The VEB Arena, once a cauldron of intimidating noise, was now as quiet as a library.
The shirtless, defiant home fans, who had braved the freezing temperatures, were now silently pulling their clothes back on.
Their earlier endurance had been fueled entirely by the fervor in their hearts, but now, 3-0 down, all they felt was the bleak, biting northern wind.
Seeing Manchester United leading by three goals with an entire half to play, José Mourinho decisively instructed his players to slow the tempo.
He signaled from the sideline: "Control. No risks."
This was, after all, just a Champions League group stage match.
There was no need to create a 7-0 rout, especially away from home.
Any injuries or, worse, red cards arising from a needless conflict would be unacceptable for a Manchester United squad already plagued by injuries to key players like Pogba and Fellaini.
But the situation on the pitch didn't calm down as he expected.
Instead, as the half wound down, the tension grew fiercer.
The CSKA players were proud, and they were being embarrassed.
In the 42nd minute: Nemanja Matić, who had been a colossus in midfield, stepped in to intercept a pass from Golovin.
As the Serbian turned to launch another attack, the frustrated 21-year-old Russian grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him directly to the ground.
Both 6'4" players tumbled to the turf in a heap.
It was a clear, cynical, "frustration" foul.
Beeep!
The match referee, Jonas Eriksson, was on the scene instantly.
He decisively blew his whistle and marched over, his hand already reaching for his pocket.
He showed Golovin a yellow card.
With his timely, no-nonsense intervention, players from both teams, who had started to converge, quietly dispersed.
The potential for a mass brawl was defused.
As possession changed hands, time continued to tick away.
Soon, the referee blew for the end of the first half.
Under the watchful, resigned eyes of tens of thousands of CSKA Moscow supporters, the Manchester United players quickly jogged toward the tunnel.
Although the weather in Moscow in September wasn't at its absolute worst, it was still deeply uncomfortable.
The decision to wear long-sleeved jerseys was a wise one.
Inside the dressing room, the atmosphere was positive.
Mourinho waited for everyone to settle before speaking.
"Good. The plan is working," he began, his voice calm and formal.
He offered some brief, specific praise.
"Romelu, your hold-up play is perfect. Ling, the runs are exactly what we discussed. Ander, the press... fantastic."
Then, his tone shifted.
The warmth vanished.
"But," he said, his eyes scanning every player, "it is only half-time. Three-nil is the most dangerous score in football."
He pointed a finger. "Do not underestimate their resilience. Do not be arrogant. Comebacks on the football pitch are not just not uncommon... they are history. They are our history."
"You all remember the Miracle of Istanbul, yes? 3-0 at half-time. Finished 3-3."
He looked at Michael Carrick, the only one in the room who truly remembered.
"And we do not need to look at other clubs. We have our own painful lesson. 2010. Champions League, against Bayern Munich. We are 3-0 up in the first half... and we are eliminated from the competition."
The room was silent.
He was right.
United had won that match 3-2 but were knocked out on away goals.
The 3-0 lead had meant nothing.
"So, the second half," Mourinho concluded, "we are professional. We are solid. We control the tempo. We do not give them a single sniff of hope. Do not let them score. An early goal for them, and this entire stadium believes again. Do you understand me?"
A chorus of "Yes, Coach" echoed back.
...
After the second half began, CSKA Moscow made a change.
They decisively abandoned any pretense of controlling the midfield.
They set up a dense, low defensive block, with ten men behind the thirty-meter mark, daring United to break them down.
And suddenly, Manchester United's lack of Paul Pogba became glaringly apparent.
Without the Frenchman's unique blend of power, creativity, and press-resistance, United's control in the midfield and attacking third severely declined.
They couldn't press the opposition's deep defense effectively.
Henrikh Mkhitaryan, tasked with being the primary playmaker in this match, began to struggle.
The Armenian was a brilliant attacker in open space, but he wilted under constant, physical pressure.
his weakness, his inability to handle the ball in a phone box, was precisely why he couldn't quite be considered a truly top-tier, elite player.
To find space, he had to continuously drop deeper and deeper, which only compressed United's own shape and made it easier for CSKA to defend.
In the 57th minute of the match, the danger Mourinho had warned about almost materialized.
As soon as Mkhitaryan received a pass from a teammate deep in his own half, Dzagoev closed in for a physical challenge.
In his panic, Mkhitaryan made a disastrous mistake, passing the ball blind, directly to an opposition player.
Wernbloom seized the opportunity, instantly launching a long pass over the top.
Due to the insufficient coverage in United's midfield, their defensive line was suddenly and easily penetrated.
The substitute, Vitinho, followed up with the ball.
He used his agile, low center of gravity to dribble past a flat-footed Matić and then a lunging Herrera.
Eric Bailly, the center-back United had signed for 38 million euros, saw the danger.
He decisively rushed out from his position to confront the attacker.
The two tangled for several seconds—a chaotic, desperate scramble.
Vitinho barely created a yard of space for a shot, but he had to rush it.
The ball sailed agonizingly wide of the goal frame.
David De Gea, who had been scrambling, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.
He gave Bailly a thumbs-up.
"Well done, Eric!"
He had genuinely been afraid. Because Bailly was the type of player who would have one brilliant game, three poor ones, and then ten injured.
It was a heart-in-your-throat moment of defending.
On the sidelines, Mourinho frowned tightly.
He had also noticed the fatigue and, more importantly, the predictability in United's midfield and attacking play.
The main issue was Mkhitaryan's weak physicality.
He couldn't make the continuous breakthroughs or deliver the key passes needed to break down a packed defense.
This problem had to be addressed.
Because whether in the league or the Champions League, it was still early.
Opponents would all target this weakness in the future.
Mourinho wasn't one to procrastinate; he preferred to solve a problem before it became a crisis.
So, during the next dead-ball situation, he called Ling to the sideline.
He handed him a small, folded note and gave a few, curt instructions, jabbing his finger at the pitch.
Ling nodded, his eyes wide.
He quickly scanned the note—a simple tactical diagram—and relayed the message to Lukaku, Mkhitaryan, and Matić.
When the match resumed, Manchester United's entire attacking approach changed.
The shift was brilliant in its simplicity.
In the 63rd minute of the match, the new tactic bore fruit.
Manchester United advanced into the final third with this fluid attacking pattern.
Ling, in his new central role, received a hard pass from Mkhitaryan.
With his back to goal, he dropped his shoulder with an exaggerated feint, sending Vasin the wrong way.
This created an inch of space.
He didn't turn; he slotted a perfectly weighted diagonal pass to the right flank, into the space he had just created.
Simultaneously, Romelu Lukaku, now playing in the channel, made a rapid forward run.
This was the Lukaku who had started his career as a winger, possessing decent speed and complete technical skills.
In this newly implemented two-striker system of mutual support, his characteristics were once again unleashed.
Ignashevich, the 38-year-old, lumbered over to close him down, subtly raising his arm to obstruct.
Facing an opponent lacking any explosive power, Lukaku decisively accelerated and powered straight through him.
He reached the byline, looked up, and delivered a pinpoint cross into the center.
At this moment, Jeremy Ling, who had started the entire move, was sprinting toward the near post.
Berezutskiy was on his left, applying physical pressure, but fearing the opponent might dive for a penalty, he didn't dare use excessive force.
Jeremy's mind raced.
He used Berezutskiy's momentum, pushing off the defender slightly to increase his sliding speed on the turf.
He launched himself forward, parallel to the grass.
Thump!
A dull, solid sound echoed.
Ling reached the ball a fraction of a second before Akinfeev's despairing dive.
He connected, and the ball flew into the back of the net.
0-4!
Whoosh!!!
In the away end, the Manchester United fans could no longer contain their emotions.
They leaped to their feet, waving their arms, shouting into the cold night, a tiny pocket of joy in a sea of silent resignation.
So what if they got criticized for overcelebrating?
Meanwhile, the CSKA Moscow fans wore expressions of pure despair.
While a three-goal deficit might still offer a sliver of hope, four goals... that left virtually no chance.
On the pitch, Ling was once again overwhelmed by the sheer joy of scoring.
He scrambled to his feet, sprinting over ten meters before leaping high and punching the air.
"OH, IT'S FOUR! AND IT'S JEREMY LING AGAIN! A quite brilliant, improvised, sliding finish!"
Darren Fletcher's voice was electric.
"He scores his second! A brace on his Champions League debut! This is a magical night for the young man!"
"This is... this is special, Darren," Steve McManaman chimed in, his voice full of admiration.
"Forget the finish for a second—look at the whole move. This is the tactical change from Mourinho. Ling as the pivot, starting the move... Lukaku running the channel like he's back at Everton... that's genius from José."
"You're right, Steve," Fletcher agreed. "Ling isn't just a winger tonight. He's played as a creator, a second striker, and now a number nine. He starts the move with that clever pass, and then he has the instinct and the desire to burst into the box to finish it. That's a true striker's goal. Two goals and an assist. A star is born tonight in Moscow."
Manchester United held an absolute, unassailable advantage.
With the game won, Mourinho substituted Ling and Henrikh Mkhitaryan in the 70th minute.
The two walked off to applause from the away end and a handshake from the manager.
Anthony Martial and Jesse Lingard came on, reserve players getting a chance for experience while reinforcing the defensive shape.
CSKA Moscow's morale had completely evaporated.
Their attacks grew increasingly feeble, and their fans began to stream toward the exits.
When the referee finally blew the full-time whistle, the score remained unchanged. 0-4.
Manchester United had secured a resounding, dominant European victory.
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Please read my new FT fic : Fairy tail : I am Akhnseram