As the referee's final whistle echoed through the "Theatre of Dreams," Old Trafford transformed into a roaring sea of red.
Every fan in the stands beamed with a mixture of relief and pure, unadulterated joy.
"Thought you were the best team in the universe, didn't you? Today, we showed you reality!"
"Did Barcelona's number 10 even show up? I didn't see him all game!"
"The top two scorers in La Liga only managed two goals over two legs? Pathetic."
"The top scorer in the Premier League? Three goals and an assist! Now that's what strength looks like!"
While the Manchester United faithful celebrated, they didn't miss the chance to stick the boots into the traveling Barcelona supporters.
For years, encounters with the Catalan giants had felt like a recurring nightmare.
Despite the brave talk before kickoff, a deep-seated anxiety had lingered in the air at halftime. Now that the job was done, the fans finally let their emotions fly.
United fans are famous for their sharp tongues, and they provoked the Barca fans until faces flushed red and middle fingers were flipped in a desperate, losing exchange.
But with only two thousand visitors in the ground, their voices were quickly drowned out by seventy thousand voices singing in triumph.
It was a total defeat for the visitors. Most Barcelona fans chose to exit early, distancing themselves from the heartbreak and silently adding Manchester United to their list of eternal grudges.
They'd have to wait for next year's Champions League to seek their revenge.
On the pitch, Ling and Scott McTominay stood shoulder to shoulder, gazing up at the Manchester night sky.
In United's 141-year history, many talented players have graced this grass, but few symbolize the perfect blend of natural talent and raw, hard work like these two.
"Ling and Scott symbolize the future of this club," Gary Neville said with a genuine smile in the commentary booth.
"I hope ten years from now, I'm still witnessing a scene like this at Old Trafford."
Neville, often critical of the modern squad's unmet potential, finally saw the vibrant energy he'd been craving.
The sense of stagnation had vanished, replaced by a hope that anyone in the stadium could feel.
"Scott, you've transformed today," Ling said, unstrapping the captain's armband.
He held it out.
"Come on, feel the weight of this responsibility."
McTominay looked down in shock.
The mud-stained elastic was something he'd dreamed of, but as he held it, it felt almost scalding.
"Better give it back to you," he said, shaking his head.
In football, the captain isn't always the one with the most appearances, it's the one with the strongest leadership—the ones like Beckham in 2002 or Gerrard in 2005.
McTominay didn't feel worthy yet.
"It's fine, you'll wear it sooner or later anyway," Ling replied.
He knew McTominay was the type of player who put the team before personal glory.
These types of players don't always grab the headlines early on, but they're the ones who become true legends.
"I actually hope I never have to wear it while you're here," McTominay said with a sincere grin.
Even though playing next to Ling was like standing next to the sun—you're rarely noticed—it felt comfortable.
There was always someone ahead, guiding the way.
...
As Ling walked toward the tunnel, he couldn't help but think about loyalty.
In an era dominated by commerce and media spin, the concept of "one club, one city" had become a luxury.
He respected those who stayed, like Reus or De Rossi, but he also knew that being a professional was a career.
He wouldn't mind writing a fairy tale at Manchester United, but he wouldn't let the club take advantage of his love for the badge either.
"You played really well. Can we swap jerseys?"
Ling turned to see Ousmane Dembele.
The Frenchman didn't look nearly as disappointed as he should've been.
He was the poster boy for "happy football," seemingly unaffected by the weight of the loss.
"I can, but aren't you worried about the Barca fans?" Ling asked.
Swapping jerseys with the man who just knocked you out wasn't exactly great optics.
"Ah, it's fine," Dembele waved it off.
He was used to being the scapegoat.
At Barca, Valverde wouldn't dare criticize Messi, so the heat always landed on Dembele.
As long as he got paid, he didn't mind the noise.
Ling handed over his shirt, thinking to himself that it made sense why Dembele didn't mind the pressure.
He was happy to let someone else carry it.
Further down the pitch, Lionel Messi sat on the grass, head lowered.
Last season's exit to Roma was painful, but at least they'd reached the semis.
This year, despite dominating La Liga and beating Real Madrid twice, they'd been picked apart by a Manchester United side that had struggled in the group stages.
He couldn't wrap his head around why the heavy investment in the squad was yielding worse results every year.
Suarez sat down beside him, trying to sound upbeat. "Don't put it all on yourself, Leo. You played well. Losing isn't just one person's fault."
Messi gave a short nod, but he knew the score.
Barcelona was facing a financial crisis.
If they didn't win big next season, a major overhaul was coming, and his friends might be the first ones out the door.
He had to get stronger.
...
In the post-match press conference, Mourinho was in top form.
"I saw a complete team today," he told the reporters. "McTominay's performance in attack and defense far exceeded my expectations. I admire hardworking players like him."
When a reporter asked about Ling's performance, Mourinho chuckled.
"You don't need me to hype him up, your phones are already full of unique praises. I don't like mindlessly calling players 'spiritual leaders' or the 'best in the world' in a press room. Strength is proven on the pitch."
It was a direct jab at Valverde, who had recently claimed everyone should "worship" Messi.
Mourinho found that kind of talk irritating.
...
In the neighboring room, Valverde was desperately defending his position.
"One match doesn't prove anything," he insisted. "You must respect Leo. He's a treasure."
When asked if he'd be fired, he looked confused. "Which coach can lead Barcelona to defend a league title better than me?"
A reporter from The Sun quickly rattled off names like Cruyff, Guardiola, and Enrique.
Valverde paused, then simply said, "Next question."
When asked about Ling, he couldn't resist one more bit of sycophancy for his own captain.
"Ling is promising, but if he wants to progress, he should watch highlights of Leo and learn from his idol." (Is he really this unhinged ? i dont watch laliga so i barely remember him.)
....
The United dressing room was jumping.
Ashley Young had a rock track blasting, and the players were dancing. Ling, however, was focused on another screen.
"Even after Ronaldo scored first, Ajax still managed to come back and win," Ling noted. "Juventus aren't what they used to be."
"Ajax advanced? Damn," Rashford chimed in. "Shame we aren't on that side of the bracket, we'd be in the final for sure!"
"Shut it," Young retorted. "Don't talk nonsense. Juventus and Barca just got knocked out by underdogs. Don't go inviting that luck."
Pogba was quiet, staring at the floor.
He'd hoped for a reunion with his former club in the final, but the Italian giants had fallen early.
"Manchester City is playing Tottenham tomorrow. Should we go watch?" McTominay suggested.
It was a day off, and it was a chance to scout their potential future opponents.
"Problem is, tickets are impossible to get now," McTominay said, glancing at Ling.
The whole room followed his gaze.
"Ling, your girlfriend is Guardiola's daughter," Maguire said, his big head swaying. "Getting a dozen tickets should be easy for you. This one's on you, Skip!"
Ling smiled wryly.
He wasn't going to make Maria ask her dad for favors—the rivalry between the two Manchester clubs was too delicate for that.
But he knew money solved most problems.
He'd just have Mendes pull some strings with internal tickets.
After all, he paid the man enough commission; it was time he earned it.
Late that night, as the world debated whether the era of the two superstars was finally ending, the Red Devils slept soundly.
Ling had proven he was ready to carry the torch.
The focus now shifted to April 14th—West Ham at home.
But the Champions League semi-final loomed on the horizon.
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I was editing the chapter against liverpool, i began to suspect the author is not manunited fans but liverpool, the amount of dickriding words he have towards Van dijk is insane 😂