Chapter 198: From Unpredictable Enigma to Super-Sub? Watch My Belgian Mini-Tank Explode!
Zhan Jun nearly made his first major on-air slip since joining Sina Sports.
Just like the 40,000 fans at Stamford Bridge, he hadn't even warmed up in his seat when he watched Leon smash through Hull City's defense, link up with Zlatan, and create the first goal of the Premier League season.
The clock had only ticked to 00:39.
Judging by Mourinho and Steve Holland's stunned expressions, followed by their euphoric sideline hug, this wasn't some rehearsed, training-ground move.
No—this was a flash of inspiration from Leon, exploiting wide runs from the wingers, faking the pass, and then cutting back for an easy Zlatan finish.
Sky Sports commentators couldn't contain themselves.
"Incredible! What an absolutely incredible debut! Thirty-nine seconds!
Just when we were all speculating how many games it would take for Leon and Zlatan to find their Premier League rhythm...
They give us this!
Thirty-nine seconds!
The Milan brothers reunite in Chelsea blue and give us a goal straight out of a movie!"
They weren't done.
"Now, I can't say this duo will definitely conquer the Premier League—but they've already won the hearts of every Chelsea fan!"
As if the director heard the commentary, the live feed switched to the luxury box.
There sat Roman Abramovich, grinning and clapping alongside sporting director Gourlay.
Right now, Roman probably felt a mix of joy and relief.
The midfield maestro he loved, and the striker Mourinho trusted, were linking up on Day 1.
A combined cost of nearly €100 million?
Suddenly, it looked like a bargain.
Of course, it would take more to prove they were worth it.
But this was one heck of a start.
Down on the pitch, Leon was already rallying the troops:
"Come on! Let's bag a few more before halftime!
Opening day and we're facing a newly promoted side—this doesn't happen often!
If we don't win big today, we're wasting the fixture!"
His confidence—even borderline arrogance—didn't faze his teammates.
In fact, it fired them up.
After all, this was how top teams should play against newly promoted sides.
And Leon's tone didn't suggest suggestion—it screamed expectation.
With Hull's players still rattled, Chelsea grabbed the ball, jogged back to the halfway line, and reset immediately.
When Hull restarted, Chelsea's forwards were already pressing hard near midfield.
They weren't quite Real Madrid 2011-2013 level—
But against Hull?
Chelsea's high press was plenty effective.
"Chelsea's pressure is relentless! Even with the early lead, they're not letting up—they're hunting for more!"
Zhan Jun was practically glowing.
This looked just like Mourinho's high-pressing tactics from Madrid.
But longtime viewers noticed something different.
Back at Real Madrid, Mourinho's press was more conservative.
The "trap line" sat deeper, often around the halfway line—or even in their own half.
That was largely because of Leon's positioning.
He was more of a holding mid back then, partnered with someone like Essien, Matuidi, or Modrić.
Xabi Alonso sat deep and pulled strings, only occasionally stepping up.
It was a patient strategy:
Invite pressure, win the ball, launch a counter.
And with Alonso's legendary long passing, Real could go from tackle to goal attempt in seconds.
It all worked because Leon and Alonso were defensive juggernauts.
One shielded the midfield. The other the backline.
Few teams had midfield pairs that solid.
And in three years, no one successfully copied it.
Because unless you had a combo like Alonso + Leon, you just couldn't replicate Madrid's balance of risk and control.
Other clubs who tried ended up exposed.
They lacked the cover, the recovery speed, and the long-passing accuracy.
Now at Chelsea, Mourinho didn't have an Alonso-level deep-lying playmaker.
Lampard was solid but older.
Ramires wasn't defensively elite.
So instead of inviting pressure, Chelsea were pressing high.
They couldn't afford to sit deep.
This new Chelsea wasn't built to absorb—
It had to dominate.
And dominating meant letting Leon lead the line in every way.
From orchestrator to destroyer, Leon was the system.
So Mourinho simply pushed the sweeping coverage zone forward.
There were plenty of benefits to organizing tactics this way, but very few teams could actually pull it off.
Because before this Chelsea team came together, no club was willing to make their offensive centerpiece shoulder so much defensive burden.
Sweeping interceptions, ball-winning pressure, plus the physical demands on both wingers who also had to track back and press high…
But once Mourinho brought Leon in as Chelsea's midfield core, this seemingly impossible tactical setup became not only feasible—but highly effective.
What had previously held Leon back from pushing higher was his limited offensive threat.
Now that he had no real weaknesses going forward?
A new kind of midfield cannon had been born—
One that could dominate the opponent's half, orchestrate attacks, and still handle the bulk of the defensive pressure.
As for the wingers needing to run more?
For young talents like Hazard and De Bruyne, that was a non-issue.
Under Mourinho, if you wanted to start, you'd better defend and run.
Chelsea had Bertrand on the left and Lukaku, who could slot in on the wing.
There was no shortage of rotational depth.
More importantly, Mourinho valued attitude.
And for the sake of keeping their newly won starting spots, the two young Belgian stars were defending with serious intensity.
Meanwhile, Hull City, newly promoted from the Championship, found themselves completely overwhelmed.
Facing Chelsea's full-throttle midfield and frontline press, their midfield collapsed.
Brady, who had tried to go toe-to-toe with Leon earlier, now had a mental block against him.
He no longer had the confidence to push forward.
Instead, he kept retreating, either passing backwards to the center-backs or laterally to holding mid Meyler.
Meyler had planned to take Leon on physically.
But once Leon switched his pressing strategy—using speed and quick footwork—Meyler was in hell.
He was the definition of a classic British destroyer, but he had stone feet.
Even La Liga's technical attacking mids struggled against Leon's pressure.
Meyler?
His legs trembled whenever Leon sprinted toward him.
All he could do was hoof it long or pass backwards.
And Hull's back line?
After watching Chelsea turn every intercepted pass into a counter, they panicked.
Their coach didn't even need to tell them to change tactics—
They defaulted to the traditional English long-ball strategy.
"Better to lose possession upfield than get countered in our own half!"
Under relentless pressing, and wave after wave of Chelsea counters, Stamford Bridge never quieted for more than a minute.
Hazard's bursts, Leon's delayed runs, De Bruyne's vision, and Zlatan's dominance in the box—
Even with a few miscommunications, the attack was devastating.
Chelsea fans, still recovering from last year's disjointed football under Benítez, now felt joy again.
Maybe they never expected Mourinho's return to bring this kind of fluid, attacking football.
And in the 27th minute, Hazard latched onto De Bruyne's lofted through ball, cut inside the box, and buried it low.
Stamford Bridge erupted.
Zhan Jun, calling the game from China, showered Leon with praise again.
After all, De Bruyne's perfect assist came right after receiving Leon's bold, angled pass through the lines.
Leon's ability to exploit fleeting gaps in the final third had become razor-sharp.
Hazard, too, was starting to see just how much easier things were with Leon commanding the middle.
A technical player without much ambition, Hazard felt liberated.
Leon drew defenders.
Controlled tempo.
Handled both attack and defense.
Even though he had fewer touches, Hazard was more relaxed.
With all the pressure on Leon and Zlatan, he could just focus on doing what he did best—beating his man one-on-one.
Suddenly, this role didn't seem so bad.
As the half wore on, and Chelsea held their two-goal lead, they naturally eased off.
The veterans in the backline needed that rest.
Mourinho didn't need to say it—Leon instinctively slowed the tempo.
By halftime, Chelsea's squad—young and old—was in great spirits.
The locker room buzzed with laughter.
Leon made good use of the break, pulling aside Lampard and Ashley Cole to discuss offensive rotations and overlaps.
His initiative, humility, and willingness to listen won the old guard's respect.
They were ready to give up leadership roles—but not to some arrogant brat.
Leon wasn't just polite. He was genuinely respectful.
Talented. Humble. Eager to learn.
What's not to like?
Mourinho saw all this and wasn't surprised.
Leon had always had that "sweet-talker" charm back in Madrid.
Now with Essien by his side, Mourinho knew Leon's integration was never in doubt.
In the second half, Chelsea played more conservatively, focusing on midfield control.
Hull's limitations had been fully exposed in the first half.
No one underestimated them.
But from this point on, Chelsea simply managed the game—and their energy.
When it came to patience, Chelsea fans were clearly a step ahead of their Madrid counterparts.
After a thrilling, high-octane first half, they were delighted.
And when Mourinho switched to a more cautious approach in the second half, not a single boo rang out from the Stamford Bridge crowd.
Instead, fans understood it was all about building chemistry and testing tactical familiarity in real match conditions.
By the 70th minute, Mourinho began rotating the squad.
Bertrand came on for veteran Ashley Cole.
Then, to everyone's surprise, the highly anticipated substitute entered—Romelu Lukaku.
The young Belgian striker, who netted 17 Premier League goals last season, was affectionately nicknamed "Little Drogba" by fans.
The stadium buzzed with anticipation.
But confusion soon followed.
Lukaku didn't replace Zlatan.
Instead, he came on for Hazard.
Was Mourinho seriously putting Lukaku on the left wing?
Fans and media alike were baffled.
But Lukaku didn't seem bothered in the slightest.
Wearing his usual goofy grin, he looked… oddly cheerful.
In his mind, he was replaying a conversation he'd had with Mourinho not long ago.
Back then, Mourinho gave him two options:
Would he rather grow into a physically dominant, central-target striker like Drogba?
Or embrace his mobility and pace, and become a versatile hybrid forward?
Lukaku was stunned.
Ever since he made a name for himself in Belgium, the media had pushed him toward the classic big-man mold—power, headers, hold-up play.
That had been his goal too.
But after his breakout season at West Brom, he found himself addicted to cutting in from wide, using his pace and power to tear defenses apart.
He could still play centrally, but he didn't enjoy it.
English defenders were physical, but not always clean.
Reading crosses and positioning wasn't his strength either.
So after a night of serious thought, he gave Mourinho his answer.
And Mourinho?
He promised to give Lukaku the freedom to rotate between wing and center, giving him time to figure himself out.
He wouldn't get as much playing time as he had at West Brom, but Mourinho's trust and open-mindedness meant a lot to him.
So, when Lukaku took the field, Leon came over with a few quick instructions.
"Romelu, when we counter, don't hesitate. Sprint into the open space on the flank. I'll find you. Zlatan will shield for you."
With Leon's promise, Lukaku felt confident.
Five minutes later—his moment came.
In the 79th minute, after Ramires won the ball and sent it to Leon, the midfield maestro burst forward again.
Hull midfielder Quinn had no idea Leon still had that kind of pace this late in the game.
He didn't even have time to foul him.
Hull's holding mid Meyler had already been torched by Leon multiple times.
Now he simply backpedaled, praying not to get embarrassed again.
Then, just as Leon hit the center circle arc, he slotted a low, diagonal through-ball toward the right sideline.
The ball sliced through Hull's back line.
Lukaku exploded.
Wearing No. 18, the Belgian juggernaut turned into a black blur, tearing past Hull's right back Elmohamady like he wasn't even there.
Sure, Hull's defenders were running out of gas, but Lukaku's raw power and acceleration were undeniable.
He thundered into the box.
Zlatan, ever the veteran, darted into the center—pulling Hull's center-back Chester with him.
Lukaku now had a runway.
He took a breath, cut inside—
And unleashed hell.
With his dominant left foot, he smashed a shot toward the far post.
Hull's keeper McGregor stretched every muscle, but he couldn't stop it.
The ball bulged the net.
80th minute.
Lukaku, just six minutes after coming on, had scored.
Zlatan roared, slapping his back and pulling him into a bear hug.
Lukaku, beaming and ducking his head, laughed in embarrassment as the Stamford Bridge faithful erupted again.
A dynamic midfield conductor.
A reliable alpha striker.
Surrounded by young, explosive talents.
Chelsea's new attack was alive.
Leon, now with two assists to his name, clapped Lukaku on the head and gave him a warm hug.
What would Lukaku become on this new path?
Leon didn't know for sure.
But this version—faster, more mobile, harder to read—definitely had a future.
If he could play both centrally and out wide?
His playing time would only grow.
From unpredictable, inconsistent center-forward…
To devastating wild-card super-sub.
It seemed this Belgian battering ram was destined to make a name for himself across the Premier League.
Thank you for the support, friends. If you want to read more chapters in advance, go to my Patreon.
Read 20 Chapters In Advance: patreon.com/johanssen10