Old Trafford.
After being mocked by Barcelona fans at Camp Nou last time, a fan of Manunited, Andrea, took to the streets with his brothers, carrying posters, banners, flags, drums, and gongs.
They were the die-hard Manchester United fan group known as Shareholders United.
A massive crowd dressed in bright red jerseys marched in a grand procession along Sir Matt Busby Way, just like the iconic Manchester United anthem music video shot a few years ago.
"Do you know what those Catalan bastards said at Camp Nou?!" Andrea shouted from the front of the procession through a megaphone.
Without waiting for the marching Manchester United fans to respond, he gave the answer directly.
"They said we're not Real Madrid! That Messi is ten thousand times better than Cristiano Ronaldo, and ten thousand times better than Ling too! And that he'll create a miracle at Old Trafford tonight!"
Although Cristiano Ronaldo had left Manchester United for Real Madrid a decade ago, the affection of Manchester United fans for him hadn't diminished.
Why? Cristiano Ronaldo brought all the major trophies to Manchester United—the Champions League, the Premier League, the Club World Cup.
And when he finally left for his dream club, he left behind a world-record fee.
Moreover, in the eyes of many old Manchester United fans, Cristiano Ronaldo was still that curly-haired, teary-eyed young lad from Madeira.
Perhaps in another ten years, they'd view Ling exactly the same way.
"Make Barcelona relive the nightmare of '08! Shatter the Spaniards' Champions League dreams again!"
"Manchester United, march on!"
Nearly 100,000 people surrounded Old Trafford, packed tightly around the perimeter.
Even though more than half of them didn't have match tickets, they still chose to come to the stadium to support Manchester United from the outside.
When the team bus emblazoned with the Manchester United crest finally arrived, the crowd instantly erupted like boiling water.
"Champione, Champione!" "De Gea, Pogba... Ling!!!"
The cheerful, stirring melody of the club anthems was sung in unison, making anyone who heard it feel their blood surge.
The Manchester United players on the bus hummed along softly, looking out the tinted windows.
Ling remembered learning these songs when he first arrived at the Manchester United training camp.
Every time the names of the legendary star players in the lyrics were sung, the sense of historic pride that welled up was indescribable.
He never expected that his name would now be included in it too.
"Scott, give it your all today to defend against Messi. Make a name for yourself tonight!" Ling said with a smile, patting the midfielder's shoulder.
"Haha, I'll do my best!" Scott McTominay scratched his head, seemingly lacking much confidence.
It was Ander Herrera, forced to sit out the match due to suspension, who gave Scott a firm pep talk.
"Why overthink it, Scotty? Whether you can completely defend him or not, just do your tactical job. Stay focused."
"Right!" Ling chimed in.
He remembered the trajectory from his past life—Scott had actually defended Messi quite well in this fixture.
And the current Scott, having trained alongside Ling, was even stronger and more disciplined.
The club bus slowly made its way through the sea of red and into the stadium's secure loading bay.
Mourinho immediately took Ling with him to the mandatory pre-match press conference.
"Can Manchester United win? I think that question is unnecessary," Mourinho told the assembled press.
"Any ambitious team would answer—yes. It's a shame Herrera is suspended tonight, but I firmly believe Scott can handle the task because I've witnessed his growth firsthand. Messi? He's an excellent, historic player, but Manchester United has them too."
Mourinho's expression was stern.
Although Manchester United had made several adjustments to their lineup due to suspensions and fitness issues, Barcelona wasn't in much better shape.
Did people really think a recovering Umtiti was stronger than Lenglet? If that were truly the case, why would he have been sitting on the bench in the first leg?
Since Ling had already physically torn through Lenglet, he could easily do the same to Umtiti.
Mourinho was brimming with absolute confidence in this regard.
"Ling, what do you have to say about the massive transfer rumors linking you to Real Madrid this week?" A reporter from The Sun raised his hand to ask.
Ling helplessly glanced at the UEFA press officer, thinking, 'Wasn't the interview content supposed to be vetted to match-related topics?'
This was purely meant to mess with his head before kickoff!
He even half-suspected The Sun might have taken money from Florentino Perez to stir the pot.
"The club and my agent have already officially clarified the situation. As for the outside noise, I don't pay it any mind," Ling's reply was a flawless PR block. "Right now, my focus is entirely on the Champions League match tonight."
"But are you afraid of Messi outshining you?" The Sun reporter pressed further, ignoring the glare from the press officer.
"He's a fantastic player, but I've never been afraid of him on the pitch," Ling replied coolly. "Besides, this season, whether in the league or the Champions League, I've scored more goals than he has."
"If you want to compare career achievements..." Ling looked directly at the smirking reporter and said word by word.
"Feel free to ask me again in ten years!"
He was fed up with the constant, lazy media comparisons—it was downright annoying. So he decided to fire back outright.
Shortly after, The Sun reporter was quietly escorted out of the conference room by security.
After the pre-match preparations concluded, it was exactly 7:30 PM.
Players from both teams pushed open the dressing room doors and entered the narrow tunnel.
Silence, tension...
Everyone could keenly feel the heavy undercurrents hidden beneath this calm.
Today's match was bound to be intensely physical.
Messi stood at the front of the Barcelona line, sizing up Ling out of the corner of his eye.
'Why is he so tall?'
It wasn't as obvious when they weren't standing together on the pitch, but now, side by side in the tunnel, the difference in sheer physical frame was striking.
Messi instinctively took a half-step back.
"The weather forecast says it'll rain heavily in the second half. Be careful of their long-range shots later when the pitch gets slick," Ling turned around to remind his backline.
De Gea clapped his gloved hands together and then pulled them apart. "If you attackers get the chance, take more long shots early too. Barcelona's goalkeeper only has a PSxG-GA of +0.08 this season."
Marc-André ter Stegen, standing nearby in the Barcelona line, instantly bristled at the loud, specific statistical remark.
It was true his ability to save long-range shots wasn't statistically exceptional this year, but did De Gea have to call him out so bluntly in front of everyone?
"What's your PSxG-GA then, David?" Ter Stegen retorted defiantly.
"Oh, just +0.23. Only 0.04 more than Courtois," De Gea replied smoothly while casually running a hand through his thick, perfect hair.
"Pfft!" Ling couldn't hold back a laugh.
He hadn't expected the usually quiet De Gea to be so slick—using the most casual tone to deliver the most boastful line possible.
But what truly crushed Ter Stegen wasn't the advanced goalkeeping stats.
It was the hair!
The German had been struggling with noticeable hair loss for a long time, trying countless expensive methods with no success, and was secretly planning to get a hair transplant after the season ended.
De Gea's gesture was a critical hit to him.
"They're deliberately trying to get under your skin, Marc. Can't you see through such a cheap trick?" Luis Suarez cut into the conversation, glaring at the United players.
He then flashed a wide grin at Harry Maguire, which carried a somewhat unsettling, predatory vibe.
Maguire shuddered, goosebumps rising all over his arms, and instinctively avoided Suarez's crazy gaze.
This guy actually bites people!
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