[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-start-with-r9-template":3,"chapter-start-with-r9-template-start-with-r9-template-chapter-151":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Start with R9 Template",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},1388616,1840,"Chapter 151 - 151","start-with-r9-template-chapter-151",151,"\u003Cp>Thump.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Sadio Mané met the rolling ball without breaking stride.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ball rocketed off his instep, rising with terrifying velocity, and screamed past David De Gea's outstretched glove.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It nestled violently into the top corner.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Mané! Mané fires into the top corner!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"De Gea! He's not a god—he couldn't keep that out! Liverpool equalize!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Jamie Carragher leaped up in the commentary booth, nearly knocking over his monitor.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"YES! GET IN!\" he roared, abandoning all pretense of neutrality. He watched Mané slide on his knees in front of the away end, arms spread wide.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"This is the real Liverpool!\" Carragher shouted, veins bulging in his neck. \"They never give up! No matter the circumstances!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He turned to Gary Neville, whose face had turned the color of sour milk.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"See? I told you a goal was only a matter of time. The comeback starts now, Gary! If they stick to this strategy, they'll score another one, two, maybe three! Your bus has broken down!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Now, look at Ling,\" Carragher gloated, pointing a finger at the screen. \"The one you've pinned your hopes on—what has he done for twenty minutes? He's been in Alexander-Arnold's pocket!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Neville, never one to back down from a scrap, snapped back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Shut up, Carra. The score is 1-1. Anyone would think you've won the bloody league!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I hope you won't cry when Ling scores later,\" Neville added, his voice dripping with venom. \"Don't forget to put on the jersey I specially prepared for you! It'll match your face!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>....\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The cheers at Old Trafford were momentarily silenced, replaced by the raucous noise from the Scoreboard End.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The traveling Liverpool fans were in ecstasy.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"WHO ARE YA! WHO ARE YA!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"YOU'RE SHIT! AND YOU KNOW YOU ARE!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They hadn't forgotten the humiliation at Anfield.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Now, they were giving it back with interest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Well done, lads!\" a Scouser screamed, shaking his fist. \"Silence this library! Manchester is full of shit!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The United fans responded instantly. A sea of middle fingers rose from the Stretford End.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"FUCK OFF BACK TO LIVERPOOL!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"YOU SCOUSE BASTARDS!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The air turned toxic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Riot police in the buffer zone lowered their visors, gripping their batons. The hatred in the North West Derby wasn't manufactured, it was primal.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>On the pitch, the Liverpool players were huddled together. An equalizer just before halftime was a massive psychological boost.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Mo,\" Emre Can grabbed Salah by the shoulder. \"Has that Chinese kid caught up to your goal tally now?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Salah nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. \"Yeah. We're both at 28.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Fuck him,\" Can spat. \"Don't worry. We'll create chances for you. Today, you leave him in the dust. Bury him.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Meanwhile, Sadio Mané had run dangerously close to the United players during his celebration, puffing out his chest.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He was grinning—a malicious grin no less.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He hadn't forgotten the last derby. He hadn't forgotten Zlatan Ibrahimović putting him in a headlock. He hadn't forgotten the humiliation.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Where is your Zlatan now?\" Mané shouted toward the United defenders. \"Come on! Who wants it?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>David Luiz, never one to shy away from confrontation, charged over. \"What the hell do you think you're doing? Get back to your side, you clown!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Make me, Sideshow Bob!\" Mané shot back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Players from both sides swarmed in. Pushing, shoving, chest-bumping. It was chaos. The referee blew his whistle furiously, separating the brawling millionaires.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling watched Mané from a distance. His face was expressionless. He wasn't contemplating a cheap shot or a nasty tackle.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wasn't Pepe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He wasn't a thug.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'He wants a fight?' Ling thought coldly. 'I'll fight him with the ball.'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Don't dwell on it!\" Ashley Young's voice cut through the noise.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The veteran fullback grabbed Ling's arm. \"Treat it as 0-0. Stick to the plan! Ling, don't drop back so deep anymore. Hold your position near the halfway line. Let me handle Salah. You destroy them.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ashley Young.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>People made memes about him—the bird poop incident, the diving.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But Mourinho loved him for a reason.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>At 33, he was a warrior. He was keeping the best winger in the world quiet through sheer will and experience.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Antonio Valencia, the captain, clapped his hands. \"Let's go! Wake up! This is our house!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"LET'S GO!\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>...\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The match resumed and the tempo shifted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>United stopped bypassing the midfield. Paul Pogba took control. He was the engine, spraying short, sharp passes to regain rhythm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>42nd Minute\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Pogba collected the ball deep. He looked up and saw Jesse Lingard finding a pocket of space. He zipped a pass into Lingard's feet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Here!\" Ling shouted from the left touchline, raising his hand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had drifted wide, isolating himself against the Liverpool right side. He knew Klopp's instructions were to double-team him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn't care.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Chamberlain. Alexander-Arnold.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling analyzed them as the ball traveled toward him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Both were converted midfielders or wingers. They were athletic, fast, and aggressive. But defensively? They were naive.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Especially Trent. The kid had a wand of a right foot, but his defensive positioning was Championship level at best.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lingard laid the ball off perfectly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Double him!\" Chamberlain roared, his voice cracking. He charged forward like a bull.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I got him!\" Arnold shouted, closing the pincer movement from the side.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They sealed off the 90-degree angle. Ling was trapped against the touchline.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Most players would pass back. Most players would look for a foul.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling stood still and he looked frightened.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But inside, his mind was icy calm.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No matter how well-drilled a defense is, two players can never move in perfect synchronization. There is always a millisecond of delay.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A tiny window of opportunity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling's heart raced, but his feet felt light.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Flick. Tap. Pull. Hook.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He had practiced these movements a thousand times in the rain at Carrington.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>First Wave: Alexander-Arnold.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The young defender arrived first. He was eager. He lunged in, stretching his leg to poke the ball away.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Too early.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ling didn't panic. With a delicate touch of his left foot, he flicked the ball sideways, tapping it onto his right foot. Arnold's boot hit nothing but grass.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Second Wave: Chamberlain.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Chamberlain arrived a split-second later, crashing in to clean up the loose ball.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Too aggressive.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As Chamberlain committed his weight, Ling dragged the ball back with the sole of his right foot, shifting it instantly to his left. Chamberlain flew past him like a runaway train.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Left to Right. Right to Left.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The movements were simple, fundamental. But executed at this speed, with this precision, they looked like magic.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was a dance in a telephone booth.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Old Trafford fell into a deathly silence.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Seventy-five thousand people held their breath.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>They watched the red shirt twist and turn, afraid that even a whisper would break the spell.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Alexander-Arnold scrambled to recover.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He felt the humiliation rising in his throat.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>'No! Not again!'\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Gritting his teeth, Trent threw his entire body weight forward.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He abandoned technique. He abandoned caution. He launched himself into a desperate, vicious slide tackle, aiming to take everything—the ball, the man, the dignity.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You've used all your tricks!\" Trent thought, his eyes wild. \"I don't believe you can dodge this one!\"\u003C\u002Fp>",1185,"2026-06-05T22:48:23.062Z",1,"novelbin.me","d7a740be6d31369fa1c58fab2a06eb438d1c5840e71fb276a3d29c8af1b229b5","start-with-r9-template-chapter-152","start-with-r9-template-chapter-371",371,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fstart-with-r9-template-cover.jpg"]