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Atlético Madrid's celebration couldn't last long.
The upcoming schedule demanded immediate focus. Because in the next round of the league, a very special opponent would be visiting the Wanda Metropolitano.
Real Madrid.
Setting aside the century of grievances between these two clubs from the same city—the history, the bitterness, the accumulated weight of two hundred meetings—their positions in the league table alone made this match a focal point for all of Spanish football.
For Atlético, playing against most teams required some form of motivational speech, some reminder of what was at stake, some attempt to manufacture urgency. Playing against Real Madrid required nothing of the sort. The motivation was built into the fixture itself, hardwired into every player who wore the red and white stripes.
The Madrid Derby and El Clásico had always been the crown jewels of Spanish football. For fans around the world who followed La Liga, these matches were practically religious holidays—dates circled on calendars months in advance.
As André's performances for Atlético continued to impress, the media inevitably dug up the old story—his history with Real Madrid.
Kicked out by their academy. Deemed not good enough. Fighting his way back to the top flight through sheer effort and determination. Now facing his former club as an opponent, wearing the colours of their most bitter rivals.
It was a perfect inspirational narrative. The kind of melodramatic plot that sports journalists lived for, the sort of story that practically wrote itself.
As the match approached, more and more reporters gathered at the gates of both training facilities. The interest was intense, almost suffocating. Every day brought more cameras, more microphones, more questions.
One afternoon, after finishing his training session, André walked out of the Atlético complex and was immediately surrounded by a swarm of journalists.
"André! Will you be playing in the upcoming match against Real Madrid?"
"What do you think of head coach Solari's comments about you?"
"Will you complete your revenge against Real Madrid?"
"Do you have a message for Castilla, for the people who let you go?"
The questions came rapid-fire, overlapping, impossible to distinguish from one another. André stood frozen, momentarily overwhelmed. One moment he'd been walking toward his car, thinking about dinner; the next, he was engulfed by a wall of microphones and recording devices being shoved toward his face.
Even the club's media relations officer and security guards couldn't stem the tide of journalistic enthusiasm. It became painfully clear that André wasn't leaving without saying something.
After a whispered exchange with the press officer, the official stepped forward and addressed the crowd, arms raised.
"Everyone, please—André has just finished a full day of training and is exhausted. I understand your eagerness, of course. How about this: he'll briefly answer a few questions, and then we'll need to let him go. Agreed?"
The reporters murmured their assent, settling slightly.
André cleared his throat and stepped up to the cluster of microphones.
"There are no 'grievances' between me and Real Madrid, whatever the headlines might suggest. Mr. Fernando Hierro was the one who brought me away from Castilla—I'm grateful to him for giving me that opportunity when I needed it most. As for whether I'll play in the derby, that's not my decision to make. The boss picks the team." He paused, allowing himself a small smile. "But of course I hope to play. Being part of a match like this, a derby with this much history... it's every professional footballer's dream."
In the build-up to the derby, the contrast between the two clubs was stark.
Atlético remained low-key. Measured. Professional. They trained hard, avoided controversy, and let their football do the talking.
Real Madrid, on the other hand, were extremely high-profile. Everyone from head coach Solari downward expressed supreme confidence in interviews. They expected to win. They would win. There was no question about the outcome. The swagger was almost theatrical.
The week of the match arrived.
Spanish sports media devoted every available column inch to previews and analysis. Broadsheets examined tactical approaches, debated formations, analysed key battles. Tabloids manufactured drama from personal feuds, past encounters, controversial incidents—anything that might generate clicks and harvest traffic dividends.
Everyone had an angle. Everyone wanted a piece of the story.
And then the day itself came.
The Wanda Metropolitano was packed to absolute capacity. Looking around the stands, Atlético supporters in red and white occupied roughly sixty percent of the seats. Real Madrid fans in pristine white filled the remaining forty percent. The visual contrast was striking—two seas of colour, separated yet intermingled.
Before the players even appeared, the fans had already begun their own battle. Chants clashed in the air. Drums thundered. Scarves waved like battle standards.
When the two squads finally emerged from the tunnel and into the floodlit arena, the atmosphere inside the stadium reached a fever pitch. The noise was deafening—a physical force, almost enough to lift the roof. Tens of thousands of supporters threw everything they had into cheering their team while simultaneously drowning the opposition in boos, whistles, and creative abuse.
The live broadcast cameras captured flushed faces, expressions twisted with passion, mouths wide open in full-throated roar. Supporters so consumed by the moment they looked ready to collapse from oxygen deprivation.
This was the Madrid Derby. This was what it meant.
Television stations from over a hundred countries and regions were broadcasting live. In commentary boxes around the world, voices in dozens of languages introduced the starting lineups to millions of viewers.
For Atlético, Simeone remained faithful to his trusted 4-4-2 formation.
Goalkeeper: Jan Oblak. Defence: Arias at right-back, Giménez and Godín in the centre, Lucas Hernández at left-back. In midfield, Simeone made an interesting selection—Koke didn't start. Instead, Correa took the left flank, with Lemar, Saúl, and Thomas Partey completing the quartet. Up front, the partnership everyone wanted to see: André and Griezmann.
For Real Madrid, Solari deployed a 4-2-1-3.
Goalkeeper: Thibaut Courtois. Defence: Carvajal, Varane, Ramos, and Reguilón. The double pivot consisted of Luka Modrić and Casemiro, providing the platform for everything else. Toni Kroos occupied the attacking midfield role, the conductor of their symphony. The front three featured Karim Benzema through the middle, Lucas Vázquez on the right wing, and the exciting young Brazilian Vinícius Júnior on the left.
This was the 222nd competitive meeting between these two clubs in all competitions.
Historically, Real Madrid held the overall advantage: 109 wins, 56 draws, 56 losses. The numbers favoured the white half of Madrid. But recent form painted a different picture. In their last nine away matches at Atlético's home ground, Real Madrid had won only once—thanks to a Cristiano Ronaldo hat-trick a couple of seasons earlier. The other eight fixtures had produced four draws and four defeats.
In league encounters specifically, Real Madrid still led: 86 wins, 38 draws, 39 losses across 163 meetings. Away at Atlético in the league, their record stood at 34 wins, 23 draws, 24 losses.
Based on history, Real Madrid held a slight psychological edge. But Atlético were no longer the intimidated underdogs they'd once been. The club's resurgence over recent years meant they no longer felt suffocated when facing their cross-town rivals. The fear was gone.
They were equals now. Or close enough.
The match was about to begin.
Atlético Madrid to kick off.
The referee exchanged a few words with the fourth official on the touchline, raised his hand to check his watch, and then brought the whistle to his lips.
One sharp blast.
The Madrid Derby had officially begun.
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