I Am Jose-Chapter 167 - : The Return of Roa

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"No problem." José nodded. He had actually considered this before, but he just didn't have the right person for the job. Tristan, Luke, and the others were all talents he had recruited from elsewhere, and it wasn't practical for him to keep scouting personally. Since Piri was willing to take on this task, he was naturally the best choice.

The reserve team was crucial for Mallorca. Even though they were only in the Segunda División (Spanish second division), having a steady stream of players developing in a professional environment was invaluable. The gap between La Liga and the Segunda wasn't too wide—if Mallorca's reserve team could maintain their place in the second division, young players would gain competitive experience in proper professional matches. This would also make Mallorca's youth system more attractive to promising young talents. After all, playing in the Segunda was far more beneficial than being stuck in a lower-tier reserve league. Besides, Segunda División clubs earned a decent revenue, and Mallorca's reserve team offered better wages than many others.

Why did Barcelona and Real Madrid consistently produce top-tier youth players? Aside from their natural pull as elite clubs, their reserve teams playing in the Segunda División was a major factor.

Piri's willingness to scout talent nationwide was a massive boost for Mallorca. José had complete faith in Piri's ability to spot potential. If nurtured correctly, these young players could consistently feed into the first team. Even if the club was running as a "talent farm," they could do so with greater efficiency.

"How many people do you want to take with you?" José asked. "Feel free to pick from our scouting network. If you spot someone promising, sign them immediately. Offer them the same wages we give our youth players—maybe even a bit more, as long as it's competitive. By now, our academy should have a solid reputation, right? Young players should be eager to join us."

Piri nodded. He was beyond words at this point—José's unwavering trust in him left no room for doubt. A man will fight to the death for a leader who believes in him. From now on, he would dedicate himself fully to Mallorca.

"Do you have any specific targets?" José asked, curious about where Piri planned to look for talent.

"No need to visit the usual hotspots," Piri grinned. "Most top prospects in Spain are already snatched up by the big clubs. I'm looking for hidden gems—the kind that haven't been discovered yet. My first stop is the Canary Islands. Tenerife and Las Palmas have solid youth setups. There might be some overlooked talent there."

José nodded. He wasn't sure which stars had come from the Canary Islands, but if Piri had his eye on it, there was bound to be talent.

"Then, I'll check out smaller clubs in major cities. Remember how you found Matías in Getafe's youth team? He's a great prospect. Sure, he has some clear weaknesses, but they're fixable with the right training. That's exactly the type of player I'm looking for—youngsters with flaws, but with significant room for improvement."

José laughed. This was exactly what he had in mind. The big clubs weren't stupid—their scouts had already swept up most obvious prospects. What was left were players like Matías—talented but with noticeable weaknesses. If those weaknesses were correctable through targeted training, these players were worth signing.

And the best part? There was no transfer fee involved. Their salaries were just a few tens of thousands a year. If they succeeded, it would save Mallorca millions. If they failed, the loss was minimal—selling them to lower-division clubs would still recoup some money. A no-brainer deal.

José knew exactly when to spend money and when to save it.

"Alright, it's settled then," José concluded. "I'll be waiting for your good news in Mallorca!"

Piri nodded. He wasn't one for sentimental words, but he silently vowed—he wouldn't let José down.

Sometimes, working for a small club and building something from the ground up was more satisfying than anything else.

After a day off, the Mallorca players returned to training, visibly refreshed.

It had been a grueling schedule, but the team's success made it all worthwhile. The mood at the training ground was lighthearted—players joked loudly, knowing they had a few days without matches.

Then, José entered the training ground, accompanied by Natal and a bearded man.

The newer players only found the man vaguely familiar, but those who had been at Mallorca two years ago immediately recognized him.

Carlos Roa!

Engonga was the first to rush forward. He wasn't alone—Olaizola, Soler, and Leo Franco followed. They were the only veterans left from that era, and even Franco had just been a backup goalkeeper back then.

"Carlos, where have you been?" Engonga laughed, patting Roa on the shoulder.

"I thought I was headed for heaven. Turns out, I'm still stuck here on Earth." Roa shrugged with a grin.

The old teammates burst into laughter. Roa then turned to Franco with a smile.

"Leo, you've improved a lot. I wouldn't be surprised if Argentina calls you up soon!"

Franco smiled. "I think so too."

The Mallorca veterans caught up excitedly, while the rest of the squad quickly pieced together who this bearded man was. A goalkeeper retiring at his peak to live in seclusion was an unusual story. No one had expected Roa to return.

Not everyone was familiar with him, though.

"Samuel, who is this guy?" Drogba asked Eto'o, puzzled by the scene.

Eto'o chuckled. He knew Roa well—he had followed La Liga closely, even though Roa retired before Eto'o broke into Real Madrid's first team.

"He was Argentina's starting goalkeeper at the 1998 World Cup," Eto'o explained simply.

"Then he must be pretty old now," Drogba muttered to himself. He couldn't understand why José would bring in a veteran keeper. Was he supposed to be a mascot?

Just as Drogba was thinking that, José called him over.

Worried that José had somehow heard his thoughts, Drogba approached nervously.

"Didier," José said, "your next shooting drill will be with Carlos. He was famous for his reflexes and shot-stopping. He hasn't trained in two years, so don't let him make a fool out of you."

José smirked. "You've improved your finishing against empty nets. Now it's time to face a goalkeeper. Carlos needs to regain his form, and you need to sharpen your shooting. Perfect match, don't you think?"

Drogba was momentarily stunned. He glanced at Roa, who was still surrounded by the veterans. He was excited to advance his training, but could a goalkeeper who had been inactive for two years really help him improve?

He was about to find out.

Drogba's training routine was simple—half a session with the full squad, half in specialized shooting drills. Previously, he had been practicing first-time shots from passes, ensuring every attempt was on target. He had reached the point where he could consistently find the net. Now, it was time for the next step—finishing against a live goalkeeper.

At first, Roa struggled. His reactions were slow, and Drogba easily scored several goals. But as the session progressed, Roa started to regain his sharpness.

The rust from two years of inactivity began to fade.

Drogba's shots were powerful—he was a physical striker, and while his placement wasn't the most precise, every strike carried immense force. Roa dived, punched, and parried, gradually finding his rhythm.

Drogba started getting frustrated. Having his shots saved over and over was denting his confidence. Finally, he took an extra touch to set up a perfectly aimed shot at the top right corner.

Roa reacted instantly. He launched himself into the air, stretching out a single fist—BAM! He punched the ball away.

As he landed, Roa let out a triumphant roar, pumping his fist in the air.

In that moment, the tranquility of his two-year retirement shattered. The same fiery spirit that had carried him through Argentina's penalty shootout win over England in 1998 was back.

Someone clapped.

A few seconds later, the entire training ground erupted in applause.

Carlos Roa was back.