Real Madrid's second pre-season friendly was also held at home, against a team from the Segunda División, serving as a slight adjustment and warming up.

In this match, Bale performed exceptionally well.

When Mourinho intentionally shifted the attack to the right wing, Bale capitalized on the space and opportunities created by his teammates to score two goals.

It proved that an excellent team could stimulate an outstanding player.

At Real Madrid, Bale's overall ability had improved significantly.

Especially when teammates provided cover or created chances for him, he often only needed to face the opponent's fullback one-on-one, as his teammates would handle the rest.

In such a well-organized team, Bale also felt a sense of reliance.

Previously at Tottenham, if Bale was silent, the team struggled to win.

But at Real Madrid, even if Bale was quiet, other teammates could break through.

Furthermore, Real Madrid didn't even need Bale to perform exceptionally well because their attacking core was Suker, not Bale.

"Two friendlies are over. In another week, it's the Spanish Super Cup."

Bale looked eager. In the past, facing Barcelona meant carrying a heavy burden.

But at Real Madrid, a higher platform, he was more enthusiastic about such high-stakes matches.

"Tomorrow is a day off. What are you all planning to do?"

Srna asked.

"I plan to rest at home," Kaká said, stretching. "The team doctor advised me to rest more. It seems my body hasn't fully recovered yet."

Srna turned to Bale.

Bale: "I plan to train. I'm feeling good now, and I don't want to miss this period."

Srna then looked at Suker.

Suker said with a displeased expression:

"Work!"

Srna tilted his head: "Work? I thought your schedule was over?"

Suker waved his hand: "Personal activities are over, but the promotional tasks assigned by the club aren't done yet!"

Suker was Real Madrid's top star and also the face of the club.

He received widespread affection and attention, and with that came corresponding responsibilities, such as helping the club with promotional activities, as stipulated in his contract.

Like last season when Suker visited a young fan with congenital heart disease.

That news gained widespread attention, improving Real Madrid's image and reputation positively.

Florentino himself paid close attention to such matters. He believed that a top club shouldn't just know how to play well but also how to promote itself.

This time, he asked the planning department to create a new promotional activity for Suker.

According to the notice, Suker needed a day for the activity, though he wasn't sure what it entailed.

The next day, at Suker's villa.

Two groups, about ten people in total, entered the house.

Six men and four women.

Four of the men carried small cameras, while the four women carried large and small bags into the house.

The person in the middle was a familiar face—Sisé, the planner behind the young fan visit event.

"Long time no see!"

Sisé smiled and shook hands with Suker.

Suker shrugged: "Long time no see. What's the activity this time? I hope it's not babysitting. Kids aren't cute at all!"

Hahahaha!!

Sisé couldn't help but laugh and waved his hand: "This time it's not a visit; it's a football activity."

"Football activity?"

Under Suker's puzzled gaze, Sisé pointed at Suker and said to the four women behind him: "Start!"

The bags were opened, revealing various silicone padding and makeup supplies.

Suker was confused but listened to Sisé's explanation while being made up by the makeup artists.

"This activity is an amateur football match in Madrid initiated by Nike."

Suker nodded. He had heard about this amateur football match, which was very popular in Madrid.

It was said to be composed of amateur football experts from all over Spain, including famous football internet celebrities like 'Midfield Magician' Miguel and 'Football Database' Manuñez.

"And then?"

Suker raised his arms as two makeup artists fitted him with silicone padding, instantly making his body several sizes larger.

Sisé smiled and said: "After several rounds, the amateur match has reached the finals. But through our cooperation with Nike, we've added a special event."

"The champion team will draw a lucky spectator on-site to play a 5v5 match against the runner-up."

"Of course, we rigged the draw. No matter what, it'll be you!"

Suker blinked.

He understood now—this was about letting him show off and humiliate others.

From the makeup process, it was clear they were disguising him as a fat guy, stuffing him into the champion team, making everyone think he was a clumsy, sports-clueless fatty, only for him to suddenly show off.

This would be considered old-fashioned in the future.

But at this time, it was definitely cutting-edge and eye-catching.

"So, you'll need to act clueless at first. The worse you perform initially, the better." Sisé smiled. "I believe you can do it well!"

In the evening, at a corner of the Madrid Sports Center.

A black business vehicle was parked there.

Suker and Sisé sat inside.

At this point, Suker's disguise was unrecognizable.

His body was bloated, with silicone attached to his chin, making his face round and oily. He wore a plaid shirt, a programmer's staple, and loose jeans that hung slackly on him, paired with a thick beard and messy hair. (Not the Programmer catching stray)

This was the typical image of a fat guy who lived on Coke and burgers, completely unrelated to sports.

Suker twisted his hips. With this outfit, movement was somewhat restricted, but it was still acceptable.

Sisé received a message through his earpiece and turned to Suker: "It's time for you to appear. Make it convincing."

Suker glanced at the camera and gave Sisé a thumbs-up: "Leave it to me!"

With that, Suker pushed the car door open and stepped out.

The Nike Football Grand Prix at the Madrid Sports Center had finally reached the finals after a half-month round-robin tournament.

Both teams were composed of famous amateur players or internet celebrities from Spain, attracting many passersby and fans to watch the event.

It was a five-a-side pitch, surrounded by packed crowds.

Suker squeezed through the crowd, feeling the dissatisfied glances around him.

When he reached the front row, he saw the two teams battling fiercely on the field.

The red-jerseyed football blogger team and the blue-jerseyed amateur expert team.

Both sides were evenly matched, but one player stood out: the self-proclaimed 'Midfield Magician' Miguel.

Around 19 years old, he showed clear signs of youth academy training, likely a product of academy elimination.

His style was very agile, with plenty of fancy footwork.

But he was too flashy, slowing down the rhythm.

In professional matches, such performance would be directly dismissed, but this was an amateur event where entertainment mattered more than competitiveness.

"Wow~~~ Miguel!! Look here!"

Amid cheers from young women, this kid named Miguel put in even more effort.

His footwork was so fancy it was dazzling, though the final dribble relied on his young physicality and explosiveness, especially since the amateur expert team averaged around 35 years old, including someone as portly as 'Suker'.

In other words, the earlier fancy moves were just for show, with no substantive feints, purely for aesthetics.

Suker glanced at the score: the football blogger team led 3-1 against the amateur expert team.

Soon, the match ended, with Miguel's 'football blogger team' winning.

"Let's congratulate Miguel's team for winning the Nike Grand Prix and the €10,000 prize."

The host then changed the subject.

"However, there's a special event tonight. The champion team will randomly select a spectator from the audience to form a team and challenge the runner-up. The prize for success is €5,000. Miguel, are you willing to continue the challenge?"

Hearing about another €5,000 prize, Miguel's eyes lit up.

"Challenge!"

Whoosh~~~~!!!!

The cheers grew even louder.

Suker prepared to make his entrance.

Soon, the host began the draw.

Suker glanced around and noticed cameras positioned in all four corners.

Disguised as event staff, they were filming, with one camera fixed on him.

Suker quietly raised his right hand, forming a peace sign, and subtly waved it.

Soon, the draw ended.

"Audience member number 121!"

After the host shouted, he scanned the crowd.

Suker looked down to confirm it was his number, then waddled forward, shouting as he ran.

"It's me! It's me! It's me!"

Instantly, all attention focused on Suker.

Seeing Suker, Miguel's smile froze.

A fat face, a round body, showing no signs of athleticism.

Loose jeans paired with a plaid shirt, the man was unkempt, with a messy beard and hair.

Especially when running onto the field, Suker intentionally tripped himself, struggling to get up, looking extremely tired.

The crowd burst into laughter.

"Miguel is done for!"

"Oh my God~ Why him as a teammate?"

"This is going to be fun!"

"Can he even run?"

The fans were full of doubt, and Miguel also frowned at Suker.

"Hello, man!"

Miguel, with good grace, extended his hand.

Suker pretended to be nervous, wiping his hands on his pants, and said excitedly: "You're Miguel, right? I'm your fan. Don't judge me by my looks—I'm good at football. I can definitely help you."

Miguel frowned. With that image, he didn't look like he could play football.

But he decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

"What position do you play?"

Suker said confidently: "Defender! I can play defender. I'm good at defending!"

To maximize the dramatic effect, a solo run from defense to offense would be most satisfying.

So, Suker suggested playing as a defender.

Miguel: "Good! Then you play forward!"

Suker: "..."

As everyone knew, in pickup games, if you encountered a novice, you wouldn't let them play defender because they were too likely to make mistakes. If they lost the ball in defense, it would be disastrous.

So, even if they made mistakes, it was better to do so in offense, where the margin for error was higher.

In other words, Miguel didn't trust him at all.

Suker blinked and looked down at his belly, which hid his toes. With this image, he didn't trust himself either.

"Wait for me!"

Suker cheered and jumped around, doing various funny celebrations as he ran off the field.

When he returned, he had changed into sportswear and specially put on football boots.

"I'm ready!"

Miguel and his team huddled together. They really couldn't trust 'Suker'.

"Alright, what's your name?"

"My name is Kaká!"

"..." Miguel.

Bullshit!

With your looks, how could you be Kaká?

Suker said seriously: "I'm really called Kaká!"

"Fine, Ka... Kaká, just stay up front. We'll pass to you. You don't need to drop back to defend, understood?"

Suker nodded vigorously: "Don't worry, I can help you win the €5,000 prize!"

Miguel had a headache and muttered to himself.

Just don't mess things up for us.

While Suker warmed up, Miguel said to his teammates: "That guy can't be relied on. We can only depend on ourselves. Hey, guys, those old folks on the other side have poor stamina. We can use our skills to beat them."

Miguel: "Come on! We can do it!"

With that, Miguel extended his hand.

"Let's shout our slogan!"

Slap!

Suker suddenly barged in.

"Shouting slogans? I love shouting slogans!" Suker asked curiously: "What's the slogan?"

Miguel grimaced, suddenly feeling deflated.

His teammates also found it hard not to laugh.

"Just shout anything!" Miguel sighed.

The special event was about to begin.

Suker warmed up at the center circle, twisting his hips.

Compared to others, he looked as dumb as could be.

Suker occasionally gave Miguel a thumbs-up, making Miguel sigh repeatedly. This self-proclaimed fan was really frustrating him.

"I'm kicking off!"

Suker turned and shouted.

Miguel nodded seriously, ready to receive the ball.

The next moment, Suker charged straight at the ball, giving it a poke with his toe.

With the poke, Suker comically fell to the ground.

The ball flew straight out of bounds.

This move stunned Miguel and even the opponents.

The fans were also stunned for a moment before bursting into laughter.

"What is he doing?"

"Is he shooting?"

"Oh my God! He definitely can't play football!"

"Miguel is done for!"

Miguel was also stunned for a moment before couldn't help but shout angrily: "What are you doing?"

Suker rubbed his butt and stood up.

"Shooting! Can't you tell?"

Miguel pointed exaggeratedly at the opponent: "The goal is over there. Where are you kicking?"

Suker grinned awkwardly: "Mistake! Mistake!"

The match restarted.

In five-a-side football, transitions between offense and defense were faster.

After Miguel and his teammates pressed together, the ball rolled to Suker's feet again.

"Pass! Pass!"

Miguel urged repeatedly.

Suker turned and shot directly.

Unsurprisingly, the ball hit the wire mesh, way off target.

Next, Suker performed all kind of funny operations.

Mishitting the ball.

Tripping over the ball while dribbling.

Being dribbled past like a training cone.

Most importantly, he didn't pass to Miguel.

"Hey! Do you even know how to play? How can you be my fan?" Miguel said angrily.

Suker turned: "You yelling? Yell again and I'll unfollow you?"

Miguel: "..."

After ten minutes, the amateur expert team had scored two goals, while Miguel's side had yet to score.

"Bro, pass! I'm begging you!"

Miguel's mentality was about to explode.

This fat guy always somehow managed to get to the ball's landing spot but refused to pass.

Wasn't he just screwing with him?

Suker looked at Miguel's haggard expression and couldn't help but laugh inwardly. This is what you get for not letting me play defender!

With that, Suker glanced at the camera and Sisé.

Sisé gave a thumbs-up, indicating Suker was doing well.

Suker thought to himself, it was time to get serious.

At that moment, the number 7 player from the amateur expert team broke through along the wing. He was one of the few on the opposing side with dribbling skills and also the most threatening player.

This guy had made Suker his breakthrough point, which was how they had scored two goals.

This time, their attacking strategy remained the same.

Swish!

"He got past him!"

Number 7 had just shaken off Suker and looked down.

Where's the ball?

Number 7 turned around and saw Suker with the ball at his feet.

When did he lose it?

At that moment, some spectators in the front row exclaimed in surprise: "Such a quick tackle! The moment number 7 tried to push the ball forward, the fat guy pulled it back."

His companion also wondered: "Was that a fluke?"

Number 7 immediately turned to press Suker.

Suker pulled the ball back and turned, and as number 7 reached out again, Suker deftly slipped the ball through his legs.

Number 7 missed completely.

"Oh! A nutmeg?"

Number 7, embarrassed, charged at Suker again.

Suker continuously stepped over and pulled the ball back, his footwork frequency and speed extremely fast.

His performance sharply contrasted with his physique.

While the opponent was dazzled, Suker suddenly turned, bent down, hooked the ball, tucked it into his belly with his shirt, and stretched his back foot backward, pointing behind him.

A series of feints left number 7 dizzy, making him look in the direction Suker pointed.

Suker, meanwhile, waddled toward the crowd, proudly displaying the ball in his belly.

The crowd fell silent for a moment before erupting in laughter.

Their interest was immediately piqued.

This was a master!

This was definitely a master!

He was here to play the fool to eat the tiger!