The outcome of Sara's "big mouth" remarks finally ended with her issuing an apology under pressure from Real Madrid.
Although the media were unwilling to let the matter drop so easily, a series of clarifications from Real Madrid began pouring out soon after, accompanied by multiple PR maneuvers. While public opinion couldn't be completely suppressed, these efforts did have some effect.
But the most crucial point—was the impending clash!La Liga Round 13: El Clásico – Barcelona vs. Real Madrid!
Since the start of the season, the whole of Europe had been claiming that La Liga now had two monster-level teams.
One was Barcelona.
The other was Real Madrid.
Both teams had been frighteningly dominant in the league and the Champions League.
So far, Barcelona had maintained a perfect record of five straight wins in the Champions League and had already secured first place in their group to qualify early for the knockout stage.
Real Madrid was the same—just one win over AC Milan away from advancing with a perfect group-stage record.
In the league, Real Madrid had a winning streak, while Barcelona had gone 12 rounds undefeated.
It could be said that both teams' performances gave most clubs headaches—they were practically untouchable.
Whether in terms of squad composition, lineup depth, or tactical understanding, both were executing to perfection.
In any era, having one such team was enough to leave opponents gasping for breath—having two at once was suffocating.
Even non-La Liga media (except those in the Premier League) sighed that European football might be entering a "La Liga era."
These two superclubs inspired awe.
For other teams, playing against them was almost hopeless. The only one capable of beating them—might be the other.
Because of this, the hype surrounding this Clásico was more frenzied than ever before.
"Beautiful!!"
At Real Madrid's training base, Kaká used a precise long pass to find Suker, linking up for a lightning-fast counterattack that resulted in a goal.
This time, the counterattack was even faster than usual, with both players' runs extremely complex—yet Kaká still found Suker with pinpoint accuracy.
On the sidelines, Mourinho kept nodding in satisfaction.
"Feels like it's going more smoothly than I expected," assistant coach Faria said, stroking his chin.
Kaká had the talent to play as a defensive midfielder. They had initially thought the transition would take time, but progress was surprisingly quick.
In just a few days, Kaká had adapted to the position.
Now, the competition between Kaká and Xabi Alonso had become intense.
Alonso's advantage was his experience in that position and his ability to connect the team seamlessly.
Kaká's advantage was his ability to link up with Suker up front—their uncanny, almost supernatural chemistry often produced near-perfect plays for Real Madrid.
"The transformation must continue. Kaká still lags a bit in experience, but that can be improved through matches. In the Copa del Rey and less critical league games, we can let Kaká continue to build chemistry with the team."
Pausing, Mourinho smiled: "And this change might just work in our favor in the next match!"
When it came to Guardiola's Barcelona, although Mourinho often trash-talked, smeared, and belittled them…
Those who knew him understood—the more extreme his words, the stronger the opponent really was.
And right now, Barcelona were at their most perfect state in recent years: no injuries, all players in peak form, and relentless in La Liga, the Champions League, and the Copa del Rey.
Facing such an opponent, Mourinho naturally felt immense pressure.
But this was exactly what he wanted.
He had come to Real Madrid to build a team capable of going toe-to-toe with Barcelona's "Galactic" squad.
Now, Real Madrid was closer than ever.
With months of his guidance, plus the performances of Suker, Kaká, Alonso, and others, they now had the ability to topple Barcelona.
Previous victories had also given them a natural psychological edge.
"Alright, that's it for today!"
Mourinho stopped training and gave his final address.
"Tomorrow, we head to Barcelona. You know how important this match is—there can be no carelessness, no relaxation."
His voice carried a hint of enchantment: "Understand this—standing across from you is your mortal enemy. Keep the killer instinct. Put all your strength into pressuring them."
"I'll tell you now—compared to the start of the season, this Barcelona is even better. If we press them the same way we did before, we might not even touch the ball. So what should we do?"
Srna: "Stronger!"Carvalho: "Harder!"
"That's right! That's the attitude we need—stronger performance, tougher mentality!"
Suker glanced at Srna and Carvalho.You two are just playing the supporting act, huh?
"Tomorrow, gather in the morning. We'll head to Barcelona a day early for acclimatization. Be ready—they probably won't welcome us!"
Hearing that, none of the Real Madrid players looked intimidated—if anything, they smiled.
Last season's double victory over Barcelona, plus their Spanish Super Cup win earlier this season, had given them supreme confidence.
Mourinho was pleased to see it.
He clenched his fist and shouted: "Let's conquer Camp Nou!"
After training, the players headed to the locker room to go home.
Casillas was unusually quiet—clearly affected by recent events.
Suker felt some sympathy for him.
On one hand, Mourinho's crackdown on the Spanish contingent was already stressful for Casillas.
On the other, his loose-lipped girlfriend had put him in an even tougher spot.
The balance in the Mourinho–Spanish faction battle had shifted—from even at first to slowly tilting.
Suker didn't worry too much.As long as it didn't concern him, he would turn a blind eye.
After all, Suker, Mourinho, and Casillas all shared the same ultimate goal.
Unless someone crossed that line, major conflict was unlikely.
Pellegrini had left because he lacked ability and made poor decisions.
Mourinho was different—within months of arriving, he had transformed Real Madrid: healthy internal competition, sensible squad rotation, and most importantly, a fully developed system.
Under this framework, Suker believed they already had firepower on par with Barcelona.
With added high-press tactics, they even had a real shot at beating them.
Because they were leaving for Barcelona the next day, Srna and Kaká didn't come to Suker's villa—they went home to pack.
Suker ate a simple dinner, then began packing his own small suitcase with clothes and gear.
Ding-dong!
The doorbell rang.
Suker opened the door to find Zorancic, dusty and travel-worn.
"What are you doing here?" Suker asked in surprise.
Zorancic waved him off, walked straight in, grabbed a bottle of cold water from the fridge, and gulped it down.
He'd been busy helping Suker with his Ballon d'Or campaign.
"I'm exhausted!"
"I've been running all over Europe for your Ballon d'Or—meeting every media outlet with voting rights. Took a lot of convincing," Zorancic said, taking another sip, then smiling.
"But the results look promising!"
Suker smiled too—if Zorancic said that, it meant they had a good chance.
Zorancic's business skills had already surpassed his father's, Davor Suker's agent.
He was expanding while keeping the original agency intact.
With more and more players under contract, the old small agency couldn't keep up—he had to add departments and staff, so he was busier than ever.
"I just got back a couple of days ago," Zorancic said.
"Zagreb?" Suker asked.
Zorancic nodded. "Signed two players—Brozović and Kovačić."
After losing Vukojević to poaching, Zoran had been fiercely protective of Croatian talent, snapping up young players like crazy.
He was becoming a global super-agent.
"But that's not what I came to talk about." Zorancic put down his glass, sat upright, and said seriously: "FIFA contacted me."
"FIFA?" Suker was surprised.
Zorancic nodded. "Remember the 'God-making Project'?"
Suker thought for a moment and nodded.
It was mostly rumor, but based on FIFA's moves and other intel, it was likely true.
"This time, FIFA has finished its internal restructuring and is ready to launch the 'God-making Project'!"
"So, what exactly is it?" Suker asked.
Zorancic: "It's about selecting new-generation players with the potential to become icons, then tilting resources toward them."
"Equal resource distribution?"
"Of course not!" Zorancic laughed. "It's graded resource allocation."
"And the criteria?"
"Commercial value, influence, fame, and—most importantly—the Ballon d'Or!"
Suker nodded—just as he suspected.
Although FIFA's World Player of the Year had lost prestige, they wouldn't merge with France Football's Ballon d'Or for nothing—this was a core part of the project.
Before, the Ballon d'Or and World Player of the Year could be split between two players in a season.
Now, there was no "second place"—the FIFA Ballon d'Or meant only one winner.
And that winner would be the top priority for resource allocation the next season.
Thus, the Ballon d'Or was crucial.
Zorancic explained more, confirming Suker's guess.
"It's a long-term plan, now officially initiated within FIFA. The Ballon d'Or is key but not the only standard—performance in the Champions League, Euros, and especially the World Cup carries great weight."
Zorancic raised a finger. "The hard requirement—you must win the World Cup."
"So, if I don't win it, no matter how good I am or how many Ballons d'Or I win, when FIFA thinks my form is declining, they'll drop me and invest in someone else?" Suker asked.
"Exactly," Zorancic said. "This project has been ongoing, but the last era was special—there was no single dominant player."
Suker grinned—no dominant players?
He had seen the tail end of that golden era: Ronaldo, Zidane, Ronaldinho, Cannavaro, Beckham, Inzaghi, Ballack—too many stars in full bloom.
Even fleeting comets like Owen had shone brilliantly.
"So, your focus now must be on the Ballon d'Or and the World Cup," Zorancic said. "The Ballon d'Or triggers resource tilt—win it, and FIFA will back you, create a favorable media environment, and promote you relentlessly. Lose it, and those resources will shift instantly to someone else."
Suker understood.
"Ballon d'Or is the key, World Cup is the hard requirement—both needed for a chance at historical greatness?"
"Exactly," Zorancic confirmed.
"So, I'm missing the World Cup?"
"The Ballon d'Or is also vital—especially the merged version, which is more prestigious than ever."
"Alright, I get it."
Suker stood up. "Your room's down the hall. I'm going to bed."
"Bed? It's only nine."
"That's bedtime for you, huh?" Zorancic chuckled. "Fine. Mind if I eat something and have a drink?"
"Just don't wake me," Suker shrugged.
"Goodnight."
In bed, Suker stared at the ceiling, deep in thought.
If he knew about this, so would others.
Super-agents like Mendes, Raiola, Barnett, and countless family-run agents would all move quickly—like sharks smelling blood.
No one wanted to be second or third.
Footballers lived for titles—everyone chased first place.
The competition ahead would be even more brutal—for personal glory and team trophies.
From Bosnia, across the Adriatic, into Italy, and now to Spain and Real Madrid—Suker had come a long way from an unknown kid to one of football's most watched stars.
But now was no time to relax.
Ronaldo and Messi were still pushing hard.
Ibrahimović, Xavi, Iniesta, and others were eyeing his position.
More challengers would come.
His job—stay in form, beat them all, and win the ultimate crown.
Thinking of this, Suker drifted into sleep.
That night, he dreamed again—this time, they planted the Real Madrid flag at Camp Nou.
"Good morning!"
At Real Madrid's dressing room, Suker greeted loudly as he strode in.
The room came alive at his arrival—players chatting while packing for the trip.
They discussed the match—some nervous, but mostly excited.
From their tone, Suker could feel the fighting spirit.
Victory was the best motivator for progress.
Real Madrid no longer had a mental block against Barcelona.
Fear? That was for Barcelona now—after all, they hadn't beaten Real Madrid in the last four meetings.
This time would be no different.
At 10 a.m., the whole team assembled and departed.
They set off for Barcelona.
As the Real Madrid bus rolled out of the training base, the Clásico fever spread across Europe and the world.
"12:30 p.m.—Real Madrid arrive at El Prat Airport, Barcelona. Mourinho leads his players out of the terminal, boarding the team bus to their hotel."
"From their expressions, you can see the fighting spirit—proof that this much-anticipated Clásico is about to begin!"
"Stay tuned for tomorrow's match—Barcelona vs. Real Madrid, two superclubs going head-to-head!"