Half-time.
In reality, players only have about 10 minutes to sit in the locker room.
But those short 10 minutes are often enough to create miracles.
There are plenty of instances where an underdog turns into a powerhouse and overturns the game as if injected with a shot of adrenaline.
That's why it's the manager's responsibility to make the most of that opportunity.
That's the job of a manager.
But Guardiola didn't head straight into the locker room.
Instead, he first spent five minutes reviewing the match with his coaching staff before entering.
Then he called in his slumped players and spoke.
"We failed to connect even the simplest passes and missed chances we should have finished. All of you were complacent. Of course, I know the opponent is no pushover. However."
He emphasized this part.
"I can forgive a loss, but I can't forgive laziness. We must always move with more passion than the opposition. If you truly want to win, remember that. And Bojan Krkić."
"...Yes."
Bojan, once dubbed the greatest prospect of all time.
Though he didn't clash with Ho-young due to their different positions, he could feel it clearly.
The 45 minutes of the first half.
He had been completely dominated.
'Damn it.'
His face turned pale.
He was already mentally fragile, and Guardiola could be terrifying when angry.
He'd heard harsh words from him more than once before.
But Bojan's expectations were off.
Instead of erupting in rage, Guardiola spoke with a calmness that was almost unsettling.
"Bojan. It was disappointing. You didn't showcase your abilities at all."
"Ah..."
Bojan had been like a chameleon trapped in a cage in the first half.
So many tools at his disposal, but unable to use any of them.
"I'm sorry."
"No need to apologize to me. I'll give you another chance. Everyone, listen up. We'll hit them with a new strategy."
Half-time came to an end.
Busquets, who failed to carry out his task properly in the first half, was subbed off and returned to the bench.
In his place, Thiago Alcântara came on, a player known for his distribution and ability to build from the back.
There were other notable tactical changes too.
[Bojan, who had been deployed on the right wing, is now positioned as a central striker. Is Barcelona finally unleashing their weapon? It's the first time this season Bojan has been used in this role, known for his speed and dribbling.]
[Exactly. Guardiola had followed his predecessor's lead in deploying Bojan as a second striker or winger. But now he's moved him to center forward. It's a clear sign he wants to shake things up.]
Interestingly, despite being positioned centrally, Bojan didn't push up to the front line. Instead, he dropped into the space between the defense and the defensive midfield — the so-called 1.5 line.
Nominally a striker, but functioning more like an attacking midfielder.
This was Guardiola's Plan B.
And it immediately brought change.
Miguel Torres, the central defender, was forced to drop deeper to track Bojan's movement, which in turn opened up a large gap in the back line.
Tap.
Thiago spotted the gap and delivered a lobbed through ball.
Pedro, now on the left wing, made a run into space.
A well-timed penetrating run.
Castilla's defensive line had been breached.
"Keeper!"
Adán, the Castilla goalkeeper, came rushing out of the box, diving at full stretch.
Thud, tap!
"Argh!"
It was a dangerously close situation, but thankfully didn't lead to a goal.
The lob from Thiago had been just a little too long.
Pedro looked frustrated, but gave a thumbs-up.
Even though it didn't end in a goal, it showed real potential.
[Guardiola's tactical gamble is paying off. Despite losing the possession battle, Barcelona is now dictating the flow of attacks.]
It was a tactic Guardiola had been experimenting with recently, and surprisingly, it was working well.
Anyone could tell from the confused expressions on the Castilla players' faces.
Manager Mandía's voice grew louder.
If things continued like this, it was only a matter of time before danger struck. He had to act quickly.
But the problems didn't stop there.
Guardiola wasn't satisfied with just the positional switch. He added another layer — player rotations.
Bojan and Pedro kept swapping positions between center and left, dispersing the attention of Castilla's defense.
Three minutes later.
Miguel Torres struggled to organize the defense.
The full-backs, Guillén and Javier, played crucial roles, but neither was fulfilling their duty effectively.
Momentum had shifted.
They couldn't withstand the constant waves of Barcelona's attacks.
The same attacking pattern continued, and from that point, Bojan's talent began to shine.
Since the 55th minute, he gradually found his rhythm and quickly created a decisive chance.
That led to a goal for Barcelona.
Ripple!
The tactic revolving around Bojan had finally unlocked Castilla's goal.
[Barcelona shows their class. Right after turning the tide in the second half, they find the back of the net.]
[Yes, and removing Busquets played a big part. We'd mentioned Guardiola's rigidity in the past, but today he's shown adaptability. Castilla needs to stay sharp.]
Ho-young's movements became busier.
'We have to stop them.'
He wasn't usually tasked with deep defensive duties, but this time he dropped into midfield.
Not just him. Gorka, Callejón, and the rest of the attacking line dropped back to defend.
"I'll cover up to here! Miguel! Hang in there!"
Ho-young's voice rang across the field.
Just that one shout gave Miguel immense strength.
If Ho-young could cover the midfield through his work rate, it would relieve pressure on the defensive line.
Miguel, who carried the responsibility of captain, finally felt like he could breathe again.
With Ho-young joining the midfield battle, Castilla's defense began to stabilize.
'If we can just hold on, we'll win.'
Ho-young glanced at the scoreboard.
63rd minute.
Just 30 more minutes to hold out.
He might collapse from exhaustion after the game.
But that didn't matter.
Today, he had to win.
'First, I have to stop him.'
To shut down the opposition's attack, you must stop them from playing the way they want.
The first step is breaking their rhythm.
Ho-young moved toward midfield.
Barcelona's central midfielder, Thiago Alcântara.
He pressed him from behind.
It didn't take long.
'Seriously?'
Thiago's play became visibly stifled.
Standing only 174 cm tall, he couldn't easily shake off Ho-young's pressure.
'Does this guy never get tired?'
While his attacking skills drew more attention, Ho-young's pressing ability was above average.
Even though he hadn't kept talents related to ball interception or pass blocking, his high work rate and solid physical strength were more than enough to trouble Thiago.
Thiago furrowed his brow deeply.
"Can't you just piss off?"
"Did you rent this place or something?"
Ho-young didn't back down.
Neither did Thiago.
"Damn Real trash. What kind of freak follows someone around like this? I'll give you my number later, just stop stalking me."
"Sorry. I've got a strong moral compass. I can't ignore trash lying around."
Rivals in the truest sense.
To each other, they were nothing but garbage.
And that only fueled Ho-young's competitive spirit.
'His talent's world-class, sure. But he's not on my level.'
Barcelona B wasn't just Bojan and Busquets.
They had Thiago Alcântara, Gai Assulin, Pedro, and more.
All players with talents worth coveting, but given the conditions, there was no time to worry about them.
'Today, it's Bojan and Busquets first.'
The rest could wait for the next away match.
"Don't get distracted!"
Tap!
A scuffle broke out between them.
The psychological war turned physical, and the smaller Thiago had to retreat.
'Tch.'
He wanted to stomp on Ho-young's foot or throw an elbow, but didn't have the guts.
'This guy's dangerous.'
Thiago was suddenly reminded of Kovacevic from Real Sociedad.
He didn't want to end up like that by taking unnecessary risks.
Feeling cornered, he tried to fight back in the one area he excelled — his football IQ.
He tried to use his anticipation to read play and occupy space in advance.
It was a good attempt.
An attempt, at least.
But—
'You've got to be kidding me.'
He was always a step late.
Wherever the ball was about to go, Ho-young was already there.
At first, Thiago thought it was a coincidence.
But as it kept happening, he cursed out loud.
"Son of a bitch!"
He shouted at the back of Ho-young's head.
By the third time, he realized.
Ah, this isn't just bad luck.
This is a difference in level.
'No, it's not that I'm bad. That guy's freakishly good...'
Of course, he didn't show it outwardly.
He would never admit it.
He was a die-hard Cule and a Barcelona player.
So instead—
"Slippery bastard!"
All he could do was relieve stress through insults.
He wanted to ask if Ho-young had taken something illegal, but doping tests had been done before the match.
That was his only consolation, but by then, the momentum had already shifted.
It was inevitable.
In football, the midfield is life.
Barcelona had lost their supply line.
It's not easy to produce results with the supply line cut off.
Sure, there are legends who can pull it off alone, but Thiago was just a prospect on the rise.
Even after shaking off Ho-young with the help of fellow midfielders, that only made attacking transitions more difficult.
Choose one thing, and you give up another.
The ball didn't flow smoothly into the final third.
During that time, Castilla reorganized and formed a stable defensive block.
Then manager Mandía brought on the German prospect, Christopher Schorch, in place of Callejón to reinforce the defense.
[In the 77th minute, centre-back Schorch is subbed in, and Castilla drops into a five-man back line. For a Barcelona side that hasn't even controlled midfield, this is practically a death sentence.]
[Exactly. The key now is the stamina of Ho-young, Ángel Nieto, and Gorka. To stop Bojan, they need to keep pressing hard in midfield.]
This was the final stretch.
The end of a long, grueling battle.
Everything hinged on these final moments.
81st minute.
The time of death where even walking feels exhausting.
"9 minutes!!"
Ho-young's voice echoed across midfield.
Miguel responded.
"Hold on till the end!!"
Let's hold.
That word spread like a chant, and one by one, players began shouting with grit.
Then came the twelfth man.
The fans' deafening cheers ignited the players' hearts.
And Castilla held out.
They endured that hellish period.
Peeep—
[That's the final whistle! Real Madrid Castilla takes a dramatic 2-1 victory!]
[Incredible. Everyone was looking forward to a clash of youth prospects before today's match, but I don't think anyone expected it to end with Ho-young's victory. Bojan was considered peerless among his generation.]
Football is, from the beginning, a team game.
No one can manage the entire 100-meter pitch alone.
Unless you're Di Stéfano, maybe.
But every team begins with individuals.
The pilot flies the plane, while the others serve as fuel.
Today's pilot fulfilled his role brilliantly, and the rest of the team poured their hearts into it to produce a great result.
Moved by that, Ho-young exhaled and collapsed onto the ground.
He had played many derby matches, but nothing like this before.
It truly felt like a war.
Even as fans screamed in delirium, the thrill coursing through his body wouldn't subside.
At that moment.
"¡Buen trabajo."
"Good work."
It was Miguel who approached.
Though he looked drained, he carried himself like a true captain, taking care of his teammates.
Ho-young embraced him.
Even if promoted to the first team, this was a player he felt he'd be seeing for a long time.
At the same time.
'Tactics don't matter.'
Though he lost the match, Guardiola didn't show it on the surface.
When his image flashed on the scoreboard, he even wore a dignified look, as if acknowledging Ho-young.
Perhaps today's defeat would become a valuable asset that shaped his future success.
However—
'Damn that kid.'
Inside, he was a wreck.
This would go down as one of the most painful defeats of his coaching career.
His fingertips trembled with frustration.
'Just wait.'
With a venomous look, Guardiola ground his teeth.
He vowed never to forget the humiliation of today, not even in death.
With that thought in mind, he left Valdebebas.
(To be continued.)