Even though Salah had long since parted ways with Liverpool and Leon was fully used to having him as a Chelsea player,
seeing him celebrate a goal against his forr club with such joy still felt a little surreal.
"Mo, how does it feel scoring at Anfield?"
Leon grinned, throwing an arm over Salah's shoulder after the group celebration began to settle.
Salah bead, his smile as wide as ever. He placed both hands on his chest, then opened them up into a firework-like gesture.
"Unbelievable! When the ball went in, I swear it felt like fireworks going off inside !"
"Good, then next ti if I've got the ball, and you make that sa run, I'll be looking for you. Let's go get another one."
"Thank you, brother. You really are a good man…"
The two walked back together, chatting casually—an easy camaraderie between teammates.
anwhile, on the sideline, Brendan Rodgers clutched his hair, fretting over his limited bench options.
Based on the first 20 minutes, Rodgers wasn't too worried about Liverpool's ability to build attacks.
Even though his young wingers had been inconsistent, Suárez was in top form.
Rodgers was confident that if he funneled enough play through the Uruguayan striker, sothing would happen.
But defensively, on the flanks, Rodgers had no answers for Chelsea's relentless wide attacks.
With Salah replacing De Bruyne in the starting XI, Chelsea's wing play beca even more explosive.
Their midfield dominance ant they were dictating the tempo and controlling most of the possession.
And with Hazard and Salah receiving the ball constantly in forward areas, they were repeatedly shredding Liverpool's wide defense.
If Liverpool had gone with a 4-4-2 today, at least they could've pulled the wide midfielders back to help the fullbacks defend.
But no—they stuck with an attacking 4-3-3. Neither winger was interested in defending.
That left the midfield with all the pressure.
Emre Can, for all his talent, loved to bomb forward—often leaving his zone wide open on defense.
Gerrard, aging, couldn't cover the sa ground anymore.
And Henderson? A willing workhorse, yes, but it was never enough on his own.
What Liverpool desperately needed was a reliable defensive midfielder with so ability to organize play.
But they didn't have one.
They used to—last season, when Lucas Leiva was healthy, he had filled that role admirably.
He and Henderson made a well-balanced duo, shoring up both defense and midfield transitions.
But this season, after just four gas, Lucas went down again.
And with that, Liverpool's form took a nosedive.
Now, with Joe Allen and Lallana sitting on the bench, neither could truly replicate Lucas's role.
Rodgers had tactical solutions—but without the right players to execute them, his hands were tied.
After the match resud, Rodgers could be seen shouting from the sideline,
urging Emre Can to track back and cover his position,
while frantically signaling Sterling and Coutinho to drop deeper in defense.
It was a band-aid solution at best.
Having taken a 1–0 lead, Chelsea saw no need to keep hamring away at Liverpool's defense.
Rodgers had set up his team with an attacking mindset at ho,
and now that they were trailing, it was inevitable that Liverpool would start pushing forward aggressively.
Chelsea knew this. They didn't even wait for Mourinho's instructions.
The players themselves shifted into a defensive counter-attacking formation.
De Bruyne, who'd spent the first 20-odd minutes trying to figure out the holding midfield role,
was quietly nudged forward by Leon into a more familiar central position.
Chelsea were back in their go-to 4-2-3-1.
anwhile, Mourinho, still discussing tactical options with assistant coach Holland on the touchline,
looked up to see the players had already switched formations on their own.
The fluidity of the change made him smile—half-pride, half-resignation.
"Great. Now the dia's going to say I set them up to play conservatively again…"
He muttered jokingly.
Holland just chuckled. The dia's opinion wasn't worth worrying about.
A winning tactic was a good tactic—simple as that.
And with the board and fans fully backing Mourinho after last season's double trophy haul,
there wasn't a better man to build Chelsea's foundation for greatness.
From Holland and the coaching staff's perspective,
the tactical frawork they'd worked so hard to build was clearly the right one for this Chelsea team.
High-pressing, high-octane play looked great—sure.
And it could produce thrilling matches.
But it wasn't always necessary.
When the opponent was clearly weaker, it made more sense to play a cost-effective strategy.
Expend less energy. Conserve player fitness.
Reserve full-throttle pressing for the real heavyweights.
If you could score and then sit back to counter, that was the smarter move.
The fact that Chelsea's players chose to fall into this pattern today
proved just how much they'd internalized Mourinho's philosophy.
As for Leon, inviting Liverpool forward to compress space and then launching a counterattack was absolutely the right call.
Any team that underestimated a trailing Liverpool at Anfield,
tried to go toe-to-toe and play open football against them,
was asking for trouble.
In the latter part of the first half, Chelsea sat deep and held firm.
If the counter was on, they went for it. If not, they patiently stayed back.
Liverpool didn't imdiately go all-in either.
They still tried to break through Chelsea's defense with structured attacks.
But the outco was clear.
Suárez was elite—but even he needed support.
Matic shut down Coutinho's inward cuts,
and Leon turned Sterling into a confused ss.
And it wasn't just that Sterling hadn't matured into the left-wing killer he'd later beco—
today, Leon was just on another level.
Even at his peak, not even Sterling could expect more than a couple of decent shooting chances per ga when he was being man-marked by Leon.
Chelsea's strategy of shutting down both Liverpool wingers and isolating Suárez had proven ruthlessly effective.
Still, in first-half stoppage ti, Suárez managed to shake off Terry and curl a disguised shot that struck the far post.
That brilliant bit of solo effort left many Chelsea fans in front of their TVs breaking into a cold sweat.
At halfti, Mourinho repeatedly drilled into his players just how dangerous Suárez was in the final third.
Not just in the box—everywhere.
"Poaching, dribbling, long shots, set-pieces—he's good at all of it. There's a reason Liverpool fans call him a complete attacker.
You cannot give him ti or space in our defensive third, especially when he's unmarked.
He's like a viper—he might lie in wait for most of the ga, but the one ti you let your guard down, he'll strike and punish you!"
Mourinho's warning put everyone on edge. Chelsea's starting XI ca out in the second half with their eyes locked on Suárez.
Liverpool, true to form, abandoned their patient build-up play and went all-out with a high press and full-frontal assault.
It was a risky move that left their back line exposed,
but on the other end, Suárez looked more alive than ever.
In the 56th minute, Gerrard surged up the right and, just as he entered Chelsea's defensive third, whipped in a curving cross toward the far post.
Thiago Silva recognized the danger imdiately and dropped back, tracking any potential runner.
But Gerrard's delivery fell just outside his zone.
Terry was half a step late—and Suárez pounced.
Beating Terry in a burst of pace, he stabbed the ball toward goal.
Cech, however, was not to be beaten so easily.
Just when Suárez thought he'd scored, Cech extended an impossibly long arm and managed to tip the ball just enough to redirect it…
Off the post. Again.
Suárez, stunned, clutched his head and stood frozen in the box.
Terry and Cech collided in celebration.
Two goalposts.
Anfield's woodwork had twice denied Suárez.
Liverpool's growing rhythm and attacking confidence evaporated in a heartbeat—crushed by fate.
There's a well-known saying in football that most fans believe in:
If you waste your chances, you will be punished.
It sounds superstitious, but in practice, it plays out all too often.
If Suárez had scored, Liverpool's risky press would've been worth it.
But since he didn't, all they'd done was leave themselves vulnerable.
And Cech's miraculous save?
It lit a fire under Chelsea.
Before Liverpool could regroup or adjust tactics, Chelsea struck back on the counter.
With Emre Can and Gerrard both out of position,
and no fullbacks recovered yet, Chelsea's counterattack tore straight through the heart of Liverpool's defense.
Hazard zipped down the left and delivered a low ball across the box.
Ibrahimović, at the edge of the area, backheeled it sharply to the top of the arc.
Leon, sprinting in support, didn't imdiately fire.
He took the ball into the box, drawing out both Mignolet and Škrtel—
then flicked the ball sideways.
Ibra had barely moved after his pass, lingering near the far post.
His lack of urgency kept him onside.
And when Leon's pass reached him again, he tapped it into the open net.
Ibrahimović turned to the bench, laughing and pointing at Leon.
Once again, the Milan brotherhood had delivered.
Thiago Silva, watching from the back, pumped his fist.
"Leon assists Ibrahimović! Another blow to Liverpool! This is becoming an uphill battle at Anfield…"
Jian Jun sighed in the broadcast booth, while Coach Zhang chuckled and launched into praise for Leon's brilliant vision.
But the ga wasn't over.
In the 78th minute, Leon broke free again, driving forward from midfield and taking out two defenders before slipping a pass to Hazard—
who coolly chipped the keeper for Chelsea's third.
With a hat-trick of assists secured, Leon was subbed off for Mikel.
The match, for all intents and purposes, was done.
Liverpool didn't give up.
They fought till the final whistle, but they couldn't salvage even a consolation goal.
3–0.
Not a massive scoreline, but certainly not small—
especially for Anfield, where Liverpool hadn't suffered such a one-sided loss in years.
Twice they ca within inches of equalizing.
But anyone who watched the ga knew: Chelsea had simply been clinical.
When the final whistle blew, Suárez pulled his jersey over his head.
He was furious. Disappointed. But there was no one to lash out at.
Leon approached and exchanged shirts with him.
After a hug and a few whispered words, Leon turned and walked away smiling.
Suárez stood there, stunned for a mont… then cracked a smile of his own.
After thanking the fans alongside his teammates, Suárez returned to the dressing room.
He went through his usual routine, greeting staff and heading into the showers.
The hot water washed away the sweat from his body—
but it only stoked the fire burning in his chest.
Leon's final words still echoed in his mind:
"If you ever get the chance… think about us. I'll be waiting at Stamford Bridge."
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