During the halftime break, the away dressing room at the Liberty Stadium was surprisingly calm.
José Mourinho didn't throw water bottles.
He didn't deliver a passionate, veins-popping speech about pride and history.
Swansea, frankly, didn't warrant that level of emotional expenditure.
He simply tweaked the tactics on the whiteboard, adjusting the pressing triggers and the positioning of the full-backs.
"Control," he said simply. "Do not let them breathe. Kill the game early, and then we rest."
As the Liberty Stadium buzzed back to life, the second half commenced.
After the kickoff, Manchester United no longer sat back in the pragmatic shell they had adopted at the end of the first half.
They pushed forward aggressively, clearly aiming to seize the initiative and control the match through possession and territory.
Ander Herrera received a pass back from McTominay.
He looked up and immediately launched a perfectly weighted long ball over the top of Swansea's high line.
Marcus Rashford showcased his blistering prowess.
He exploded from a standing start, his acceleration leaving Alfie Mawson for dead.
The defender, panicked, could only resort to a cynical shirt pull.
Beeep!
The referee showed Mawson a yellow card and awarded United a promising free kick on the edge of the box.
Rashford, perhaps feeling confident after his knuckleball against Benfica, stepped up again.
But this time, he focused too much on power and aiming for the top corner; the ball narrowly fizzed over the crossbar.
After the restart, the Manchester United youth team gradually found their rhythm.
They displayed organized attacks and solid defense, effectively pinning Swansea in their own half.
The "Little Barcelona" was being suffocated by the "Red Devils' Kindergarten."
What troubled Ling, however, was the new level of attention he was receiving.
Swansea had learned.
At least two defenders were constantly around him, forming a cage.
Federico Fernández and Kyle Naughton stuck to him like glue.
Whenever he showed even a flicker of intention to receive the ball, opponents immediately closed in, denying him the space to turn or break through.
In the 56th minute, Fernández, frustrated by Ling's movement, shoved him aggressively from the side as the ball went out of play.
It was needless, and it earned him a yellow card.
From that point on, Ling began to adapt his playstyle.
He realized he couldn't just be a winger.
He started frequently rotating positions with his teammates, drifting inside, even dropping deep into midfield to pick up the ball, acting as a false nine at times.
This fluid movement drew the Swansea defenders out of their rigid positions, creating pockets of space for Rashford and Lingard to exploit.
In the 64th minute, the breakthrough came.
Daley Blind played a sharp through ball down the left flank.
Ling, with his back to goal, used his body to hold off the yellow-carded Fernández.
He felt the defender hesitate, afraid to make another aggressive challenge.
Seizing the opportunity, Ling didn't just hold it up; he spun. He quickly cut inside, creating a yard of space.
He looked up and launched a stunning, cross-field diagonal pass, switching the play across nearly half the pitch.
It landed perfectly in the path of Matteo Darmian, who was making a rare overlapping run down the right wing.
At that moment, Swansea's defense was stretched to the breaking point.
Their right flank was exposed.
Jesse Lingard, reading the play, made a sharp diagonal run between the center-back and full-back toward the byline, dragging two defenders toward him.
Seeing this, Darmian delivered a whipped, diagonal cross into the box.
Although heading wasn't Rashford's strongest suit, his blistering pace allowed him to shake off his marker and connect with a powerful header from 14 yards out.
Lukasz Fabianski reacted brilliantly.
He dove low to his left, getting a strong hand to palm the ball away just as it was about to cross the goal line.
But the danger wasn't over.
Jesse Lingard had continued his run.
He spotted the loose ball spilling into the six-yard box.
Instinctively, he lunged and poked it into the net for the follow-up goal.
0-2!
After scoring, an ecstatic Lingard didn't just run to the corner flag.
He grabbed Ling, Rashford, and McTominay, pulling them into a huddle.
"The band! The band!" he shouted.
The four of them lined up.
Lingard pretended to play a flute. Rashford mimed a saxophone. McTominay drummed on an invisible kit. And Ling... Ling reluctantly held an invisible guitar.
They broke into a bizarre, synchronized, and utterly ridiculous dance.
It was a celebration they had planned (mostly Lingard) in the dorms before the match.
Although Ling had strongly objected at the time, calling it "cringe," he had been outvoted 3-to-1.
He had no choice but to join in.
"That's enough, isn't it? We look like idiots," Ling muttered through a forced smile, feeling his cheeks flush slightly.
He truly wasn't cut out for this kind of performative art. But his three teammates were completely absorbed in the moment, grinning like Cheshire cats.
Eventually, even the referee grew impatient.
He jogged over, gesturing for them to restart.
Only then did Lingard reluctantly end the concert, though a fierce desire to score again surged within him—just so they could do the encore.
While others scored for bonuses and glory, Jesse Lingard did it for the memes.
"Our performance today has been absolutely brilliant!" Lingard beamed as they jogged back to their own half.
"Yeah, yeah, totally!" McTominay and Rashford chimed in enthusiastically.
Seeing the genuine smiles on his teammates' faces, Ling's mood lifted as well.
Fighting alongside good friends really was a wonderful feeling, he thought.
But soon, a shadow of a thought crossed his mind.
He remembered the future.
He knew that in the ruthless world of football, paths diverged.
All three of them would face challenges—injuries, loss of form, transfers.
One might become a legend, another a flop.
'If I have the chance,' he vowed silently, 'I will do what I can to help them. We rise together.'
On the sidelines, Mourinho returned to his seat in the dugout.
He checked his watch.
In his view, winning today's match was no longer in doubt.
Swansea was little more than a warm-up now.
Their overall quality was limited and posed no real threat to a disciplined Manchester United.
The players on the pitch needed to come off early to conserve energy for the upcoming major fixture.
Specifically, the match against Tottenham at Old Trafford.
As fellow members of the Premier League's "Big Six," Spurs were a different animal.
Although their trophy cabinet might be dusty, their starting XI was elite.
Kane, Eriksen, Alli, Son. A single misstep could lead to defeat.
Mourinho clenched his fists slightly.
He had been watching Manchester City breeze through their matches with ease, scoring 5, 6, 7 goals.
Naturally, he felt immense pressure.
The media were already crowning Pep Guardiola. But it also fueled his motivation.
'Guardiola... I look forward to the day we meet.'
...
In the 67th minute of the match, Mourinho made a statement.
He used all his substitutions in one go.
Nemanja Matić replaced Ander Herrera to lock down the midfield.
Luke Shaw took Jeremy Ling's place to give the youngster a rest.
And then... the big one.
Zlatan Ibrahimović came on for Marcus Rashford.
The away end erupted
"Zlat-an Ibra-him-ovic! He is a Swedish hero!"
Mourinho brought him on to help him regain match fitness.
Although Ibrahimović had already returned to training, a player absent from high-intensity matches for months after an ACL injury often struggles to find their rhythm.
With Manchester United's schedule congesting, and Lukaku unable to play every single minute, the team urgently needed their "Lion" back.
Ling, now sitting on the bench with a towel around his shoulders, watched with anticipation.
Ibrahimović had always looked out for the academy kids, acting as a mentor and a shield.
They all hoped he would deliver a strong performance in his domestic return.
Soon after the match resumed, Manchester United's momentum shifted subtly.
Never underestimate Ibrahimović's influence.
It wasn't just physical; it was psychological.
His aura demanded the ball. His presence terrified defenders.
Last season, he had single-handedly carried the team.
The players had grown accustomed to having the "God" on the field.
Now, with the taskmaster back, everyone was filled with a renewed fighting spirit, especially Lingard, whose movement became even more lively around the big Swede.
The Swansea players felt the pressure intensify.
It was suffocating.
They were pinned back in their own penalty area, barely able to clear their lines.
In the 78th minute of the match: Lingard broke through on the wing and delivered a clipped cross into the center.
Ibrahimović, despite his towering frame and age, moved with remarkable agility.
He controlled the ball with his chest, evaded Mawson with a deft touch, held off the recovering Ki Sung-yueng with one arm, and unleashed a powerful volley.
It was a strike reminiscent of his prime.
The ball whistled toward the goal in a blur of white.
CLANG!
It struck the crossbar with such force that the goal frame shook.
Tens of thousands of fans gasped. The ball bounced down and out of play.
"Again! Keep attacking!" Ibrahimović shouted, clapping his hands, shrugging indifferently.
He knew his touch wasn't quite 100% yet, but the power was there.
The Manchester United substitutes buried their heads in their hands, lamenting the missed wonder-goal.
Mourinho, however, brightened visibly.
He stood and applauded.
He was clearly pleased with Ibrahimović's movement and competitive fire.
It seemed his worries about the injury affecting Zlatan's mentality were unnecessary.
Of course—how could Zlatan possibly falter? Lions don't recover like humans.
The match continued, with Manchester United maintaining absolute dominance.
Ibrahimović gradually regained his rhythm, his touches becoming sharper, his hold-up play bringing others into the game.
Finally, the referee's whistle blew, signaling the end of the match.
Swansea 0-2 Manchester United!
With a heavily rotated squad featuring an 18-year-old pivot, a dancing attacking midfielder, and the return of a legend, Manchester United had defeated a full-strength Swansea side.
They advanced emphatically to the quarter-finals of the Carabao Cup.
The "kids" had done alright. And the "Lion" was hungry for more.
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