For the next five months, the lower divisions of Spanish and English football were subjected to a hostile takeover.
In the Primera Federación, Castellón was no longer just a football club. It was a terrifying, perfectly calibrated machine, and Leo was holding the remote control.
It was the final match of the season. Castellón was playing away against Ibiza, a team desperately fighting relegation.
The score was 4-0. To Castellón.
In the 85th minute, an Ibiza striker finally managed to break through the midfield line and sprinted toward the Castellón penalty box. He looked up, exhausted but hopeful.
"Mio! (Mine!)"
Giovanni, the psychotic Italian goalkeeper, didn't stay on his line. He charged out of the penalty box like a wild animal, his spiked Iron Gate aura flaring. He completely wiped out the striker with a perfectly timed, aggressively hard sliding tackle that sent the ball flying into the stands and the striker into the dirt.
Giovanni stood over the terrified Ibiza player, beating his chest. "Not in my house! You don't even look at my net!"
Near the center circle, Leo sighed, adjusting his captain's armband. The Castellón manager had given it to him two months ago, realizing the eighteen-year-old was running the team anyway.
The Architect's Domain had evolved. Leo no longer needed to constantly map the entire pitch. He had trained his pieces so perfectly that he only needed to activate his Will for the final, lethal pass.
Mateo received a throw-in. His River aura surged, easily washing past two exhausted defenders before he slotted the ball back to the center.
Leo received it. He didn't even scan the field. He already knew where the sniper was hiding.
Leo flicked his heel, sending a blind, looping pass over the entire Ibiza backline.
Lukas, the emotionless German, was already standing on the exact coordinate the ball was dropping toward. He didn't let it bounce. He snapped his foot through it on the volley.
Thwack. 5-0.
Lukas turned around, gave Leo a brief, robotic nod, and jogged back. A hat-trick for the German. Five assists for the Architect.
When the final whistle blew, the Castellón fans who had traveled for the game invaded the pitch. Castellón hadn't just won the match; they had won the league title. They were officially promoted to the Segunda División (Tier 2 of Spanish football).
Leo stood amidst the cheering crowd, confetti raining down on him. Mateo was dancing with Giovanni, while Lukas stood awkwardly, letting fans take photos.
Leo looked down at his boots. He had conquered the third division. His blueprint was proven. But as he looked up at the celebrating stadium, his eyes remained cold.
Tier 2 is next, Leo calculated. The defenders will be smarter. The pressing will be faster. The blueprint needs to be sharper.
While Leo was busy orchestrating symphonies in Spain, Rio was busy conducting train wrecks in England.
It was the final day of the English Championship season. Ewood Park was packed to the absolute brim. Blackburn Rovers needed a win to secure a spot in the promotion playoffs—their only chance to fight for a ticket to the Premier League.
The rain was pouring, as usual. The pitch was a mess.
Blackburn 2 - 1 Sheffield United. 94th minute.
Sheffield United threw all eleven of their players, including their goalkeeper, forward for a final, desperate corner kick.
The ball whipped into the crowded Blackburn box. It was pure chaos. Bodies slammed into each other in the mud.
"CLEAR IT!" yelled Davies, Blackburn's giant center-back. His Wall aura flared as he absolutely launched himself over two Sheffield attackers, heading the ball violently out of the penalty area.
The ball splashed into the mud near the halfway line.
There was only one player waiting for it.
Rio.
He had spent the last five months living in the weight room. His body was a weapon of mass destruction. He had scored eighteen goals in half a season, becoming the most feared striker in the Championship.
A Sheffield United defender, the last man back, realized the danger. He sprinted toward Rio, sliding desperately through the mud to take him out before he could reach the ball.
Rio didn't even try to dodge. His Apex Predator aura clung to his skin like dark, heavy armor.
He simply bulldozed through the tackle. The Sheffield defender bounced off Rio's thighs and spun into the wet grass. Rio didn't break stride.
He picked up the ball. There was no goalkeeper. The net, fifty yards away, was completely empty.
The entire stadium rose to its feet, the roar so loud it shook the floodlights.
Rio slowed down as he entered the penalty box. He could have tapped it in. He could have walked it over the line.
But Rio didn't do simple. He did violent.
He stopped the ball on the goal line. He turned around to face the chasing Sheffield United defenders, who were still thirty yards away, sprinting in vain.
Rio gave them a terrifying, arrogant smirk. He tapped the ball backward with his heel, sending it over the line.
3-1. Blackburn was going to the playoffs.
The referee blew the final whistle. Ewood Park exploded. Pitch invaders rushed the field, lifting Rio onto their shoulders. He was a god in Lancashire. The Machine that had saved their season.
That evening, the two kings of the lower leagues sat in their respective apartments, staring at their phones.
A video call connected them.
Leo was sitting in his Castellón apartment, a gold Primera Federación winner's medal hanging carelessly over his desk lamp. Rio was in England, holding an ice pack to a bruised rib, but grinning like a madman.
"I saw the backheel on the goal line," Leo said dryly, shaking his head. "If you do that in a real top-tier match, a center-back will literally murder you."
"Let them try. I bounce off them now," Rio laughed, flexing a heavily muscled arm. "We made the playoffs, Architect. If we win the tournament, Blackburn goes to the Premier League. I'll be playing against Manchester City and Arsenal next season."
Leo's eyes narrowed slightly. "Castellón got promoted to the Segunda División. I'm exactly one tier below La Liga. One more promotion, and I'm playing against Real Madrid."
The silence settled between them. The dirt pitch in Kolkata felt like a lifetime ago. They had crossed the world, survived the trials, broken the academy walls, and conquered their first professional leagues.
"We are climbing, Architect," Rio said, his voice dropping the arrogance, replaced by pure, intense focus.
"We are," Leo agreed, the cyan-blue grid flickering briefly in his eyes. "But the lower leagues were just the tutorial, Machine. The real monsters live in the top tiers."
Rio smirked. "Let them come. I'm hungry."