Fifteen minutes later, the second half kicked off.
"The second half is underway, ladies and gentlemen."
"I guarantee these will be an electrifying forty-five minutes—neither side will hold anything back!"
Jon Champion had called it perfectly. Klopp and Mourinho stood on the touchline, as if two invisible forces were colliding in midair.
The tempo on the pitch was pushed to the absolute limit. Leo Lin barely dared to blink, wiping the sweat sliding down his forehead as he kept running, his nerves stretched tight every second.
"Bang!"
"Pop!"
"Bang, bang!"
"Drop it back!"
"I'm open on the left!"
All that could be heard were the crisp sounds of passes and first touches, mixed with players shouting instructions to one another.
A full ten minutes into the second half, the referee hadn't blown his whistle once. No fouls, no stoppages—the game flowed freely. Both teams had only one thought in mind: attack, and score.
"This is football at its best—fluid and dangerous," came the commentary.
"Any extra touch, even half a second too long, and you're asking to be tackled."
"One-touch passes, quick combinations—that's the only way to survive at this pace."
59th minute!
"A chance through the middle—carrying the ball forward at real speed."
"Firmino centrally, Mané arriving at the far post—will Leo Lin make the pass?"
"He keeps going, cuts inside by force!"
"Tries the curler—but the angle's too tight. De Gea gathers it."
"Klopp is furious on the touchline. He's clearly unhappy with Salah's decision there."
"It has to be said, Salah can be selfish at times. But when it's your star player, no one complains."
"Because individual brilliance from a star can always rescue the team in moments like these."
As the end-to-end battle edged toward its decisive phase, Liverpool's resilience began to show. They absorbed Manchester United's pressure, held their shape, and gradually wrestled back control of possession.
Instead of being pushed apart, Liverpool steadied themselves and began forcing United backward. Mourinho's side had no choice but to retreat and return to their most familiar weapon: defensive counterattacks.
United fans were furious. Liverpool supporters, meanwhile, were riding high, strutting around Old Trafford as if it were their own kingdom. Some even pointed and taunted nearby United fans.
The atmosphere reached boiling point. The air was thick with hostility—so much so that even the riot police gripping their shields looked tense.
United supporters became increasingly unhinged.
Every time a Liverpool player stepped up to take a throw-in, the United fans behind him would do everything they could to distract and abuse him, trying to break Liverpool mentally.
65th minute!
Leo Lin drove forward through the middle.
He shifted toward the right, but Matić and Herrera quickly closed him down together.
With no space to cut inside, Leo Lin pushed on along the touchline, all the way toward the corner flag. With veteran composure, he nudged the ball off Matić and won a corner.
Klopp exploded into applause on the sideline.
United fans, however, were anything but pleased.
A cup of beer nearly smashed into Leo Lin's head. He dodged it effortlessly and smiled at the United fans in front of him, many of whom were flipping him off.
It was an ordinary smile—but in their eyes, it was pure provocation.
"Don't let me see you on the streets of Manchester—I won't let you off!"
"F*** you! F*** you!!!"
Leo Lin didn't even know what he'd done. Yet suddenly, Old Trafford erupted in a rhythmic wave of abuse aimed squarely at him.
"Lin! F*** you!"
…
Not only was Leo Lin unfazed—he raised both arms, gesturing for them to shout even louder.
That single motion ignited Old Trafford completely.
United's players were desperate to equalize, determined to give their fans something to roar about.
The match descended into pure attrition.
Midfield—the most vital tactical battleground—turned into a war zone. Every inch was contested.
Manchester United finally began launching full-on physical challenges at Leo Lin in midfield.
But they overlooked one thing.
Physical battles were exactly what Leo Lin enjoyed most.
70th minute!
"He's still carrying the ball."
"Leo Lin is scanning the field—space on the right. Will he pass?"
"Matić steps in!"
"Leo Lin drags it back, cuts inside, accelerates!"
"He beats Matić and keeps going!"
"He wants to beat another man!"
"Herrera tries to foul him—grabs at Leo Lin!"
Herrera tried to latch on and stop him, but Leo Lin slapped Herrera's right hand away, braced his shoulder against him, and kept just enough distance.
Then he powered on, bulldozing down the left like a tank.
Just as he lifted his foot for a long-range strike, Mkhitaryan tracked back in time. Three players finally swarmed him and knocked the ball loose.
But Leo Lin wasn't done.
As Mkhitaryan turned to carry the ball forward, Leo Lin lunged in with a huge stride, muscling his way into position from behind.
He shoved Mkhitaryan aside and sent him crashing to the turf.
A completely uncompromising tackle.
The referee blew immediately and issued a verbal warning to Leo Lin.
"They've given a foul for that?"
"That one was right on the line—could've gone either way."
Even Leo Lin found it hard to believe. He'd clearly won the position with his body, yet possession still went back to United.
"A one-goal lead is never safe," Jon Champion remarked. "You never know when United might strike on the counter."
Almost on cue, Mourinho made another change.
"Mourinho is making substitutions—youngsters Rashford and Lingard are coming on!"
"He's looking to add more penetration out wide. Can Liverpool hold up?"
The two young wingers immediately made their presence felt.
Fresh legs, relentless vertical runs down the flanks.
Liverpool's fullbacks were visibly tiring. With these changes, United finally clawed back the momentum, pinning Liverpool deep as the match entered its closing stretch.
United pushed their defensive line higher and higher. With time running out, scoring quickly was the only option.
Leo Lin watched carefully.
The higher United pushed, the clearer the counterattacking lanes became.
Liverpool looked under pressure—but Leo Lin knew that if he was given even one chance to drive forward on the break, he could seal the match.
84th minute.
"Manchester United win a corner. A high ball sent straight into the middle."
"Mignolet comes out—punches it clear into midfield!"
"Leo Lin reacts instantly—he sees the opening!"
"Leo Lin surges forward, controls the first bounce, keeps it glued to his feet!"
"He explodes into a sprint!"
Both United center backs were still stranded in Liverpool's box after joining the corner.
Leo Lin looked up.
Nothing but open space ahead.
He drove forward at full speed, crossing the halfway line in just three or four seconds and entering United's half.
Matić and Herrera chased desperately. Matić faded away first, leaving only Herrera.
Leo Lin forced forward two more steps, reaching the edge of the box just as Herrera closed in.
As Herrera stretched out a leg, Leo Lin lifted his left foot—fake shot, real drag.
His movement became even more fluid.
Layer upon layer of deception.
He slipped past Herrera and shifted the ball onto his right.
Hips twisting.
Knees bending.
His body leaned back from the hips—
Then his right leg whipped through.
Every ounce of power poured into the strike.
"Bang!"
The ball skimmed low across the turf, screaming toward goal—
A thunderous crack echoed across the pitch!