The thunderous impact drew the attention of everyone in the stadium. Old Trafford fell into instant silence as Leo Lin and Matić lay tangled on the turf, one of Leo Lin's legs draped across Matić's body.
Matić desperately wanted to shove the leg away, but he couldn't lift his own—he was in too much pain.
Lying on the ground, Leo Lin gave his teammates a quick wink. As soon as the referee approached, he slipped on his carefully crafted mask of agony.
Matić lay beside him, motionless, watching the entire process as Leo Lin seamlessly switched into his "injured" act.
Matić also wore a mask of pain—only his was very real, not Leo Lin's homade version.
The referee imdiately waved for both teams' dical staff to co on. Liverpool's physio grabbed the dical kit and was about to sprint onto the pitch when Klopp suddenly stopped him and whispered,
"Water. Bring two bottles of water."
"You really think that guy's injured?"
"Soone with real abdominal pain can't roll around like that, let alone talk. Take two bottles up—let them rehydrate."
"It looks bad right now. Leo Lin seems to be in a lot of pain, clutching his stomach and groaning on the ground."
"But from the replay, you can see Leo Lin protected himself perfectly when they landed. Matić ca down awkwardly and lost his balance."
"And in the final close-up, it's Matić whose stomach made direct contact with the turf."
On the touchline, Mourinho—battle-hardened and experienced—saw straight through Leo Lin's little trick. Back in his Real Madrid days, he'd had Sergio Ramos pull the sa stunt more than once.
So how could Mourinho not know what Leo Lin was doing? Furious, he stord toward the fourth official, shouting at the referee.
"He's acting! That was a red card! A disgusting foul!"
"What?"
"Fair challenge?"
"Both players went in with force?"
"No one can control themselves in the air?"
"Look at him—he's built like a tank!"
Mourinho was livid. He'd always believed that only his teams were supposed to dish out this kind of damage—never take it.
He had signaled Matić earlier, telling him to "deal with" this young kid.
A rookie new to the Premier League was supposed to pay his dues.
What Mourinho hadn't expected was that Leo Lin wouldn't pay protection at all—and would instead turn around and slap the collector twice, brazen and fearless.
Once Liverpool's physio ca on, he made a show of spraying so cold spray on Leo Lin's abdon. Though it was completely useless for stomach pain, he then handed out multiple bottles of water to the Liverpool players.
What should have been an injury stoppage turned into a full hydration break for Liverpool.
On the other side, Manchester United's dical staff spent a full five minutes treating Matić. Only then did he slowly recover, eventually being helped to the touchline to wait for permission to return.
Play resud, and Liverpool imdiately surged forward, taking full advantage of United being a man short.
Matić paced anxiously on the sideline.
He waved frantically at the referee, but a player forced off due to injury had to wait for the referee's signal before re-entering.
Liverpool pressed up in numbers, their entire formation pushed beyond the halfway line. Even Henderson, sitting deepest in midfield, carried the ball forward past the center circle.
Strike while the iron is hot.
Manchester United dropped back in a hurry, but there was nowhere left to retreat. Pinned inside their own box, their defensive shape collapsed completely.
"United's formation has lost all depth—that's the worst possible mistake. Liverpool will get more chances now!"
And sure enough, Leo Lin made a sharp run, dragging Herrera out of position with a clever reverse movent.
The space at the top of United's penalty arc was completely unguarded.
Henderson's eyes lit up—he saw the perfect passing lane.
With his left foot, he slid a razor-sharp through ball straight through United's defensive line.
Jones threw himself into a sliding challenge, but could only watch as the pass zipped past him.
"What a pass—right through the defense!"
"Mané picks it up on the left and drives into the box!"
"One-on-one!"
"He slips it past the keeper!"
"Brilliant!"
"De Gea finally beaten!"
"Mané doesn't miss this ti!"
"The Iron Man—Mané scores!"
"Liverpool take the lead! Manchester United trail by one!"
The cara followed Mané sprinting away in celebration, then imdiately cut to Mourinho on the sideline. The Special One looked ready to breathe fire.
"Why wasn't Matić allowed straight back on the pitch?"
"Why?!"
"Why are we playing a man down? That goal isn't fair!"
"You—!"
Mourinho completely lost it. The referee rushed over—not to calm him down, but to show him a yellow card.
"One more outburst like that, and you're off."
Mourinho's face turned a deep shade of gray. Confronted with the referee—the ultimate authority during a match—he could only swallow his anger.
Liverpool fans erupted in celebration. The Reds had completely seized control, celebrating wildly at Old Trafford.
Once play restarted, Manchester United threw themselves forward like a team possessed.
"United are desperate to equalize before halfti. If they can go into the break level, they'll still have a chance to turn this around."
"A high ball straight down the middle—floated into the box!"
"They're looking to use Lukaku's aerial strength—and he wins the first contact!"
"Laid off to the left—shot coming!"
"Wide!"
"The ho fans thought it was in, but it missed!"
Before United could even catch their breath, Mignolet grabbed the ball from the ball boy and imdiately took a quick goal kick, launching it long to the left.
"Looking for Mané—chest control, one touch past his man!"
"Charging down the left, powering through!"
"Cut back!"
"Shot!"
"Blocked—still alive!"
"Follow-up!"
"Firmino fires twice, both saved brilliantly by De Gea!"
"The ga has completely opened up now—both teams attacking nonstop! This is ferocious!"
Even Jon Champion's voice was tight with tension.
"This is a critical mont!"
"Whoever survives this end-to-end stretch without conceding will seize control of the match again!"
The first half ca to an end, and both teams headed back to their dressing rooms.
And in a rare coincidence, the ssages from Klopp and Mourinho to their teams were almost identical.
"From the first whistle of the second half, we go straight at them. Nobody drops back!"
"They want to play rough. They want to play dirty!"
"Then we give it to them for real!"
...
60 Chapters Ahead)
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