Following two rounds of reduction and restructuring, the Russian Premier League now consists of 16 teams.
However, only six of them have ever claimed the championship, marking them as the most competitive and historically significant clubs in the league.
Moscow, as the largest football hub in the nation, is home to four of these elite teams.
Its stadiums are steeped in history, carrying countless stories and raw emotions.
It is also, without a-doubt, one of the away destinations most dreaded by major European clubs.
The reasons are threefold.
First, the long, grueling journey.
econd, the bitter, bone-chilling weather. And third, the intense, almost feral atmosphere created by the local fans.
After all, it's an unnerving sight. When your own substitutes are shivering on the bench, bundled in thick down jackets and looking miserable, the home fans are roaring in the stands, often shirtless, their bodies forming a wall of defiance against the cold.
Fights in the stands are not uncommon; they are part of the spectacle.
This stark, primal contrast creates immense psychological pressure.
Just as Ling stepped out of the airport terminal with his teammates, his phone already out, he caught sight of the nearby Baroque-style architecture.
He'd mostly been cooped up in Manchester, with little time to travel, and he found himself suddenly and genuinely interested.
"Bloody hell, it's freezing," Ander Herrera grumbled, pulling his club-issued snood up over his nose.
"My fingers are already numb," Jesse Lingard chimed in, doing a small, ineffective dance on the pavement to keep warm.
Nemanja Matić, a veteran of these harsh Eastern European trips, simply laughed.
"This is nothing, Ander. It's just a bit colder than Manchester. If we came in December... that's when your breath freezes and you can't feel your feet."
"Are we going to the Luzhniki Stadium?" Ling suddenly asked, puzzled. "The one that hosted the '08 Champions League final?"
He had been so focused on his tactical prep that he'd forgotten to look up the other details.
Michael Carrick, walking beside him, shook his head, a distant, nostalgic look crossing his face.
"No, CSKA moved to a new stadium last season. I think it's called the VEB Arena now." He surveyed the familiar, gray Moscow sky.
"The Luzhniki... that was nine years ago."
Ling watched the veteran midfielder.
Carrick's eyes seemed to unfocus, his pace slowing slightly as he looked past the bus, past the airport, and into a memory only he could see.
Nine years ago.
The Champions League final, held right here in this city.
Both Manchester United, under the legendary Sir Alex Ferguson, returning to the final after nine long years of rebuilding, and Chelsea, making their first-ever final in club history, were desperate for that trophy.
And he, Michael Carrick, had started as Manchester United's central midfielder.
On that merciless, rainy night, Ronaldo and Lampard had each scored, locking the match at 1-1 and sending it to a brutal penalty shootout.
What happened next is etched into football history.
Cech saved Ronaldo's penalty. Then, Chelsea captain John Terry, with a chance to win it all, slipped on the wet 12-yard spot.
When Edwin van der Sar saved Anelka's subsequent penalty, Manchester United stood atop Europe once again.
It was a true conquest of Europe—25 Champions League matches unbeaten across seasons.
Time, Carrick thought, feels like a cycle.
But his former teammates—Scholes, Giggs, Ferdinand, Vidić—had long since departed.
Only he was left, a lone sentinel struggling on from a bygone era.
He sighed silently, the puff of air immediately visible in the cold.
Ling recalled that match carefully; it truly was an epic.
Back then, Manchester United seemed to have a 100% win rate in finals.
But the story that followed was a tragic one for the club.
They reached the final again the very next year, only to be clinically defeated 2-0 by Guardiola's "Dream Team" Barcelona.
Two years later, they made the final again, and lost 3-1 to that same, seemingly invincible Barcelona.
After that, their Champions League performance plummeted.
They never even reached the semifinals again.
Barcelona is truly Manchester United's nemesis, Ling thought, his lips twitching slightly.
He felt a familiar, competitive fire light in his stomach.
He wondered if he would get the chance to face their old rivals in this season's Champions League, to test his new, system-enhanced abilities against the very best.
Soon enough, the team arrived at their hotel.
Mourinho first held a meeting, his voice crisp and formal as he emphasized the tactical approach for this match and each player's primary responsibilities.
As he spoke, he suddenly noticed a subtle change in the players' attitude toward him. It was fractional, but it was there.
The atmosphere was... lighter.
The players, particularly the senior ones, seemed less tense than they had been after the Southampton match.
Their eyes met his with a new, shared resolve.
He suspected it might be related to the menino, Jeremy Ling, and the private chat they'd had.
Or perhaps it was the influence of Zlatan, roaring from the rehab room back in Manchester.
José, being José, would never ask directly. He filed the observation away and buried his doubts, focusing on the task.
....
After the meeting ended, Ling had a quick meal, greeted his teammates, and returned to his room.
He needed to prepare.
The world faded, and the familiar blue interface shimmered in his vision.
[SYSTEM: TACTICAL ANALYSIS MODULE ACTIVATED]
He loaded the video of the previous Champions League group stage match: CSKA Moscow's 2-1 victory over Benfica.
He wasn't just watching—he was processing.
[Scanning Target: CSKA Moscow (Home)]
[Key Weakness Detected: Defensive Line Avg. Age 33.4]
[Key Weakness Detected: Low Agility / Slow Turn Radius (Berezutski twins, Ignashevich)]
[Key Strength: High Aggression / Coordinated Press. 14 fouls committed (8 in first 30 mins)]
The system confirmed what the coaching staff's data had suggested.
The home team had intensified their high press, using a string of calculated fouls to disrupt Benfica's rhythm, thereby masking their own glaring defensive weaknesses: slow speed and a lack of ball-playing ability from the back.
This was the key.
So, Mourinho's strategy was highly targeted—fight fire with fire.
Strengthen the midfield and use a high forward press to exploit the opponent's sluggishness.
However, this tactic required Mkhitaryan to drift centrally to organize attacks.
This meant Ling's role was different.
He couldn't just be a mindless winger, drifting wide. He had to tuck inside, forming a fluid, dual-striker partnership with Lukaku.
He was, essentially, playing as a second striker.
His system flashed his own stats: [Dribbling: 80.1], [Pace: 88.3], [Finishing: 74.6].
He had the tools.
In theory, this role should allow him to perform even better.
It was the role Ronaldo had evolved into during his peak—a player with the ability and coverage to handle the duties of both a traditional striker and a creator.
Driving forward, finishing, organizing... The most crucial aspect would be how he applied himself.
....
Time flew by. September 28th. The VEB Arena.
The stadium was packed. It was a cauldron of noise.
Over twenty thousand local fans crammed into the home stands, loudly singing their team's anthem.
Their bare bodies, exposed to the freezing air, formed an impressive, intimidating wall of muscle.
Tucked into their pants, red and blue smoke flares were ready, waiting to be lit in celebration after a goal.
As for the Manchester United fans in the away section, their numbers were significantly smaller.
....
On the BT Sport pre-match broadcast, the pundits were quick to notice.
Jake Humphrey: "Welcome back. Now, Rio, we're looking at the away end, and it looks a bit... empty. United fans usually travel in massive numbers for Europe, especially for the Champions League."
Rio Ferdinand: (Shaking his head) "It's no surprise, Jake. Listen, Moscow is a tough trip, end of. But there's history here. You've got to remember the Euros last year. The scenes with the England fans and the... let's call them 'organized' local 'supporters.'"
Owen Hargreaves: "They call them the 'Fighting Nation' for a reason. It was brutal. I think a lot of fans just looked at this trip—the cold, the cost, and the very real potential for trouble—and just said, 'Not for me, I'll watch it in the pub.'"
Rio: "Exactly. Some of those notorious English hooligans went looking for trouble, verbally assaulted locals, even burned an ELS flag. The response was... decisive. Those ELS fans, armed with bottles and seemingly unbothered, routed over two thousand English fans. The trauma from that is still fresh. It's a shame for the team, but it's the reality. The players will have to make their own noise tonight."
....
By now, both teams had finished their warm-ups and returned to the locker rooms for final preparations.
Mourinho's voice cut through the tension.
"Listen to me," he said, his eyes scanning the room. "Do you hear them? They think this is their night. They think we are soft. They are wrong."
He tapped the tactics board. "Their defense. The average age is over thirty-three. Thirty-three. They are slow. They are old. I want Romelu to bully them. I want 'Micki' to run them in circles."
He locked eyes with Ling.
"Ling. Your task. You are the knife. When Mkhitaryan moves central, you attack the space. Your pace against their age. It is a mismatch. I want you to be relentless. Seize the start, establish an advantage, and kill this match early. Do not give them hope."
Ling nodded, his voice firm. "Coach, I've got it."
Soon, led by the staff, the players from both teams left the locker rooms and stood in the narrow tunnel. Jeremy stood at the center of the lineup.
As they walked out, the noise hit him like a physical force—a deafening, primal roar.
The temperature dropped instantly. He instinctively took a deep breath, the ice-cold air stinging his lungs.
This is it.
He looked around at the sea of red and blue, the smoke from the flares already starting to rise.
My Champions League debut.
He could feel the thrum of his system, his [Composure: 75.0] stat fighting the butterflies.
I can only succeed. I must not fail.
Herrera, next to him, bounced on his toes.
After transferring from Athletic Bilbao, he'd thought it was the start of his peak.
But after Pogba's arrival, he'd spent most of his time on the bench.
Today, with a rare opportunity to start, he was determined to earn more trust from Mourinho.
On the other side, the CSKA Moscow players cast provocative glances.
Previously, Manchester United had never lost a match at their home ground.
But times had changed.
They were ready to play the role of "giant killers" and show the world what the "Red-Blue Legion" was all about.