He Is the Enemy!

"How's your foot?"

"It's basically healed. No problem."

"Oh, that's good."

"What do you mean?"

"Then beating you wouldn't count as bullying you."

"Heh, you say that as if you could really win."

Cristiano Ronaldo stood just to the right of the edge of Real Madrid's penalty area, about twenty-three meters from the goal. He assumed his trademark free-kick stance, standing ramrod straight, but his mind couldn't help replaying the conversation he had just had with Yang Yang in the players' tunnel.

The match had been underway for barely more than a minute. Real Madrid defensive midfielder Mascherano had committed a foul while defending, giving Manchester United a free-kick opportunity in the attacking third. The Portuguese had stepped up to take it himself.

No one knew what Little Ronaldo was thinking at that moment.

It was complicated, emotional, wistful, and helpless all at once.

The Bernabéu Stadium was hailed as a sacred hall of European Football. Compared with Manchester United's Old Trafford, it was not merely a matter of having five thousand more seats. There were also the weighty Champions League titles, the aura of the twentieth century's Best Club, and the "certification" of a superstar by Florentino's Galácticos.

Harvard Business School in the United States had once conducted an in-depth analysis of Florentino's Real Madrid. From brand marketing and market response to ultimate commercial value, they believed it was the most valuable golden brand in world football.

Some said that Florentino's Galácticos had opened an entirely new era: the certification of superstars.

As long as Real Madrid wanted to buy you, you could become a superstar even if you weren't one. As long as Real Madrid didn't want to buy you, you couldn't be considered a superstar even if you truly were one.

Cristiano Ronaldo was Portuguese. Portugal