During the halftime break, the away dressing room at the John Smith's Stadium was cold and silent.
The players sat, heads down.
Mourinho didn't yell. At first.
He stood in the middle of the room, his eyes scanning each player, his disappointment a heavy, tangible force.
"In the first half," he began, his voice a low, cold monotone, "we had many issues. We were pathetic."
"The coordination in the central areas lacked any tacit understanding. You were playing like strangers. The wing play wasn't expansive, it was predictable. You were too eager to threaten their goal, so the attacks became rushed. They became stupid. You failed to produce a single good result, and you were punished by one simple long ball. One. Pathetic."
His voice rose, the anger finally breaking through.
Then, he made targeted adjustments, jabbing a finger at the tactics board.
"We change. We adapt. We win. In the next phase of attack, the two wide midfielders will cut inside. You will play between their lines, not in front of them."
He pointed at Lingard. "Jesse. Your responsibility is to be a ghost. Disappear. Disrupt their defenders. Run them into chaos."
His eyes snapped to Ling.
"Ling. I am tired of you being just a winger. I don't want you to just cross. I want you to be a problem. Cut inside. I need you to attempt more successive dribbles. I need you to take them on. Combine with Juan in the center through quick, one-touch passes. Do you understand me?"
He scanned the room again, the silence absolute.
"Huddersfield's strength isn't exceptional. They are organized, they are passionate, but they are not at our level. As long as you maintain your composure and you strictly execute these tactical demands, you will equalize. You will turn this game around."
He grabbed a water bottle, took a sip, and finished with a threat.
"Lastly... if we cannot defeat an opponent like this, then you do not speak of competing for the league title. We are not worthy. Now, go and fix it."
Upon hearing this, the restless, frustrated emotions of the Manchester United players finally calmed, replaced by a cold, hard resolve.
Soon, the players from both teams returned to the pitch.
The second half began with the referee's whistle.
As expected, Huddersfield continued to "turtle up," parking the bus inside their own thirty-meter zone, using compact positioning and resolute, desperate defending to keep United's attacks at bay.
As time passed, Manchester United's formation, following Mourinho's orders, gradually evolved.
The full-backs pushed high, almost becoming wingers.
The wide midfielders, Ling and Lingard, tucked inside, becoming tandem "number 10s."
The defensive midfielder, Matic, drifted into the half-spaces, and the center-forward, Lukaku, pushed deep into the penalty area, pinning the center-backs.
From a bird's-eye view, it looked like a sharp, red cone, piercing deep into the opponent's defensive line.
In the 49th minute, the new tactic bore fruit.
Matic received the ball in the center circle.
He feigned a long, searching pass to the right flank.
When he saw some of the Huddersfield midfield shift to cover it, he quickly changed direction and played a sharp, diagonal through-ball into the left half-space.
It was the exact pocket of space Mourinho had pointed to on the board.
Ling had just made a perfectly timed run into that area.
He controlled the ball in one fluid motion and immediately drove towards the penalty area.
The Huddersfield players weren't fools, though.
Two nearby defenders, Jonathan Hogg and Tommy Smith, immediately closed in from sharp angles, attempting to form a pincer and shut him down.
Ling quickly glanced up.
Lukaku was marked. Mata was in a crowd.
He didn't see any clear passing options.
'Then I'll do it myself.'
Through nearly two months of intense, system-enhanced training, all his attributes had significantly improved, especially his explosive speed and, crucially, his physicality.
According to the principles of human physiology, explosive speed is largely a natural, genetic talent.
You either have it or you don't.
Once a certain limit is reached, it's difficult to improve further.
But with the system, he could somewhat defy this rule.
'Human physiology has limits,' he thought, his adrenaline surging. 'The system does not'.
As long as he kept training, he could one day reach the level of his template.
According to the data, Ronaldo's peak 100-meter sprint time was around 10.5 seconds.
And what was even more terrifying was his short-distance, explosive dribbling power.
Ling made his decision.
He didn't hesitate.
He took a deep breath of the scorching air and channeled it to every part of his body.
His muscles tensed instantly.
Power surged out like a flood.
He didn't try to jink. He didn't try a feint.
He just pushed the ball forward and accelerated.
He shot forward like an arrow released from a bowstring.
Hogg and Smith, both strong, seasoned professionals, felt as if they had crashed into a small, moving truck.
They were unable to stop their opponent despite desperate pulling and dragging.
Hogg bounced off Ling's shoulder, stumbling to keep his balance.
Smith, in a last-ditch, desperate act, slid into a tackle.
But Ling, anticipating the challenge, had already taken a second touch.
Smith not only missed the ball completely, but he also fell flat on his backside, looking utterly ridiculous as Ling flashed past him.
In the blink of an eye, Huddersfield's defensive line was left in complete disarray.
And this was far from over. Ling stumbled from the impact but didn't fall.
He deftly passed the ball toward the center as another defender, Chris Williams, closed in from the side.
Waiting there was Juan Mata.
The Spanish maestro had already scanned the field. He took in the opponents' positioning, the space, and Ling's continued, lung-bursting run.
Thanks to his delicate footwork and unparalleled vision, he could identify passing lanes that didn't even exist yet.
He didn't take a touch. He didn't even look. He just knew.
He met the pass with a sudden, one-touch, reverse volley, its timing and weight impeccable.
The ball rolled precisely, perfectly, into the space Ling was sprinting into.
"Beautiful!" Ling couldn't help but marvel inwardly.
The pass was so perfectly weighted, so "Mata-esque," that he needed almost no adjustment before shooting.
Huddersfield's center-back, Zanka, realized his position couldn't block the shot and frantically shuffled sideways.
But it was too late.
Ling quickly adjusted his footing, showing no hesitation as he swung his left foot—his weaker foot—and smashed it, laces thudding into the center of the ball.
Thump!
With a dull, satisfying sound, the ball skimmed across the turf like an unsheathed sword.
It swept past the despairing dive of the keeper and buried itself into the back of the net, sending the net billowing with violence.
1-1!!!
The Huddersfield players were stunned.
They looked at each other, baffled.
'That terrifying explosive power... even two players couldn't hold him back. Is this kid a bull?'
After scoring, Ling and Mata ran near the corner flag, excitedly high-fiving and praising each other.
"Great shot, Ling!" Mata yelled, his face beaming.
"Great pass, Juan! It was perfect!" Ling shouted back.
While celebrating, Ling also reflected on how lucky he was.
If any single step—the pass from Matic, his own burst of speed, Mata's vision—had been slightly off, the goal wouldn't have happened.
Of course, he thought, the opponent's weaker strength was also a key factor.
"Keep playing like this! Keep going!"
On the sidelines, Mourinho swung his arm forcefully, his face filled with delight.
What he valued most was not just the goal, but Ling's ability to break through.
It was the best, most effective weapon against a packed, parked-bus defense.
Since neither Martial nor Rashford truly possessed this skill, he had resorted to other, less effective strategies.
It seemed he could now allocate more tactical resources, more freedom, to Ling.
On the other side, David Wagner looked dazed.
Snapping back to reality, he roared toward the field, his voice frantic.
"Mark United's number 23! Mark him! Tightly! Don't let him out of your sight!"
...
Martin Tyler: "Oh, what a breakthrough! Just... raw pace and power! Ling has held off two defenders, he's thrown this entire Huddersfield defense into disarray... HE'S GOT IT BACK FROM MATA! AND SCORES! A thunderous finish with his left foot! Manchester United are level!"
Gary Neville: "That... that is what they have been missing for 49 minutes! That is the X-factor. No Pogba, no Fellaini, so what do you do? You give the ball to the kid and you say, 'Go on, son, make something happen.' That's not just pace, Martin, that's power. He has run through two senior professionals. And then, the link-up with Mata... that little one-touch return pass is just... pure class. That's a brilliant, brilliant goal."
Jamie Carragher: "I've got to be honest... as much as I hate to say it... that's unstoppable. That's a top-quality, individual moment of brilliance. The power to get past two men, and then the intelligence to play the one-two. That's a goal out of nothing."
...
📱 Live Fan Reaction
The live chat and forums, which had been full of despair, erupted in excitement.
@RedDevilRich: "LIIIIIIING!!!! GET IN!! Just bullied his way through! He's built like a tank now! That's what we've been crying out for!"
@Mourinho-FC: "See? SEE? THIS is the tactical change! Mou told him to cut inside at halftime. That is a direct result of the halftime talk. Pure tactical genius."
@GGMU_Sarge: "His physicality is absolutely unreal! He looks twice as strong as he did in August. What on earth are they feeding him at Carrington? He just ran through two blokes like they were cones!"
@Tactics_Tim: "You all need to check the replay. He fends off two defenders, then has the composure to find Mata, then the intelligence to continue his run, then the skill to finish with his weak foot. This kid is improving at a scary, scary rate."
@Spurs_Fan_in_Peace: "Not looking forward to playing this guy at the end of the month. He's looking like the real deal. Our defense is going to have its hands full."
@HuddersfieldTerrier: "Well, that's just not fair, is it? We held 'em for 50 minutes and then their £80m wonderkid just decides to be a superhero. Gutted."
@Messi_Fan_10: "Wait... he ran through two guys, played a one-two, and scored with his weak foot? Are we sure this kid isn't Ronaldo or Messi in disguise? His rate of improvement is just... it's not normal. It's almost unreasonable!"
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