúl were untouchable. The midfield would be packed. If I wanted playing time, I'd have to play deeper, without the ball, far from goal.
This season had been an anomaly. Morientes' injury had forced Del Bosque to play me as a striker, and I had delivered 18 goals and 7 assists, second only to Raúl.
But I knew it wouldn't be enough.
Even if my talent matched the superstars, my reputation didn't. Just look at what happened to Morientes in the future, forced out despite his ability.
Just as I was lost in thought, someone tapped my shoulder.
I turned around to see Vicente del Bosque.
He gave me a knowing look.
He had noticed the change in me over the past few months. The once hot-headed, carefree "Big Baby" had matured. I trained harder, studied the game more, and constantly sought him out to discuss tactics.
And now, as everyone celebrated, I stood alone, deep in thought.
He knew why.
Rumors of Zidane's arrival were everywhere. And my role overlapped too much with his.
Florentino Pérez wanted Zidane. And what Pérez wanted, Pérez got.
Del Bosque sighed. He knew our squad was already strong enough to challenge for every trophy. But his influence over transfers was limited. His relationship with Pérez wasn't exactly warm.
"Don't overthink," he said finally. "Enjoy this moment. You've worked hard for it. Whatever happens next season, happens. But as long as I'm here, and you keep playing like this, you'll get your minutes."
It was a promise.
I knew he meant it. He was a respected coach, and I was a La Fábrica graduate, a full-blooded merengue. The fans would back me if it came to that.
With his words in mind, I made my decision. Next season, we would win the Champions League. If I played a bigger role and secured a spot in the World Cup, even if Spain only made it to the semifinals, or better, the final, I would become a hot commodity. If I left then, I'd have leverage.
A smile finally broke across my face. "Thanks, boss," I said. "I guess I was just overthinking things. But don't worry, I'll prove to everyone that I'm just as good as any superstar they bring in."
"That's good. You played a hell of a season, Guti. Eighteen goals? Not bad for someone who isn't even a striker."
It wasn't Del Bosque who spoke this time.
It was El Señor de los Anillos, Raúl.
He had been watching me, a little worried. Everyone had seen the role I played this season. As the team's future leader, Raúl felt it was his job to check in.
To be honest, he didn't completely agree with Florentino either. In his eyes, our current front line, him, Figo, Morientes, and me, was strong enough to take on any team. Bringing in Zidane would only create unnecessary conflict.
But tonight wasn't the time for that.
Thanks to Del Bosque and Raúl, I snapped out of my thoughts and joined my teammates in celebration.
I swore to myself, this time, I would leave my mark in history.
Tonight, I would integrate Alonso's template.
Tomorrow, I would start preparing.
And next season?
Next season, the world would know my name.