No one knew what José Mourinho or Jürgen Klopp said during the 15-minute halftime break.
But when the players returned to the pitch, trudging back out into the cauldron of noise, their eyes were faintly bloodshot, shimmering with a new, raw intensity.
In the stands, the Sky Sports camera panned to the director's box.
Sir Alex Ferguson chewed his gum, his hands trembling slightly, betraying a stress he never would as a manager.
As a top-tier manager, he could read the game, and he knew this 1-0 scoreline was a knife's edge.
"Mourinho only knows how to park the bus. He's sapping Manchester United's spirit—"
"Shut up!"
Paul Scholes had barely begun his sarcastic remark when Ferguson angrily cut him off.
At such a critical moment, instead of cheering for the club, he was criticizing the tactics.
That was the real betrayal of the spirit.
From a distance, Kenny Dalglish, sitting in his newly-named stand, smirked slightly.
He was already contemplating what to say in the post-match interview to infuriate his old rival.
On the pitch, the second half had already begun.
Liverpool, sensing blood and backed by the roaring Kop, continued to intensify their positional rotations and maximize individual technique to create attacking momentum.
Meanwhile, Manchester United could only retreat.
They adopted a deep, rigid 4-5-1 defensive formation, leaving only Romelu Lukaku as a lonely, isolated island up front.
They conceded the vast midfield space but reinforced their compact, low block to secure the backline.
Mkhitaryan was pushed forward, his job no longer to create, but simply to disrupt Liverpool's buildup.
This severely compressed the space inside and outside the penalty area.
No matter how agile Liverpool's "fab three" were, they couldn't find a way through, resorting to frequent, speculative long-range shots and hopeful crosses.
Unfortunately for them, without a true, towering center-forward, Liverpool's efficiency in finishing was low, posing little real threat to David De Gea's goal.
In just over ten minutes, Liverpool added five more shots to their tally, but none were of high quality.
....
@AnfieldWrap: "How have we not scored again?! It's all us. United are offering nothing. Their fans must be sick watching this."
@RedDevilRich: "This is a disgrace. 60 minutes in, 0 shots on target. Ling is a left-back. Lukaku hasn't touched it. I'm turning off. #MourinhoOut"
@Souness_Loves_Pogba (Parody): "Mourinho has parked a 19th-century bus. This isn't football. This is an anti-terrorist drill. Get a fucking grip."
@StretfordEndSarge: "Calm down, you plastics. This is the plan. 0-0 at 65, that's what he wants. Let them run. Our time will come. #TrustTheProcess"
....
As time wore on, the physical stamina of players from both teams began to plummet.
The sheer, suicidal intensity of Liverpool's high press—Klopp's double-edged sword—gradually diminished.
In the 64th minute of the match, the tide began to turn.
Wijnaldum's long-range shot was blocked by a desperate lunge from Chris Smalling.
Nemanja Matić seized control of the second ball.
Facing the visibly fatigued pressing attempts from Salah and Firmino—who were now jogging, not sprinting—he calmly distributed the ball.
Manchester United's formation instantly, and for the first time, shifted.
Both wing-backs pushed forward aggressively.
Mkhitaryan drifted wide. Herrera surged forward.
From a bird's eye view, United had established numerical parity on the right wing.
Multiple players engaged in tight, rapid combinations, using Herrera as the pivot to launch a swift counterattack. In the blink of an eye, they breached the final third.
On the opposite flank, Jeremy Ling, who had been a defender for an hour, gritted his teeth and sprinted at full tilt, a ghost run that forced Wijnaldum and Gomez to track him, creating space elsewhere.
After a series of passes, Mkhitaryan delivered a precise diagonal through ball to Ashley Young, who immediately whipped in a cross.
Lukaku, tightly marked by Matip and Lovren, could only manage a weak headed effort.
The attempt lacked power and was easily gathered by Mignolet.
On the touchline, Klopp suddenly hesitated.
Making a substitution now would signal a shift to defensive consolidation—a move contrary to his entire philosophy.
While he was lost in thought, the momentum on the pitch abruptly shifted.
Liverpool's front Trident had executed Klopp's relentless running tactics for a full 65 minutes.
Their energy reserves were depleted
They could no longer sustain the high press.
Meanwhile, Manchester United, lying in wait like a cobra, finally bared their fangs.
Mourinho, sensing the moment, pushed his entire formation forward.
Replicating the earlier right-wing buildup, he turned numerical parity into a numerical advantage.
Martin Tyler: "And here come United again! Ashley Young, a brilliant burst forward, he's found a yard of space... he drives a low cross into the box!"
"LUKAKU! With a sliding shot— OH, WHAT A SAVE! Mignolet! He's reacted swiftly, stretching a foot to block what seemed a certain goal!"
"But it's not over! The ball is still alive! Mkhitaryan loops it back into the penalty area! Chaos in the box!"
Truth be told, before Van Dijk joined Liverpool, their defensive line was merely average.
Without the protection of their forwards' press, their vulnerabilities were exposed.
Now, Lukaku scrambled to his feet, bulldozing his way between Matip and Lovren.
He leaped like a spring uncoiling, executing a classic, powerful "rhino glancing header."
The ball suddenly took a higher trajectory, sailing over Mignolet's despairing gloves and nestling into the top corner of the net.
1-1!
"WHOOOOA!!!"
The away stands erupted in thunderous, cathartic cheers.
Even if Manchester United fans were dissatisfied with the 68 minutes of conservative tactics, they wouldn't begrudge applause when their own players scored.
Lukaku sprinted wildly toward the corner flag, a defiant finger to his lips before celebrating with a stylish knee slide.
The Manchester United players followed closely behind, sliding one after another, joyful smiles spread across their faces.
Ling was no exception.
Although the plan was defensive, being pinned in his own box for an hour was frustrating as hell.
He had been playing as a fullback.
But now... the counter-attack was finally beginning.
'I want to score a goal too! 'Ling silently encouraged himself.
Nearby, the Liverpool players looked dejected, but this negative emotion quickly dissipated.
This was the North West Derby. There was no time for self-pity.
On the sidelines, Klopp frustratedly punched the air.
He shouldn't have hesitated.
On the other side, Mourinho excitedly embraced Faria.
His gamble had paid off.
Now, both teams were back on level terms.
Playing at home, Klopp would never accept a draw.
His next moves would be even more aggressive and this, Mourinho knew, would be United's perfect opportunity.
In the 70th minute, the fourth official raised the LED board.
"Liverpool brings on Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain for Salah, and Daniel Sturridge for Coutinho. Klopp wants to maintain the high press," Martin Tyler announced. "Meanwhile, Manchester United substitutes Jesse Lingard for the tiring Mkhitaryan. Strengthening their own counter-attacking threat. The remainder of this match promises to be electric!"
As predicted, the tackles became fiercely desperate.
Within just a few minutes, both Smalling and Gomez received yellow cards.
Chamberlain, perhaps due to his recent transfer, didn't perform well.
Ling could clearly feel that his defensive capabilities were weak, unable to apply sufficient pressure.
This was the weak point.
The match once again descended into a stalemate.
Soon, it approached its conclusion.
Klopp brought on Dominic Solanke for Firmino—a tall, strong center forward—signaling Plan B: "bombard the box."
Mourinho responded instantly, substituting Ashley Young with Victor Lindelof, adding another tall body to strengthen the aerial defense.
Liverpool's continuous crosses failed. The players grew impatient. This had to be won.
The fourth official raised the board: four minutes of added time.
Fans from both teams were on their feet, their eyes fixed intently on the pitch.
True to his reputation, Henderson aggressively dispossessed Lingard before slotting a pass wide.
Ling, nearly out of steam, could only watch as Chamberlain burst forward like a sports car, whipping in a cross before Darmian could intervene.
Solanke, leveraging his height, outmusdled Smalling to power a header toward goal.
The ball flew straight and true.
Martin Tyler (Sky): "SOLANKE! A powerful header! OH, DE GEA! A sensational save! He's parried it away! How has he done that?!"
De Gea had reacted lightning-fast, parrying it away.
Matic seized the second ball and, without looking, decisively switched play to the left flank.
"Here comes United's counter-attack!"
Having stayed forward, Ling found himself in a perfect position.
He received the ball and sprinted down the touchline.
Wijnaldum, dragging his exhausted body, cut across to provide support.
He knew Gomez couldn't handle Ling one-on-one.
Facing the double coverage, Ling didn't panic.
As soon as he created space, he delivered a diagonal long ball to Herrera.
The same attacking pattern. But Herrera was too tired.
He passed to Lingard.
Lingard, the "troublemaker," charged madly toward the penalty area.
"What will he do here? He could shoot!"
Confronted by Liverpool's iron-wall defense, Lingard abruptly halted.
After drawing multiple defenders toward him, he delicately, cleverly, slipped a through pass wide.
Simultaneously, Lukaku drifted out, dragging Matip.
Ling surged forward.
Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Lukaku held off Gomez, turned, and laid the ball off to the left edge of the penalty area.
Ling gently cushioned the ball in front of him, taking in the movements of every defender.
Wijnaldum closed in from the front. Henderson pressed from behind.
'This is it. This is the moment'.
An overwhelming, suffocating pressure surged through him.
His heart pounded like a war drum, yet each beat only sharpened his focus.
Then he moved.
First, a stepover with his right foot.
Then, a drop of the left shoulder, feigning a drive down the line.
Matip, his balance broken, was gone.
In that split second, Ling nudged the ball with his right foot and glided past.
Henderson knew. He couldn't let him shoot.
Resolutely, he threw himself into a desperate, crunching, last-ditch tackle from behind.
But it was too late.
Ling had already completed his pre-shot adjustments, squeezing the last, agonizing ounce of strength from his body.
His right foot viciously curled toward the football.
Thump.
A dull sound echoed over Anfield.
The football spun upward and it whistled downward.
That massive, exaggerated, beautiful arc was like the scythe of Death, swinging down, poised to cut the soaring phoenix from the sky.
Mignolet stretched his body to its absolute limit.
He flew.
He could only watch helplessly as the ball brushed past his fingertips.
CLANG!
A crisp, metallic sound rang out, like the phoenix's mournful cry.
The ball struck the inside of the far post.
It bounced a few times on the pitch... And finally, finally... came to rest quietly behind the goal line.
Anfield... fell silent.
Time seemed to freeze.
You could hear the whisper of the wind.
Tens of thousands of Liverpool fans turned ashen, staring in disbelief, their spirits utterly shattered.
1-2.
Martin Tyler (Sky): "LING! IN STOPPAGE TIME! OH... MY... WORD! HE'S WON IT!"
"IT'S THE WINNER! IT'S THE WINNER! MANCHESTER UNITED HAVE SNATCHED VICTORY FROM LIVERPOOL AT THE DEATH! LING, WITH AN UNSTOPPABLE CURLING SHOT, HAS KILLED THE GAME! HE'S BREACHED ANFIELD!"
A few seconds later, a wave of roaring cheers erupted from the small away section, a sudden storm of pure, unadulterated joy.
Seeing the referee point to the center circle, Ling felt an electric current surge through his body, every cell burning with fever.
He sprinted toward the corner flag, roaring, unleashing the frustration of 92 minutes.
Manchester United players from the pitch and the substitutes' bench rushed over, piling on top of him.
"WELL DONE, LING!"
"YOU'RE THE HERO! YOU'VE TURNED IT AROUND!"
On the sidelines, the atmosphere was a perfect split-screen of football's ecstasy and agony.
Klopp's cap had slipped off.
He stood, hands on his head, his face was full of stunned disbelief.
Mourinho... his face was alight with wild, vindictive joy.
He pumped his fists and, in a perfect echo of his past, sprinted along the touchline, roaring at the away fans.
At the referee's urging, the United players ended their celebrations.
Liverpool, eyes blazing with desperation, threw everyone forward.
But Mourinho's remaining substitutions were just time-wasting, ugly, pragmatic, winning moves.
Finally, amid the piercing sound of the whistle, the match came to an end.
Liverpool 1-2 Manchester United!