He didn't sleep after the Clásico.
The draw had meant little to him—not because the game didn't matter, but because a draw was a compromise, and Maradona Pérez did not compromise. Not with his talent. Not with fate. Not with history.
The goal he'd scored was all over the media. They replayed it from every angle, slow motion, frame by frame, dissecting his first touch, the audacity of the feint, the curve of the shot. Pundits on Spanish television were whispering phrases like "the second coming" and "heir to the gods." Headlines screamed in all caps: "THE NEW KING OF SPAIN?"
But for Maradona, it wasn't enough.
He was sitting alone in his apartment, lights off, only the soft hum of the TV filling the silence. The replay looped again, and he barely blinked. It wasn't the goal he was watching—it was the moment before. The milliseconds of space Messi had taken before scoring his. The pass that beat him by an inch. That single mistake.
He rewound it.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Until finally, the voice interrupted him.
[SYSTEM MESSAGE – PASSIVE UPDATE]
Your intense post-match analysis has improved Tactical Awareness by +3. Visual Perception has been enhanced slightly. Obsession has a cost. Rest is recommended.
He didn't care.
In his world, perfection wasn't optional—it was inevitable.
The next morning, the Bernabéu training ground buzzed with an energy only the greats brought with them. Schuster was tense. You could see it in the way he paced, barking orders with a short fuse, snapping at players for every misplaced pass. But he didn't dare snap at Maradona. Not anymore. He wasn't a kid to yell at—he was a storm in boots. Even Raúl, the eternal captain, had started giving him looks of begrudging respect. He still didn't like him—few of them did—but they couldn't ignore the gravity Maradona brought.
"Maradona, come here," Schuster said, clipboard in hand.
The boy stepped forward, wiping sweat from his brow.
"You want to lead the midfield now? Fine. Let's see how you handle it in practice. You're playing with the B side today. I want to see if you can carry that team too."
A challenge. A trap. A test.
Maradona smiled.
"Make sure you give them the first team," he said. "I want them fresh when I break them."
Robben snorted behind Schuster. "Cocky little prince."
Maradona turned, looking at him sideways. "Still upset you couldn't get past me last week?"
The smirk shut Robben up.
The scrimmage was a massacre.
Maradona ran the game like a grandmaster moving chess pieces. Every touch was purposeful, every pass a dagger. He was dropping deep, picking the ball up from the center backs, gliding past the press, and orchestrating attacks as if conducting a symphony. At one point, he nutmegged Guti, spun, and delivered a no-look assist to a Castilla striker none of the senior players even recognized.
The first team looked lost.
After it was over, silence filled the training ground.
Even Schuster didn't have a word to say.
Later that evening, Florentino Pérez called him.
"I watched training," he said. "You've embarrassed half my starters."
"I told you I would," Maradona replied, reclining on the leather chair in his penthouse suite.
Florentino chuckled. "You did. So let me ask you something—what's your next goal?"
Maradona didn't hesitate.
"Dominate Spain. Then Europe. Then the world."
Florentino paused. "And what about… Messi?"
There it was.
A beat passed. Maradona's eyes narrowed.
"He's the checkpoint. Not the destination."
Florentino smiled on the other end.
"You remind me of your grandfather, you know that?"
"No," Maradona said flatly. "I remind you of something better."
With every match, the legend grew. He tore through Getafe, controlled the tempo against Sevilla, and made Villarreal's midfield look like amateurs. His stats were starting to shock analysts: 94% passing accuracy, 6.4 key passes per game, and now, three goals and five assists in six senior starts. And he was still sixteen.
The system panel updated regularly now, and Maradona checked it religiously.
[SYSTEM PANEL – MARADONA PÉREZ STATUS]
GOAT-Level Talent (Maradona): 70% Unlocked
Pinpoint Passing (Kroos): 90% Unlocked
Defensive Elegance (Redondo): 68% Unlocked
Agility & Game Intelligence (Modrić): 55% Unlocked
Ronaldinho's Flair: 50% Unlocked – Progress halted until further flair-based creativity shown
New Trait Unlocked: "Tactical Field Vision – Lv.1"
– Ability to scan space and predict movement patterns within 3-second windows.
Next Milestone:
First Senior Hat-Trick – Major Reward Available
First UCL Appearance – Elite Reward Available
System Suggestion: Rest recommended. Player is overworking mental faculties. Risk of burnout in 2 months if no psychological reprieve granted.
He laughed when he read that last part.
"Burnout? I've lived through death. This is nothing."
And yet… cracks began to show.
It started subtly—snide comments in the locker room, long stares from senior players who'd once dismissed him as a child. Robben, in particular, had grown bitter. During one warm-up session, he "accidentally" clipped Maradona's ankle during a rondo. The pain wasn't bad—but the intent was clear.
"Careful," Robben said, smirking. "Wouldn't want the prince to break."
Maradona stood slowly, eyes like ice. "No, you wouldn't. Because then I'd finally have an excuse to end your career."
Raúl had to step in between them.
That same week, Cannavaro muttered in the hallway, "Florentino's golden boy doesn't even bleed."
Maradona walked past him, not even glancing back. "I bleed victories," he said.
But it wasn't all enemies.
Sergio Ramos—a rising defender with fire in his blood—started warming up to him. They had similar energies: fierce, proud, dominant. Ramos saw in Maradona what he wanted to be—a general with no leash.
They started training together longer, exchanging stories about youth, ambition, glory.
One night after a particularly intense session, Ramos sat with him on the training pitch, both of them drenched in sweat.
"You ever think this all ends badly?" Ramos asked.
Maradona tilted his head. "Everything ends badly. That's why you make the middle unforgettable."
And then came the Champions League draw.
Real Madrid would face Liverpool in the Round of 16.
A rematch of pain. A history of failure. But this time, they had a weapon England hadn't seen.
Maradona.
And he was hungry.