After finishing his conversation with President Laporta, Pep Guardiola let out a deep sigh.
"An ultimatum."
A bitter reality.
He was in charge of one of the strongest teams in the world, yet overshadowed by Real Madrid and branded as second best. The stress kept piling up day after day.
Even if asked to endure more, he felt he could not hold on any longer.
Threatening letters from extreme fans demanding his resignation.
A cold atmosphere within the club.
Relentless media attacks that tore him apart.
He was sick of it.
If losing hair was the worst of it, that would have been fine. Lately, he had even shown signs of anxiety disorder.
It stemmed from excessive perfectionism and stress-induced obsession.
Not long ago, something happened.
After days of tactical research that left his head feeling like it would explode, Guardiola went grocery shopping with his partner to clear his mind. Paparazzi photographed him.
That alone was not the problem.
But when an article was published showing him faintly smiling while picking tomatoes, he became the target of online abuse.
-You think this is the time to smile?
-Losing like that to Real and you still have time to shop? No tactics to prepare? Is tomato more important than football?
-Bald fraud. Instead of shopping, create a new tactic. That tiki-taka cannot beat Real. You should know that better than anyone.
-Let Barcelona go. You are not qualified. You are not big enough for a big club.
-Be honest, did you take money from Real?
-Three straight losses in El Clásico, knocked out of the Champions League, second in the league. What is left, the Copa del Rey? Trying to impress the King?
-You are a minor manager who fails in big matches. Better leave while some fans still applaud you.
-Laporta should sack him already. Both of them are incompetent.
-We do not ask for anything special. Just stop with the weird tactics and follow the mainstream. Then at least we would have won one El Clásico.
In truth, Barcelona were having a solid season.
It was just that Real Madrid's form was absurd.
<1> Real Madrid 26W 1D 3L 79 points 84 goals scored 17 conceded
<2> Barcelona 22W 6D 2L 72 points 80 goals scored 21 conceded
<3> Valencia 16W 7D 7L 55 points 45 goals scored 31 conceded
Everything seemed fine.
In the scoring charts, Lionel Messi led with 29 goals, one ahead of Ho-young. In assists, Xavi Hernández comfortably topped Alonso.
Everything was working.
But three straight El Clásico defeats had already broken the fans' hearts.
That criticism, Guardiola could accept.
However, there was one accusation he could not.
-What kind of tactics did Pep even learn? How can you not do better with Messi and Zlatan? Even I could manage better.
-He lacks ability. If you cannot win the league with the best players in the world, you are third-rate. Selling Eto'o and bringing in Zlatan was a stupid mistake.
-If I were him, I would just give Messi the ball more. Let him dribble and score. Why obsess over passing? Keep it simple. Dribble. Shoot.
Criticism that he could not maximize Messi.
That was the biggest source of stress.
In some ways, it was true.
Messi was a tactic in himself.
But the culés did not know.
Ho-young was better than Messi.
"No, they know. They just refuse to admit it."
If he had Ho-young instead of Scolari, he believed not only first place but an unbeaten season would be possible.
That thought tormented him further.
"Damn it."
Everything had collapsed because of one young player from Asia.
Now, his remaining hope was barely a fingernail.
Still.
"I will fight to the end."
Lost in despair, he realized he had reached the training ground.
His brows furrowed.
"Where is Zlatan?"
"He is late without notice."
"Damn."
"Stay strong."
Assistant coach Tito Vilanova offered encouragement and left.
As if things were not bad enough, Zlatan had recently caused trouble over positional issues.
It was a battle for dominance with Messi.
The conflict he had expected between Ronaldo and Ho-young was instead happening in Barcelona.
"Damn. Nothing is going right."
Everything was a mess.
He had wanted to achieve so much at Barcelona. Now he was considering looking for a new job soon.
El Clásico, a match that would decide both teams' fate.
Perhaps Guardiola's last.
It took place on April 10 at the Santiago Bernabéu.
Before kickoff, there was a brief interview.
Guardiola allowed only two minutes.
Questions and answers were exchanged quickly.
"There has been a lot of talk about you recently, especially rumors of dismissal."
"I know. I know how disappointed the fans are. I have no excuses."
There were no grand declarations of crushing Real.
The match had not even started, yet he already looked exhausted and hopeless.
The questions continued.
"Some say Barcelona's recent struggles are due to tactical and selection issues…"
"Struggles? We are on a nine-match winning streak in the league."
"I meant El Clásico. And about the reported conflict between Messi and Zlatan…"
Creak.
"That is enough."
Guardiola stood up abruptly and headed toward the dressing room with his head lowered.
The match began before eighty thousand spectators.
"Barcelona kick off from the left. Formation is 4-3-3. Messi starts as central striker, Zlatan on the right wing."
"With this setup, Messi's scoring has exploded. He has overtaken Ho-young and leads the chart."
Real lined up in a 4-2-3-1 again.
Arjen Robben, just back from injury, and Douglas Costa started on the wings. Surprisingly, Yoann Gourcuff played as attacking midfielder.
"Ho-young, who showed incredible stamina against AC Milan three days ago, is on the bench."
"Three days is not enough for full recovery. Unless you have insane recovery ability."
With a seven-point lead, Scolari rotated.
Barcelona fielded their strongest lineup.
"We can win this."
Tito Vilanova looked hopeful.
Guardiola did not.
"I know this team better than anyone."
Though invisible on the surface, Barcelona were on the brink.
He had a bad feeling that today might be the breaking point.
"All we can do is pray."
"The match is slow. Players look heavy. No real chances yet."
"Barcelona played a tough match against Inter four days ago."
Even after thirty minutes, there were no clear opportunities.
Gourcuff's attacks were ineffective, while Barcelona's front line struggled.
Messi, fed repeatedly by Iniesta and Xavi, tried to dribble through but was stopped by Pepe and Ramos.
He had spent too much energy against Inter.
The problems did not end there.
"Zlatan looks unhappy."
"Reports say he is dissatisfied with his position. Most passes go to Messi, and he is naturally a central striker, not a winger."
Zlatan, brought in for 40 million euros plus Samuel Eto'o, looked diminished.
Eventually, he got a chance.
"Piqué clears hurriedly. Zlatan collects."
Finally on the ball, he exploded forward with a powerful dribble.
"He shrugs off Gago with physical strength!"
"A long-range shot!"
But then.
"Marcelo with a sliding tackle! He blocks it at the last moment!"
"The deflection rises. Casillas gathers safely."
"Argh!"
Frustration boiled over.
"Damn it!"
Thud.
"Ugh!"
He struck Marcelo from behind, venting everything he had held in.
His conflict with Guardiola had finally exploded.
Whistle.
A red card.
"Oh no. He has lost control."
"Guardiola's face is red. He closes his eyes."
Zlatan stormed off.
Scolari immediately sent Ho-young on for Gourcuff.
"Turn it upside down. If we win today, the league is nearly secured."
"Yes."
The flow changed instantly.
Ho-young used numerical superiority in midfield to dominate possession and dictate play.
Guardiola reinforced defense and relied on counterattacks, but it was not enough.
Ho-young raised the tempo through Robben and Douglas, exhausting the defense before switching attacks in a flash.
"Ho-young plays it to Robben and enters the box. He forms a front two with Raúl."
"Robben delivers a diagonal cross!"
"Ho-young charges!"
In front of goal.
He attacked the dropping ball.
Carles Puyol tried to block him, but sharp off-the-ball movement freed him.
He leapt aggressively, refusing to be pushed aside.
Like a wild bull rampaging inside the box.
He won the aerial duel.
Goal.
"Goal! Ho-young scores with a header! Real take the lead!"
"Well done."
He had beaten Puyol.
Yet Puyol's eyes remained steady.
"Remarkable mentality."
Even as a rival captain, he was someone to learn from.
Ho-young looked into his eyes.
[Carles Puyol]
[Possessed Talents: Tarzan of Catalonia (T), Tarzan's Surprise Shot Block (SU), Sharp Judgment (S+3), Astonishing Physical Duel (S+2), Unshakable Composure (S+), (More...)]
(One talent can be coveted upon meeting conditions.)
(To covet T-grade, must be over 18.)
(S-grade and above require hidden conditions.)
(Condition 1: Win an aerial duel)
(Condition 2: Record 2 attacking points)
(Condition 3: Win the match)
(Hidden condition: Unlock after coveting at least one talent.)
"One more goal and we win."
He was expanding into defensive territory.
"El Clásico truly belongs to Ho-young. His 29th goal."
"That ties Messi."
"Indeed."
Already struggling, Barcelona could not overcome the numerical disadvantage.
Guardiola lowered his head.
"He looks devastated."
"Failure to manage the squad may have led to this."
Real continued pressing.
Chances came repeatedly.
Five minutes before halftime.
"Robben's blistering pace beats Busquets!"
"He cuts inside from the left. Alves stretches but Robben shoots!"
Thud.
"Valdés saves!"
But the rebound fell kindly.
To Ho-young.
Goal.
"Goal! Ho-young again!"
As expected.
He proved once more why he was Barcelona's nemesis.
"In top form already, and even more unstoppable against Barcelona. Scolari's Young man indeed. With his 30th goal, he overtakes Messi."
Messi's face turned cold.
Not only the league, but the Golden Boot slipping away.
Whistle.
"It is over."
With the first half ending 2-0, Guardiola walked into the tunnel without looking back.
In his mind, he was already considering his next destination.
Two conditions only.
Manage the team Ho-young belongs to, or go to a league without him.
(To be continued.)