Unnoticed by the players, who were living in the desperate, lung-burning present, the match clock had ticked past the 35th-minute mark.
The first half hadn't been a football match; it had been a siege.
During this period, Liverpool held absolute, suffocating dominance.
They had created numerous scoring opportunities, with wave after wave of red shirts crashing against United's low block.
However, against Manchester United's resolute, ten-man defense—a tactic the Anfield crowd was already derisively calling the "park the bus"—and, more importantly, against a David De Gea at the absolute peak of his powers, they had failed to convert.
Manchester United, of course, had attempted to launch several counterattacks. But the results could not have been worse.
The counters were stillborn, snuffed out before they could even cross the halfway line.
The reason? Jürgen Klopp had laid a perfect tactical trap, specifically targeting Manchester United's left flank.
It was a three-part cage.
The Press: Liverpool used the technical superiority and relentless engines of Mohamed Salah and Georginio Wijnaldum to press and suppress Matteo Darmian and Nemanja Matić, cutting off all easy passing lanes.
The Isolation: This left Jeremy Ling completely isolated, an island in a raging red sea, with no support from his fullback or his central midfielder.
The Containment: The moment the ball traveled toward Ling, right-back Joe Gomez pressed him tightly from the front, while Joël Matip and Jordan Henderson immediately converged, forming a triangle of containment.
Due to Darmian's complete lack of attacking threat, Matić being constrained by his poor mobility, and Lukaku being occupied by two center-backs, Liverpool's strategy proved devastatingly effective.
In just thirty-five minutes, Ling was already covered in mud and grass stains, his shirt streaked, looking utterly disheveled.
He'd been tackled, tripped, or muscled off the ball half a dozen times.
The boos at Anfield, which had been a constant roar, now took on a taunting, sing-song quality.
"Park the bus, park the bus, Man United!"
"Park the bus, park the bus, I say!"
"Park the bus, park the bus, Man United..."
"Playing football the Mourinho way!"
Then, a more direct, venomous chant from the Kop.
"Twenty times, twenty times, Man United!"
"Twenty times, twenty times, I say!"
"So fucking off home, you coward bastards!"
"Twenty times, twenty times, Man United!"
Dave Jones: "We're in the 38th minute, and the stats on your screen are... well, they're staggering. 17 shots for Liverpool, just 1 for Manchester United, and that was off target. Gary, I mean... this is tough to watch."
Gary Neville: (Sighs, rubbing his temples) "It's what I expected, Dave. It's not pretty. It's Anfield. You don't come here and play tippy-tappy football. You come here to survive. You quiet the crowd, you take the sting out, you frustrate them. The plan is to get to 65, 70 minutes at 0-0. The problem is, De Gea has had to make five saves, two of them world-class. You can't rely on that."
Graeme Souness: (Looking disgusted) "That's not a plan, Gary, that's a surrender. This is Manchester United, top of the league! They've come here and shown no ambition, no courage. They are inviting this. Klopp's team is fitter, they're faster, and they're bullying them. You cannot just absorb this much pressure. A mistake is coming. Someone will switch off."
On the sidelines, Mourinho remained preternaturally calm, hands in his pockets, analyzing the situation.
With the opponent technically superior and playing with this rabid intensity, dropping the overall formation back was not a problem—it was the solution.
As for pushing forward to attack head-on? As long as he hadn't lost his mind, he would never make such a foolish decision.
He knew the statistics.
The best time for counterattacks was after the 65th minute, when Klopp's ferocious press would inevitably fade, and the stamina of his own players would be drained.
Klopp's press was a double-edged sword.
It was crazier than Guardiola's (who used possession) or Conte's (who used width).
Klopp's high-intensity, "heavy metal" football not only denied the opponent any breathing room but also squeezed every last drop of energy from his own players.
Whether it was beneficial or harmful depended entirely on one thing: you had to score.
Under such intense pressure, Manchester United's defensive line resembled a precarious skyscraper, swaying in a hurricane, on the verge of collapse at any moment.
In the 41st minute of the match, as if Souness had willed it into existence, the mistake came.
Liverpool's relentless running paid off.
Henrikh Mkhitaryan, exhausted, dropped deep to get a pass.
He didn't see Jordan Henderson charging up from his blind spot.
The Liverpool captain, embodying his manager's will, applied physical pressure, disrupting the Armenian's balance, and then seized the moment to execute a clean, perfect tackle.
The ball was loose.
Henderson pounced, and in one motion, he zipped a precise through-ball to Roberto Firmino, who had dropped deep into the central space.
But it wasn't over.
Firmino is the perfect cog in Klopp's system, a player who redefined the modern center-forward.
He doesn't blindly charge toward the goal; he creates space for his teammates.
He is the link.
Watching Firmino quickly drive toward the flank, he drew the attention of both Phil Jones and Matteo Darmian.
Jones, the center-back, was dragged out of position. Darmian, the full-back, tucked in to cover the gap.
And in that tiny, split-second of defensive rotation, the space was created.
Simultaneously, Mohamed Salah, who had been on the touchline, saw the gap.
He darted into the penalty area from the diagonal channel like a streak of pure lightning.
Martin Tyler: "And Liverpool are in again! Henderson! A fabulous challenge on Mkhitaryan, he's won it back high up the pitch! Finds Firmino... Jones is drawn to him... Firmino on the turn... he's seen the run! HE'S SQUARED IT! SALAAAAH! IT'S IN! LIVERPOOL HAVE THE BREAKTHROUGH!"
"Frenetic high pressing! The tacit, brilliant understanding between the jade-faced gentleman and the Egyptian Pharaoh gives Liverpool the lead! Anfield erupts! And just before halftime, the deadlock is finally, inevitably, broken!"
Gary Neville: "And there it is. We just said it. You cannot make a single mistake. Mkhitaryan is weak, he's dispossessed. And watch... watch Phil Jones... he gets dragged out. That's what Firmino does. He's so, so clever. He vacates the space, and Salah... you can't give Salah that much room. He's ghosted in, and he's buried it. A deserved goal. United have been... awful."
Meanwhile, at Anfield, tens of thousands of Liverpool fans erupted in a deafening, visceral roar that seemed to shake the stadium's foundations.
"OHHHHHHHHHH!" Then, shoulder-to-shoulder, they launched into their second anthem, the one reserved for European nights and moments like this.
"We've conquered all of Europe!"
"We're never gonna stop!"
"From Paris down to Turkey!"
"We've won the f***ing lot!"
"Allez, Allez, Allez!!!"
For Liverpool supporters, nothing compares to breaching their arch-rivals' defense.
It felt like chugging an ice-cold beer on a sweltering summer day—pure, unadulterated exhilaration from head to toe.
On the pitch, similar scenes of celebration unfolded.
After sprinting dozens of meters, Salah executed a stylish, aggressive knee slide right in front of the Kop.
This match held special meaning for him.
Memories flooded back: being loaned to Fiorentina by Chelsea, being told he wasn't good enough, being reduced to tears by Mourinho's criticism in a team meeting—all of it had been buried deep in his heart.
Now, he could finally release that pent-up frustration.
Though truthfully, he harbored little resentment.
After all, it was Mourinho who had personally scouted him and brought him to Chelsea, giving him 19 appearances.
But the overwhelming media scrutiny and the pressure of a title-winning side had crushed him psychologically, forcing him to request a transfer.
Yet those very experiences, that rejection, had forged his resilient spirit, enabling this triumphant Premier-League return.
Liverpool's teammates swarmed to embrace him in celebration.
On the touchline, Jürgen Klopp euphorically hurled his cap to the ground, his face a mask of joy and relief. He exhaled a long-held breath.
If a high press fails to yield goals, it will eventually lead to severe repercussions.
Fortunately, the deadlock was broken.
Now was the time to press the advantage.
On the other side, Mourinho pointed angrily at the players on the field and shouted, his voice hoarse.
"Remember what I told you! Stay compact! Do not concede another! Strengthen the defense!"
His words were drowned out by the noise and didn't carry far, but it made no difference.
Most of the Manchester United squad were players with exceptional mental fortitude.
Players like Phil Jones, Antonio Valencia, and Jeremy Ling.
They wouldn't lose their fighting spirit just because they were a goal down.
This was an irritation, not a death blow.
"Let's go!!!" The Manchester United players roared in unison, a small circle of defiance in a sea of red, and returned to their positions.
Soon, the match resumed. Liverpool, refusing to let up, smelled blood.
They continued their relentless high press, each player's eyes gleaming with ferocity.
They aimed to return to the dressing room with a two-goal lead.
But the Manchester United players defended with grim resolution, battling for the ball as if fighting for food, even at the cost of committing fouls.
In the 44th minute of the match, Ander Herrera, desperate, tripped Coutinho and received a deserved yellow card.
Under immense pressure, time seemed to slow down.
During first-half stoppage time, Phil Jones, embodying United's "backs to the wall" mentality, threw himself in front of a shot, blocking a venomous Henderson long-range effort with his chest.
The referee finally put the whistle to his lips and blew for halftime.
Both teams, utterly exhausted for different reasons, left the pitch to rest in the dressing rooms.
The Liverpool players jogged; the United players trudged, gasping for air.