After completing the traditional lap of appreciation for the fans, Liverpool's players returned to the dressing room.
The mont the door closed, shutting out the stadium's roar, a different kind of energy filled the space which was more intimate, more instinctual.
Laughter and banter bounced off the walls.
Sweat-soaked red shirts lay scattered across the floor. Damp towels hung from locker handles. The air was filled with the sweet relief of victory, that particular looseness that only cos after demolishing your fiercest rival.
Julien had just removed his shin guards when Coutinho sidled over, nudging his shoulder with an elbow. "That move you pulled on Phil Jones down the left wing—mate, I was watching from the bench and my jaw hit the floor. The way you chopped the ball, he had absolutely no idea what was happening!"
Julien smiled, wiping sweat from his temple, and tossed over an unopened bottle of water. "Only because you cut inside and dragged two defenders with you. That's what gave the space to run."
Coutinho caught the bottle, twisted it open, and took a long drink before pointing at Julien's boots. "Next training session, you've got to teach that footwork. Those little chops you do, I swear my turns aren't as sharp as yours."
The two leaned against their lockers, trading observations about on-field details, their voices were overlapping in easy rhythm like who'd just shared sothing special.
Gerrard was bent over tying his trainers. Hearing their conversation, he glanced up with a knowing smile. "That's pure talent, lads. You can't teach that."
Laughter resounded through across the room.
It was true. The longer you played at this level, the more you understood: talent set the ceiling. Hard work could raise your floor, sure but what separated the good from the great? That was written in your DNA.
Gerrard grabbed a towel, wiped down his face, and straightened up. "Beating anyone feels good, but beating United like that, 6-0 at Anfield? Making them feel what it's like to be completely dominated? That's sothing else entirely."
More laughter, this ti was louder, more releasing.
To destroy your greatest rival on your own patch, by that scoreline was pure ecstasy.
"When I was coming off, I heard the Kop singing 'United's going ho!'" soone called out. "Best feeling in the world, ha-ha!"
"We've got them again in the League Cup, right? Let's hamr them again, make them scared every ti they see us!"
"Seriously, if we can beat United 6-0, who the hell can stop us?"
Julien sat among his teammates with a smile on his face as he listened to the banter fly back and forth.
They were right, of course. United had been utterly broken tonight.
But rationally, United might have been the easiest opponent they'd face this season. The real threats were still out there: Chelsea, Manchester City, even Arsenal.
Arsenal were only struggling because of limited investnt and an injury crisis that wrecked their consistency. But to call them weak would be an insult to Wenger's tactical wisdom.
After the conversation about United died down, Gerrard turned his attention to Sturridge, praising his sharpness since returning from injury.
Sturridge shrugged helplessly, though there was humor in his eyes. "Could've had two more goals tonight, to be honest. Bit unlucky with my finishing."
Then he looked over at Julien. "Good work tonight, kid. I'm already looking forward to the next match. Plenty more nights like this ahead of us."
Gradually, the noise in the dressing room settled into a comfortable hum.
Julien stepped into the shower, letting the hot water pour over his tired muscles. Once he was alone, he pulled up his internal system display to check his victory points.
His jaw almost dropped.
145 total victory points.
After the match against Belarus during the international break, he'd earned five points, bringing his total to 65. That ant tonight's demolition of Manchester United had earned him 80 points.
Julien wanted to laugh out loud but managed to suppress it, as teammates were in the adjacent stalls, and he didn't need them thinking he'd lost his mind.
But damn. Eighty points for one match.
In Ligue 1, he'd been earning just a handful of points per ga. But here in the Premier League, one North West Derby had given him eighty.
Sure, future derbies probably wouldn't be this lucrative as tonight's scoreline was historic. But still, this was leagues better than France.
He considered his options. His attacking attributes were solid enough for now, so he didn't need to spend points on incrental stat increases. The other locked abilities required more points than he currently had to unlock.
If he wanted to establish himself in the Premier League quickly, really cent his place among the elite, he needed sothing imdiate. Sothing impactful.
Simple and brutal: open loot boxes.
Oops open Victory Chests
Without hesitation, Julien spent 100 victory points to purchase a Chest. After a brief mont of pondering, he opened it.
[Victory Chest Opened x1]
[Random Enhancent Ability Acquired — Ball Control Attribute Enhanced!]
[Ball Control Enhancent 1: When Passing, Shooting, and Ball Control attributes all reach ≥80, you will gain significantly improved curve ball ability. The ball's arc will be more obvious in the early and middle flight phases, with sharper dip or drift in the final phase. Landing accuracy improved by 25%.
In headwind conditions, this effect is enhanced by an additional 10%. In tailwind conditions, the effect is reduced by 10%, with increased risk of excessive drift.
Warning: Extended use of high-quality curve balls will place significant strain on ankle and knee joints.]
'Curve balls?!'
Julien stared at the notification. This was the first ti he'd received a ball control enhancent.
When he'd decided to open the Chest, he'd only hoped for sothing useful on the attacking end—even a small boost to shot power or crossing accuracy would've given him an edge in the Premier League. He hadn't dared dream of sothing as specialized as this.
But he understood imdiately how valuable it was.
The Premier League played in wind. Lots of it. Especially at Anfield during winter, when headwinds were constant. A ball that curved more aggressively and dipped late would be a nightmare for opposing goalkeepers.
Even for crossing, a sweeping curve could bend around fullbacks and find teammates in the box far more effectively than his previous, more direct deliveries.
As for the warning about joint strain? He dismissed it instantly. His injury attribute ant he got stronger when hurt. Let the wear and tear co.
He pulled up his full attribute screen, scanning through his stats and enhancent abilities, this was his foundation.
His mood brightened even further.
This curve ball enhancent wasn't only random luck. It was earned—won through victory in the North West Derby, purchased with hard-earned points.
If he wanted more abilities like this, he'd need to win more matches. He'd need to shine brighter in the Premier League.
And in the long term, the World Cup at the end of this season. And next season's Champions League.
Yes, he was already thinking about next season's Champions League. Liverpool had reached the final without him this past season, finishing as runners-up. And with him in the squad?
Julien was confident they could win it all.
This was the post-Ferguson era. A ti of chaos, with multiple clubs vying for title.
He would lead Liverpool to beco the strongest of them all.
The Premier League would remain bathed in red but not Manchester red anymore.
Liverpool red.
While the dressing rooms processed the match in their own ways, both managers faced the dia in post-match press conferences.
The atmosphere in the press room was electric. Reporters were almost wild with excitent, this match was pure tabloid gold.
Compared to Brendan Rodgers, David Moyes looked like a man heading to his own execution.
The pressure was suffocating.
Cara flashes fired continuously as Moyes entered the press conference room. Journalists had their notebooks open, recorders were thrust forward. Even the air felt tense.
Moyes walked to the podium and sat heavily, saying nothing for several seconds. Finally, the moderator prompted, "We're ready for questions."
Moyes slowly raised his eyes.
The first question ca instantly:
"This is your first competitive defeat as Manchester United manager, losing 6-0 to your fiercest rivals. Did you anticipate a result like this? What do you believe was the core reason for the loss?"
Moyes's voice was lower than usual sounding drained of any energy. "No one could have imagined this scoreline. Not , not anyone.
The responsibility for this defeat is mine. Not the players'.
Our tactical setup couldn't cope with Liverpool's press. Their wide attacks were too quick. De Rocca's movent and passing completely dismantled our defensive structure. Our attack didn't find any rhythm until the second half, and by then it was far too late.
The defensive gaps were larger than I'd anticipated. We made too many passing errors. This wasn't the standard Manchester United should be held to. I take full responsibility."
A follow-up question ca instantly: "De Rocca completed a double hat-trick tonight—six goal contributions. Did his performance exceed your expectations? Why was your defense completely unable to contain him?"
At the ntion of Julien's na, Moyes's expression darkened slightly, but he didn't evade the question. "De Rocca's performance tonight was exceptional. His talent and football intelligence are far beyond his years.
We had a defensive plan specifically designed to limit him, but the players couldn't execute it properly on the pitch. We gave him too much space.
Every breakthrough, every pass he made was threatening. That's Liverpool's fortune and it's sothing we need to reflect on deeply. Limiting the opposition's key player is fundantal to defending. We failed. That's on my tactics."
Another reporter pressed forward, "Sir Alex Ferguson was in attendance tonight. Do you think this humiliation will make United fans nostalgic for his reign? How long will it take for you to restore the 'Red Devils spirit' to this squad?"
Moyes paused for several seconds before responding, his gaze was sweeping across the room. "Sir Alex gave this club 27 years. His achievents are unmatched. Of course, the fans will miss him—that's natural. But I'm not here to be compared to him. I'm here to move this team forward."
His voice carried a forced note of determination. "We're in a transitional period. This defeat will help us see the gap more clearly. But I won't give up. I'll work with the players to analyze the problems and adjust as quickly as possible."
Another journalist asked: "You'll face Liverpool again at Old Trafford in the League Cup third round later this month. Will tonight's 6-0 loss affect that match?"
Moyes shook his head. "No. We'll learn from tonight's mistakes and approach that ga with more composure. We're desperate to bring a victory back for our supporters at ho and prove we're still England's best team."
Finally, a reporter went for the throat, "After such a heavy defeat in your first major test, there's already outside speculation about your position. Are you worried about your job security? How will you adjust the squad moving forward?"
Moyes took a deep breath. "I understand the outside criticism. Any fan watching their team lose 6-0 to their biggest rival would be upset. But right now, I'm not thinking about job security. I'm thinking about solving problems.
We'll rebuild our defensive structure, strengthen our midfield's ability to break up play, and have one-on-one conversations with players to help them regain confidence.
Manchester United is a great club. We won't crumble because of one heavy defeat.
I'll shoulder my responsibilities and do everything in my power to lead this team out of this valley."
The press conference continued in that manner with Moyes absorbing blow after blow, never deflecting bla onto his players.
When it ended, Moyes rose quickly, his silhouette was disappearing from view as he escaped the room.
This 6-0 defeat wasn't just a scoreline now. It was the first heavy shadow casted over his Manchester United career.
On the other side, Brendan Rodgers was far more relaxed. Remarkably, he didn't let the victory go to his head.
He kept his comnts restrained, "Tonight's 6-0 ans more to Liverpool than just three league points. The North West Derby is our defining rivalry, and to win it, especially this convincingly is a shot of adrenaline for every Kopite.
We've reclaid our dominance in this fixture and shown the entire Premier League that Liverpool is serious about winning.
This scoreline will be etched into the 100-year history of this derby. We've never dominated United like this before.
And then there's Julien, just eighteen years old, delivering a double hat-trick on his derby debut. His dribbling tore apart their defense, his passing was surgical, and his composure in such a high-pressure environnt didn't look like a newcor at all.
The entire squad's effort earned this win, but Julien gave it extra weight. He showed us that Anfield has a new heir. This victory isn't just a mory, it's the beginning of Liverpool's future."
When the press conference ended, Rodgers exited with his head held high.
That night, the city of Liverpool remained awake, still buzzing with euphoria.
The fire couldn't be extinguished.
And across England, the dia exploded.
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