The grass at the Alfredo Di Stéfano Stadium felt different under Mateo's boots. It wasn't just the quality of the turf; it was the weight of the air. This was the territory of Real Madrid Castilla, the final step before the summit of the mountain. At fifteen, Mateo Moreno was a ghost among men. He stood in the tunnel, his 188cm frame finally allowing him to look his elders in the eye.
To his left stood players like Antonio Blanco and Miguel Gutiérrez—players who had already tasted minutes with the first team.
They looked at him with a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled resentment. To them, he was a child who had skipped the queue. To Mateo, they were simply the next obstacles in the path projected by the System.
The morning sun hit the pitch as they walked out for the first training session under Raúl González. The legendary striker, now the manager of Castilla, stood with his arms crossed, his eyes like flint. Raúl didn't care about hype.
He didn't care about "Divine Bodies" or rumors of a new Ronaldo. He cared about work. Mateo felt a pulse in his temple as the System interface flickered briefly across his retina, analyzing the man in front of him.
Raúl's presence alone triggered a notification: Legacy Figure Detected. Match Analysis calibrated for High-Intensity standards.
"Moreno," Raúl's voice was dry, cutting through the chatter of the squad. "You've been scoring goals against children in Juvenil C. This is Castilla. Here, we don't play for fun. We play for the badge. Get in the circle."
The session began with a high-intensity rondo. The speed of the ball was a massive jump from what Mateo was used to. The passes were fizzed in with a ferocity that would have broken the ankles of his former teammates. But Mateo felt a strange, cold calm.
The Cristiano Ronaldo template was still active in his primary slot, but he wasn't using the flair yet. He was using the physical foundation. His first touch was immaculate.
Every time the ball reached him, he cushioned it with the perfect amount of force, his long legs providing a reach that allowed him to intercept passes that should have been out of range.
He could feel the eyes of his teammates shifting. Peter Federico, a quick-footed winger, tried to nutmeg him during the drill.
Mateo's reaction was instantaneous.
He didn't just close his legs; he stepped into the space, used his shoulder to gently displace Peter, and came away with the ball in one fluid motion. It was a move of pure efficiency. No wasted energy.
"Focus!" Raúl barked, though his eyes remained fixed on Mateo.
As the session transitioned into a tactical scrimmage, Mateo was placed on the 'B' side, acting as a lone striker against the starting center-backs of Castilla. These were professional defenders, men who knew how to use their elbows and how to hide a foul from the referee.
For the first twenty minutes, Mateo was starved of the ball. The midfield was being dominated by Blanco, and Mateo found himself isolated.
In the past, he would have grown frustrated. He would have wandered out of position, desperate to touch the ball.
Now, the System's Match Analysis was whispering in the back of his mind. He saw the heat map of the defenders. He saw that the right-sided center-back, Mario Gila, tended to lean on his heels when the ball was on the opposite flank. Mateo adjusted his stride. He began to make 'S' shaped runs, pulling the defenders out of their comfort zones.
The moment came in the 35th minute. A long, hopeful ball was hoofed up from the back. It was a 50-50 ball, dropping right between Mateo and Gila.
Gila jumped, expecting to overpower the fifteen-year-old. But Mateo didn't just jump; he exploded.
The Divine Body's vertical leap was terrifying. He reached the apex of his jump while Gila was still ascending, his chest meeting the ball with a dull thud.
He didn't just win the header; he directed the ball down into his own path as he landed.
In one motion, he turned.
The Ronaldo template flared. He didn't look for a pass. He drove forward.
His stride length was immense, covering ground with a predatory speed that made the defenders look like they were running through sand. He reached the edge of the box and saw the keeper coming out.
Mateo didn't blast it. He remembered the calm of the Maestro templates he had seen in the library. He opened his body, faking a far-post shot, then effortlessly tucked the ball into the near corner with the side of his foot.
Raúl didn't clap. He just scribbled something on his notepad. "Again," he said.
By the time the sun reached its zenith, the atmosphere at Valdebebas had shifted. The Castilla players were no longer looking at Mateo as a kid. They were looking at him as a threat.
After the session, as Mateo headed toward the ice baths, a man in a beige suit stood by the gate, talking to Raúl. Mateo recognized him instantly: Davide Ancelotti, Carlo's son and his lead assistant.
He was there to scout the youth for the upcoming mid-week training with the first team.
Mateo didn't stop to talk.
He didn't seek attention. He went straight to the recovery room.
The System's Injury Prevention module was already active, scanning his muscle fibers for micro-tears and directing his blood flow to optimize recovery.
While the other players were complaining about soreness, Mateo felt like he could play another ninety minutes.
He sat in the cold water, closing his eyes, entering the Training Simulator. He needed to master the Ronaldo template's long-range shooting before the week was out.
The following days were a blur of calculated dominance. Mateo played his first unofficial friendly for Castilla against a local Segunda B side. He didn't start, but he came on in the 60th minute with the score tied at 0-0.
The stadium was small, filled with a few hundred scouts and parents. Mateo stepped onto the pitch, and the first thing he did was look at the goal.
He felt the System's Tactical Editor suggesting a slight shift in his positioning. Drop five meters deeper.
Pull the defensive line out. He obeyed. Three minutes later, he received the ball with his back to goal.
He felt the defender's breath on his neck. Instead of shielding the ball, Mateo used a 'Ronaldo Chop' that caught the defender completely off guard. He spun, took one touch to settle, and unleashed a strike from 25 yards.
The ball hit the underside of the crossbar with a sound like a gunshot and bounced behind the line.
The fans gasped. It wasn't just the goal; it was the way he moved. At 6'2", he shouldn't have been that agile. He shouldn't have been that fast.
Raúl stood on the sidelines, finally allowing a small smile to touch his lips. He turned to Davide Ancelotti, who was sitting in the stands with a tablet. "You see that?" Raúl asked.
"My father wants him in the Tuesday session," Davide replied, not taking his eyes off Mateo. "He says if the boy can handle Alaba and Militao, he's ready for the squad."
Tuesday morning arrived with the weight of a world title fight.
The first-team stars were returning from their respective international breaks or recovering from the Levante draw.
The 3-3 draw against Levante had left Carlo Ancelotti frustrated with the team's clinical edge. He wanted someone who could finish.
Mateo walked onto the main training pitch at Valdebebas.
The air here was different. It smelled of expensive cologne and the highest level of professional ambition. He saw them: Karim Benzema, Luka Modrić, Toni Kroos, and Vinícius Júnior.
These were the gods of the Bernabéu. They were laughing, pinging 50-yard diagonals to each other with casual perfection.
Mateo took a deep breath. His heart rate was a steady 60 beats per minute, kept in check by the System's mental traits. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see David Alaba.
"You're the kid everyone is talking about," Alaba said, his voice friendly but his eyes searching. "The one who thinks he's ready for the big boys."
"I don't think," Mateo replied, his Spanish clear and steady. "I know."
Alaba grinned, a flash of white teeth. "Good. We'll see how you feel after I've tackled you."
The training match was 8-on-8 on a reduced pitch. Mateo was placed on the team with Modrić and Casemiro.
Benzema was on the opposing side with Alaba and Militao.
The pace was unlike anything Mateo had ever experienced. There was no time to think. If you didn't know where your pass was going before you received the ball, you had already lost it.
Luka Modrić received the ball and, without looking, flicked it into Mateo's path. Mateo was marked by Éder Militão, one of the fastest and most aggressive defenders in the world.
Militão stepped in, using his strength to try and push Mateo off the ball.
Mateo leaned back, his Divine Body absorbing the contact.
He felt the power in his core. He didn't budge. He rolled the ball under his studs, a move he had practiced a thousand times in the simulator, and accelerated.
For five meters, he was neck-and-neck with Militão.
Then, Mateo shifted gears. The Ronaldo template's "Explosive Burst" trait kicked in. He pulled a yard ahead.
He didn't shoot. He saw Modrić continuing his run. Mateo played a perfectly weighted reverse pass back into the path of the Croatian. Modrić slotted it home.
"Nice vision, kid," Modrić said, jogging past and giving Mateo a high-five.
The session continued for forty minutes.
Mateo didn't score, but he didn't lose the ball once. He was playing it safe, proving he could belong in this ecosystem.
But Ancelotti, watching from the bench with his signature raised eyebrow, wanted more. He stopped the play.
"Moreno!" Carlo called out. "Stop playing like a midfielder. You have the body of a giant and the feet of a winger. Go to the box. I want to see you fight Militao for a cross."
This was it. The moment of truth.
Vinícius Júnior took the ball out wide. Mateo sprinted into the box. He was flanked by both Alaba and Militão.
They were sandwiching him, using their experience to pin his arms and prevent him from jumping.
The ball came in—a high, curling cross from Vinícius.
Mateo felt the System surge. Template Activation: Cristiano Ronaldo (Aerial Prowess).
He timed his movement to the second. He didn't just jump; he used his lead leg to create a pocket of space, then propelled himself into the air. He felt like he was flying.
His head was above the crossbar. He met the ball at its highest point, snapping his neck with a power that sent the ball flying past Thibaut Courtois before the giant Belgian could even raise his hands.
The training pitch went dead silent.
Vinícius stopped dead in his tracks. Benzema, who had been watching from the halfway line, started clapping slowly.
Carlo Ancelotti turned to his son. "Get the paperwork ready. He's too good for Castilla. If he stays there, he'll get bored. I want him on the bench for the Betis game."
"He's fifteen, Papa," Davide whispered.
"If he can outjump Militao, he's old enough," Carlo replied.
Mateo stood in the box, landing softly on his feet. The System chimed in his mind.
[Mission Accomplished: Impress the First Team Manager.]
[Reward: 500 Experience Points toward Template Integration.]
[Status: Selected for Matchday Squad - Real Madrid vs Real Betis.]
The news traveled through Valdebebas like a wildfire. Mateo Moreno, the boy who was supposed to be released, was now the youngest player in the history of Real Madrid to be called up for a La Liga match.
That night, Mateo sat in his room, but he didn't celebrate.
He opened his System library. He looked at the three templates he had been offered at the start.
He had chosen Ronaldo, but he knew that as the season progressed, he would need more.
He looked at the Match Analysis for the upcoming game against Real Betis at the Benito Villamarín Stadium.
Betis were a tough side, coached by Manuel Pellegrini. They played a high line and possessed creative players like Nabil Fekir. The System showed Mateo the highlights of their defensive struggles against physical strikers.
He spent the next four hours in the Training Simulator, playing the final ten minutes of the Betis game over and over again. He simulated every possible scenario: being down a goal, being up a goal, receiving a cross in the 90th minute. He failed a hundred times, and he succeeded a hundred times.
On Friday, the team bus departed for the airport. Mateo sat at the back, his headphones on, staring out the window. He saw the fans gathered outside the gates, many of them holding signs.
He saw his own name on one of them, written in marker: MORENO - THE NEW PRINCE?
He didn't feel like a prince. He felt like a hunter.
The atmosphere in the dressing room at the Benito Villamarín was intense. The veteran players were focused, their routines perfected over years of elite competition.
Mateo sat in his stall, his jersey—number 34—hanging behind him. It felt heavy.
"Don't look at the crowd," Dani Carvajal told him as they laced their boots. "Look at the ball. The grass is the same size here as it is at Valdebebas."
Mateo nodded. "I'm ready."
The match began with a frantic energy. Real Betis, fueled by their home crowd, pressed Madrid high up the pitch. For the first thirty minutes, it was a tactical stalemate.
Casemiro was a titan in the midfield, breaking up attacks, while Alaba and Militao dealt with the threat of Borja Iglesias.
In the 61st minute, Real Madrid finally broke the deadlock. Benzema worked his magic on the left, dinking a beautiful ball toward the back post where Dani Carvajal was waiting to volley it home. 0-1.
The stadium turned into a pressure cooker. Betis threw everything forward. Ancelotti made his moves. He brought on Marco Asensio. He brought on Rodrygo. Then, in the 82nd minute, he turned to the bench.
"Moreno. Warm up."
The words sent a jolt through Mateo's body. He stood up, peeling off his training bib. As he ran along the touchline, the Betis fans jeered him, mocking his youth.
He didn't hear them. He was focused on the System's Tactical Editor, which was highlighting the spaces opening up as Betis pushed for an equalizer.
In the 87th minute, the fourth official held up the board.
Out: Karim Benzema.
In: Mateo Moreno.
History was made. At 15 years and 241 days, Mateo Moreno stepped onto the pitch, becoming the youngest player to ever debut for Real Madrid.
He had three minutes plus stoppage time. His first touch was a simple layoff to Kroos. His second was a header to clear a corner. He was playing within the system, keeping the shape.
But in the 91st minute, Kroos intercepted a pass and immediately looked up.
Mateo was already moving. He didn't call for the ball; he just pointed to the space behind the Betis defense.
Kroos, with his surgical precision, lofted a ball over the top.
Mateo chased it. He was shoulder-to-shoulder with the Betis captain, Pezzella.
The veteran defender tried to use his experience, leaning into Mateo to knocked him off balance. Mateo didn't move. He used his 6'2" frame to shield the ball, then used a sudden burst of pace to leave Pezzella behind.
He was one-on-one with the keeper, Rui Silva. The stadium held its breath. Mateo could have shot. He could have tried to round the keeper. But he saw Vinícius sprinting in support on his left.
Instead of being selfish, Mateo played a perfectly squared ball across the face of the goal. Vinícius had an open net. He tapped it in.
The goal was disallowed for a marginal offside on Vinícius, but it didn't matter. The statement had been made. Mateo Moreno hadn't just debuted; he had looked like he belonged.
When the final whistle blew, Madrid walked off with a 0-1 victory. The three points were secured. As the players walked toward the tunnel, Casemiro put an arm around Mateo's neck.
"First of many, kid. First of many."
Mateo looked up at the stands. He saw the disappointed faces of the Betis fans and the small pocket of Madridistas cheering. He felt the System vibrate in his mind, updating his progress.
[Match Completed: Real Betis 0-1 Real Madrid]
[Performance Rating: 7.2 (Solid Debut)]
[Template Progress: Ronaldo (2008) — 18%]
[New Item Unlocked: Match Analysis - Opponent Scouting Report (Champions League).]
The 2021/22 season was truly underway. Real Madrid were top of the table, and the world was starting to ask: Who is Mateo Moreno?
As the team plane landed back in Madrid, Mateo checked his phone. His social media was exploding.
Thousands of followers were appearing every minute. He looked at his reflection in the dark window of the bus. He was still the same boy who had been on the verge of being released a week ago, but everything else had changed.
He had the body. He had the templates. And now, he had the manager's trust.
"The Champions League is next," he whispered to himself.
The draw had placed Madrid in a group with Inter Milan, Shakhtar Donetsk, and Sheriff Tiraspol.
It was a group they were expected to win, but the Champions League was Mateo's ultimate goal. He wanted to hear the anthem. He wanted to score on the greatest stage.
But first, he had to survive the international break. While many of his teammates went off to represent their countries, Mateo stayed at Valdebebas. He wasn't called up for the Spanish senior team yet, and he had declined the U17 call-up. He wanted to stay and train.
He wanted to be so good that when the international break ended, Ancelotti would have no choice but to start him.
He spent his days in the Training Simulator, recreating the legendary matches of the past. He played through the 2017 Champions League final, trying to mimic Ronaldo's movements. He played through Zidane's 2002 final, trying to master the volley.
He was a sponge, absorbing everything. His Divine Body was adapting, his muscles becoming more defined, his endurance reaching levels that the club's medical staff couldn't explain.
They ran tests, but the Injury Prevention module masked the System's influence, presenting his results as simply "extreme genetic luck."
By the time the team reconvened for the September fixtures, Mateo was no longer the "academy kid." He was a member of the first team. He had moved out of the dorms and into a quiet apartment near the training ground. He wanted no distractions.
The next match was at the newly renovated Santiago Bernabéu against Celta Vigo. It was the first game back at their home stadium after over a year of playing at the Di Stéfano.
Mateo walked out onto the pitch for the pre-match warm-up. The scale of the stadium was breathtaking. The towering stands, the smell of the grass, the roar of the fans—it was everything he had dreamed of.
"Ready for your home debut?" Alaba asked, kicking a ball toward him.
Mateo trapped it perfectly. "I've been ready my whole life."
He didn't know it yet, but the 2021/22 season was going to be the year that changed football forever. And he was right at the center of it.