After finishing his pep talk, Mourinho turned and said, "The rest is up to you now."
Pintus nodded. "Alright!"
With that, Pintus took a step forward, and instantly, the morale shifted.
The previously friendly face turned slightly fierce, his gaze becoming as sharp as a blade. Under his stare, it felt like he was peeling off people's skin.
Despite only being 170cm tall, he exuded an intense and chilling aura.
Under the blazing sun, the Real Madrid players suddenly felt a cold shiver.
"I'm Antonio Pintus. You can call me 'Sergeant.' I like that title, because I'm here to train you and turn you into the strongest warriors!"
"Let me make it clear first: for the next two weeks, you won't touch a ball. It will be two weeks of ball-free physical training—that's the theme!"
Pintus shouted, "Today we'll start with a simple appetizer. My goal over the next two weeks is to get your pale skin tanned!"
Clap clap clap!!Pintus clapped and encouraged, "Gentlemen, are you ready to change your batteries?"
Pintus's favorite training was running.
Start with running, end with running.
First, the Real Madrid players began with a 1500-meter jog.
To professional players, that was just a light warm-up.
Along the way, they chatted and joked quietly, thinking this physical training wouldn't be a big deal.
Only Suker was taking it very seriously, barely responding when others tried to chat with him.
His most common response? "Less talking, more breathing!"
At first, the players didn't get it.
Soon, they understood.
"Alright, warm-up is done. Next: resistance training!"
Pintus walked to the sideline, where he and his assistant brought over three large boxes.
Opening them revealed masks connected to wires, along with backpack-style sensors.
"These are oxygen-restricting training masks. They simulate high-altitude conditions and reduce oxygen intake, forcing your muscles to reach their limits faster!"
"To be clear: based on your medical reports, none of you have hypertension or heart issues, so you can safely use this equipment!"
The players looked curiously at the masks.
"This looks cool!" Marcelo said, fiddling with one and smiling.
Suker silently shook his head, put on a mask, and strapped the sensor to his back.
As soon as Pintus pressed a button, Suker frowned hard.
What had been smooth breathing suddenly felt thin and labored. He instinctively opened his mouth to suck in more air.
The others had similar reactions. Some began to pant heavily, clearly not adjusting well to the reduced oxygen.
Seeing this, Pintus smirked and said:
"Stay calm. Keep your oxygen intake at a reasonable level. Like I said, this is just the appetizer—I'm not pushing you to collapse on day one."
His smile turned sinister.
"Now... Hell training begins!"
Half an hour later.
At Real Madrid's training ground, the players were sprawled all over, their faces filled with pain and their skin pale.
Many had white lips, glassy eyes, and blank expressions.
Ramos, Marcelo, Kaká, and most of the others knelt at the sideline, dry heaving repeatedly.
Marcelo and Di María were already vomiting.
Huuuurgh~~Bleeeagh~~Huuuuuurgh~~~~
The entire facility echoed with the sounds of vomiting.
Pintus frowned at the sight.
The squad's physical fitness was below his expectations—he'd have to revise the training plan.
The midfielders were doing relatively well, like Kaká, Alonso, and Khedira.
Since midfielders need endurance, their fitness levels were better—they at least weren't throwing up.
Those struggling the most were Di María, Marcelo, and Benzema.
Of course, some players stood out.
Srna, after finishing the oxygen-restricted training, looked miserable but didn't vomit. His fitness and oxygen uptake were impressive.
And then, there was that one guy...
Whoosh!
A figure sprinted past Pintus like a rocket.
While everyone else was jogging, Suker was doing full sprints.
He reached the end, held his head to regulate his breathing, using hand signals to pace himself.
After a short break, he dashed to the other end again.
He repeated this cycle again and again.
Veins bulged on Suker's body, especially on his forehead. He was clearly in pain.
But compared to everyone else, his ability to adapt was astonishing.
Pintus even suspected Suker had trained like this before.
But... that shouldn't be! He invented this training method!
Suker kept adjusting his breathing on the sidelines. Though the oxygen-deprived dizziness and lung pain were intense, once he regained control, all of that stress went straight to the muscles—pushing them to the edge, simulating how they perform in extreme conditions.
As painful as it was, Suker loved it.
He knew that if he overcame this kind of training, high-stakes matches would become easier.
He'd have more stamina than opponents.
Under fatigue, he'd still perform at peak level.
That was key to winning tough games.
It was awesome.
"Again!" Suker's voice echoed through the mask, buzzing like a speaker.
He sprinted off once more.
Watching this, Real Madrid's players were stunned.
Marcelo collapsed to the ground, his dark face turning pale, lips white, eyes blank.
Earlier, he found the training amusing. Now he couldn't even laugh.
He turned to Suker, tapped Di María—who was bent over and vomiting.
"Ángel, I just saw God."
Di María turned to look—and upon seeing the mask on Suker's face, felt another wave of nausea.
He spun back and puked violently.
Bleeaaargh~~~~~~A full-on rainbow-style outburst.
Training Day One was done.
Pintus's so-called "appetizer" had left the players utterly miserable.
None dared drive themselves home. The club had to send them back by team bus.
As for Di María, Kaká, and Srna, Suker personally gave them a ride.
"What kind of stamina is that? Was it really that painful?"
Thanks to the Recovery Card, Suker felt his muscles becoming more elastic and durable after extreme stress.
Even more surprising, his stubbornly stagnant agility stat actually increased slightly.
And his muscle mass didn't decrease at all.
Suker was thrilled.
Damn!This bottomless pit finally had a way to be filled!
He now loved Pintus's training and was practically worshipping the bald Italian coach.
The next day, Pintus woke up early and headed to the training base.
As a fitness coach, he didn't just bark orders—he led by example.
Only by doing this would players respect and follow him, and trust his training.
He arrived at 7am, had breakfast, rested for half an hour.
At 8am sharp, he showed up at the facility.
Real Madrid training started at 9am, but he always arrived an hour early to show his commitment.
He wanted the players to know he wasn't just for show.
But this time, he got outdone.
"Hey! Sir! Where's that mask?" Suker ran up to him, eyes glowing. "Hurry! Give it to me—I can't wait!"
Since 1991, Pintus had nearly 20 years of experience in physical training.
He'd seen all kinds of players—hardworking ones, lazy ones, fake-hustlers, freaks with insane endurance.
But never had someone come to him begging for training.
Suker was the first.
Pintus looked up at him and instinctively muttered, "You're insane."
He didn't give Suker the mask again right away—it needed a gradual adaptation phase.
Overuse early on could cause dizziness—or even death!
Still, watching Suker bounce with energy, Pintus fell into deep thought.
He'd never seen someone like this in 20 years of coaching.
Suker didn't need to suck up—his skills and reputation guaranteed his spot in Mourinho's plans.
So clearly, this guy genuinely loved training.
Which made Pintus wonder: what was Suker's physical limit?
Looking confused, Pintus heard Srna laugh: "Sir, maybe you don't know—at Dinamo Zagreb and Milan, his fitness stats were recorded separately."
"Separately?" Pintus was shocked.
Kaká nodded and raised a finger. "Mule!"
"This guy needs tougher training!" Pintus muttered as he pulled out the mask again.
Seeing it, the rest of the players turned green.
"Football is a high-intensity sport," Pintus said. "You often play at your limit. You need to think clearly while gasping for air, with your heart racing and your head spinning."
"Stamina matters all season. At Real Madrid, where we fight on two or even three fronts, if you can run for two hours, you don't need to fear the next game."
Then Pintus unveiled a new training module.
Still with the oxygen-restricting masks.
But this time, during sprints, Pintus held up signs like: [12 + 23 = ?]
Players had to solve the math before reaching the finish line and announce the answer.
This trained their mental clarity under oxygen-deprived stress.
He also threw colored balls in sequence during the run. Players had to memorize the order and repeat it—training observational memory.
But things didn't go smoothly.
Marcelo collapsed during his fifth sprint.
Pintus halted training and sent him to the medical room, then went to report to Mourinho.
"Marcelo fainted?"
Mourinho was stunned.
He'd heard about Pintus's hellish training—but to knock out a professional?
Pintus looked awkward."It was my misjudgment. I increased intensity on the fly."
"Why?"
He sighed and explained Suker's freakish performance.
Mourinho was speechless.
"No effect?"
Pintus exhaled, "So far, nothing. I may need a completely custom program for him."
"Then separate him," Mourinho said.
Pintus hesitated, "Honestly, I'm thinking he doesn't even need my training."
"His stamina is elite," Mourinho admitted.
Pintus added, "We've overlooked something. Except for that one half-season injury, Suker is nearly ever-present. I think we could try using him every single game, across all competitions this season!"
Mourinho was speechless.
What kind of coach says that?
"Three-front full attendance!?"
"You decide," Mourinho said. "If he's fine, don't worry about him. Focus on getting everyone else up to standard."
Pintus finally relaxed.
Suker got a personal training program.
He was removed from the group.
The other players breathed a sigh of relief—they no longer had to keep up with that monster.
Before they knew it, a week had passed.
By then, most had adjusted to the training masks.
They could now handle strength drills, high-intensity workouts, and running with oxygen restriction.
Well, mostly adjusted—there was still dry heaving, but no more full-blown vomiting.
Thud!Marcelo ripped off his mask and slumped to the ground, gasping.
"I swear, I saw the Virgin Mary during that training!"
BEEP!!A sharp whistle blew.
Marcelo jumped in shock and quickly put his mask back on.
"He's a devil!" he muttered.
Kaká calmed his breathing and said, "But he really does make you stronger—more resilient. And he puts that belief in your head. You want to prove yourself to him."
Marcelo grumbled, "Then he'll say we've done well, better than expected, and he's happy to work with us."
"He's a good guy, just loves torturing people. But working with him sucks. I've never been this hungry!"
He wailed, "He's making me lose 10 pounds!"
Kaká chuckled and looked toward the field.
"Some people like this kind of training."
Marcelo groaned, "Don't talk to me about that freak."
At the center of the pitch, Suker completed his 10th sprint set.
The mask's restriction had become familiar—no more dizziness, nausea, or popping veins.
That meant his body had become stronger.
More resilient muscles.
And for Suker, the biggest win that week: his agility stat had finally stopped decreasing.
No gain—but no loss was already a massive win.
Usually, it would've dropped a point by now.
Clearly, this kind of hypoxic high-intensity training was excellent for muscle resilience.
"I can keep this up," Suker thought.
He was even considering buying his own training mask.
Wear it casually around the house or something.
After the week, Pintus gathered the team.
Everyone looked totally different—darker, stronger, tougher.
The mental and physical grind had hardened them.
Pintus smiled.
"A successful season needs two fitness peaks: intense summer training and winter break prep. That gets you through to May. And remember: we're not always right—we have to learn and adapt."
His smile grew wider.
"Congratulations. You've graduated from Pintus's fitness class!"
The players froze.
Marcelo raised his hand.
"Wasn't this supposed to be two weeks?"
"That was a lie—to lower your expectations and push you harder." Pintus shrugged. "But if you're eager, I can apply for extra training just for you. I've got plenty more in my toolbox. Want to try?"
"No! Sir!" Marcelo shook his head like a rattle drum.
"Don't ever show me that stupid mask again!"
Everyone burst into laughter.