"These are my specific plans for the new season."
Shane Carter sat directly across the mahogany desk from Diego Simeone.
The Argentine manager leaned forward, outlining the club's transfer objectives and grand tactical vision.
First on the agenda were the departures.
Radamel Falcao had recently been heavily linked with the French club, AS Monaco.
Monaco had been purchased by a Russian oligarch the previous season and were highly anticipated to return to Ligue 1. Emulating the highly successful financial blueprint established by Roman Abramovich at Chelsea, Monaco's new ownership was aggressively waving a blank checkbook, attempting to purchase elite talent from across the globe.
To lead their new project, they had locked their crosshairs onto Falcao—the man who finished third in the La Liga Golden Boot race and first in the Europa League goalscoring charts last season.
"If Radamel wants to leave, I will absolutely not stand in his way," Simeone stated bluntly, his voice devoid of sentimentality.
"Because we already possess a vastly superior alternative." Simeone pointed his remote at the television screen on the wall, pausing the video on a player with a fiercely rugged, intimidating face.
"Diego Costa. We loaned him out to Rayo Vallecano for the second half of last season to recover from his knee injury! Tactically speaking, I believe he is a striker infinitely better suited for Atlético Madrid than Falcao."
Carter was genuinely surprised. "I know Costa. He scored eight goals in half a season at Rayo. He is undeniably talented, but compared to Falcao..."
"If we are comparing pure, clinical finishing ability, Costa might fall slightly short of Falcao," Simeone shrugged. "But his pressing intensity, his absolute aggression, and his unhinged willingness to physically brawl with center-backs are lightyears ahead. I don't need a pristine finisher. I need an absolute enforcer. A battering ram."
Simeone locked eyes with his midfielder. "As for the actual goalscoring... I believe you are more than capable of shouldering a massive portion of that burden."
Simeone had meticulously analyzed Carter's performances at the European Championship.
He found Vicente del Bosque's deployment of the teenager deeply inspiring.
Carter possessed absolutely terrifying cardiovascular endurance—a baseline strictly comparable to prime Park Ji-sung. He could relentlessly operate box-to-box for ninety minutes without a drop in quality.
He could defend like a demon and attack like a legendary striker.
Anchoring a player with that specific, transcendent profile to a rigid, fixed position was an absolute crime against footballing logic.
"Shane, this season, I am building the entire tactical architecture exclusively around you. Your role will be completely free. You will possess absolute tactical autonomy to dictate your positioning based on the specific phase of play. The entire team will transition, attack, and defend orbiting your gravity!"
Simeone's eyes burned with a terrifying, infectious intensity.
"I want you to stay. I want us to build an absolute empire here. Give me one season! Just one season! We will physically dismantle the duopoly and challenge for the La Liga title this year!"
Carter hadn't anticipated Simeone laying his cards on the table with this level of unadulterated ambition. He himself possessed massive goals, but hearing his manager confidently declare war on Barcelona and Real Madrid perfectly resonated with his own arrogance.
"I completely agree with the objective. But Boss, looking objectively at our current roster... I don't think we have enough firepower," Carter replied.
Simeone nodded sharply. "I am acutely aware. That is precisely why integrating Diego Costa isn't our only maneuver."
He violently dragged his tactical whiteboard to the center of the room.
"In addition to Costa, Raúl García is returning from his loan spell at Osasuna. This season, our foundational system will be a suffocating 4-4-2 high press. Defensive structure starts at the absolute front line with the strikers. We have Costa. As for the man operating beside him..." Simeone smiled, a predatory grin spreading across his face.
"We are currently in advanced negotiations with Real Sociedad. This summer, we are bringing Antoine Griezmann to the Calderón."
Simeone grabbed a black marker and began aggressively writing names on the board.
"In the center of the midfield, it is you and Gabi. Koke operates on the left flank, Raúl García on the right. Our defensive backline: Diego Godín and Miranda anchor the center, Juanfran at right-back, Filipe Luís at left-back. And Thibaut Courtois in goal!"
Simeone tapped the whiteboard with his marker, stepping back to admire his creation.
"Do you see it? This starting eleven... it is a mathematically perfect machine of war."
A dark, dangerous glint appeared in Simeone's eyes.
"So what if Real Madrid has Ronaldo? So what if Barcelona has Messi? We bled them out and beat them last season, and we will absolutely do it again this season!"
Simeone turned back to Carter, his voice dropping an octave.
"Stay, Shane. Stay, and we will permanently rewrite the hierarchy of Spanish football."
Carter took a deep, centering breath.
He looked Simeone dead in the eyes, his expression utterly serious. "Boss, I absolutely want the La Liga title... but realistically, there is no mathematical reason we can't simultaneously launch a deep run for the Champions League."
Simeone completely froze.
He had personally considered challenging for La Liga to be borderline insane optimism.
But this kid...
This absolute maniac was already explicitly targeting the UEFA Champions League.
Simeone threw his head back and laughed, a wide, feral grin splitting his face. "As long as your cardiovascular system holds up, I formally guarantee you will never be rotated for a crucial Champions League fixture!"
"My stamina is never an issue!" Carter promised, thumping his chest.
The Manager and the Maestro had officially reached a total consensus.
This season... Atlético Madrid was going to drag European football into the absolute trenches.
Across the training ground, Radamel Falcao had been deeply contemplating his future.
He possessed elite footballing intelligence. He could clearly see Simeone systematically elevating Diego Costa's status within the squad hierarchy.
Analyzing the pre-season training drills, it was undeniably evident that Costa provided a violent "aggression" that Falcao simply did not possess.
Falcao was genuinely frustrated by the tactical shift.
He was a legendary number 9! Why on earth did he need to be a hyper-aggressive, pressing bulldog? His only job was to put the ball in the net!
However, during those exact same training sessions, Falcao noticed something else.
Shane Carter was explicitly being granted a vastly disproportionate volume of shooting priority compared to last season.
Suddenly, Simeone's master plan clicked into place in Falcao's mind.
Because Carter was going to score fifteen to twenty goals from the midfield, Simeone no longer required a pure, traditional poacher. The manager needed a physically imposing, terrifying target-man—an absolute menace who would violently brawl with center-backs, drag defenders out of position, and create massive spatial voids for Carter to exploit.
Under this new tactical paradigm, Falcao genuinely feared he would be relegated to the bench, serving as Diego Costa's backup.
For a striker of his legendary pedigree, that was a mathematically unacceptable outcome.
Consequently, when AS Monaco officially submitted their incredibly lucrative personal terms, Falcao accepted without a second thought.
The only remaining hurdle was the transfer fee negotiation between the two clubs.
Backed by limitless Russian oligarch money, Monaco operated with terrifying financial efficiency. When Atlético Madrid tentatively quoted an asking price of €50 million, the Monaco executives didn't even blink. They formally agreed instantly.
The immediate capitulation actually caused Atlético's sporting directors to lock themselves in their offices in deep depression, thoroughly convinced they had vastly underpriced their star asset.
Regardless of the boardroom trauma, Radamel Falcao's departure to the French Riviera was officially locked in.
While the final bureaucratic details of the Falcao deal were being ironed out, Atlético Madrid's negotiations with Antoine Griezmann were progressing at absolute lightning speed.
Griezmann was not merely open to joining Atlético; he was aggressively enthusiastic about it.
He actively pressured his own representatives to expedite the process.
"I absolutely want to join Atlético. I want to play in that system alongside Carter!" Griezmann demanded, pacing around his living room.
His agent sighed, rubbing his temples in deep frustration. "Antoine, please, I am begging you, do not say that to the media. If Atlético's board realizes how desperate you are, we completely lose all of our leverage in the salary negotiations!"
"As long as the salary is an upgrade over what I make at Real Sociedad, I genuinely don't care," Griezmann shrugged, entirely unbothered by the financial minutiae.
His agent began to visibly sweat. "Currently, Atlético is finalizing the logistics to trigger your release clause. Once that happens, we just need to finalize the personal terms..."
"Then finalize them! Get it done today!"
Antoine Griezmann simply couldn't wait any longer.
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