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Allegri rubbed his bald head, his back soaked in sweat. Now he finally understood how Pochettino must have felt in that league defeat.
The Bianconeri's spirits had completely sunk.
After play resumed, time was running out. The Juventus players could almost feel the seconds slipping through their fingers.
Leo Lin stayed locked in. There was no distraction, no easing up just because victory seemed near. Liverpool stood united.
93rd minute.
The referee glanced at his watch and lifted the whistle.
Every Liverpool fan fixed their eyes on it.
"Tweet."
"Tweet."
"TWEET!!!"
Firmino sprinted toward Leo Lin and leapt onto him. Liverpool players exploded in celebration!
On the touchline, Klopp forced himself to look composed. He shook Allegri's hand calmly, exchanged a brief embrace, and the two coaching staffs chatted about the match.
Anfield roared.
Reaching the Champions League semifinals had already exceeded most Liverpool fans' expectations.
"Honestly, if you'd told me before the season that Liverpool would make the semifinals, I'd have thought you were mad."
"Who could've imagined the Red Arrow Trio becoming the Premier League's most lethal front three? And Lovren and Matip stepping up like this!"
"Another assist for Robertson—how many is that now?"
"It's Lin. His emergence fixed Liverpool's midfield problem at exactly the right time."
On the bottom-left of the broadcast screen, the Man of the Match graphic appeared.
Leo Lin.
Jon Champion spoke with satisfaction.
"Congratulations to Liverpool on reaching the Champions League semifinals. And congratulations to Leo Lin, tonight's Man of the Match."
"To be named the best player in a Champions League knockout match at his age—remarkable."
"And perhaps once he collects enough honors, opponents will finally stop feeling like they're being bullied by a kid."
The camera stayed tight on Leo Lin's face. He looked exhilarated.
Dybala walked over.
"Lin, can we swap shirts?"
The talented and stylish Argentine, who often found himself on the bench for the national team due to Messi occupying his position, was still a star at club level.
Leo Lin agreed without hesitation.
The players chatted for a long while. Then Liverpool's squad linked arms at the sideline, singing "You'll Never Walk Alone" with the fans.
Leo Lin could feel Liverpool's spirit—resilience, defiance—flowing into his blood.
Slowly shaping him.
Turning him into part of the club's soul.
...
In the Sky Sports studio, Gerrard watched Leo Lin and the Liverpool side that had just eliminated Juventus.
He smiled with quiet pride.
Beside him, Carragher's eyes were red.
"Semifinals," Gerrard said. "Two more obstacles to the trophy."
"It wasn't easy. Juventus are a strong side. But Chiellini's red card in the first leg changed everything."
"Without their starting center-back and trailing by two goals, their entire plan unraveled."
"The semifinals will be a clash of giants."
"This year's final four: two from the Premier League—Liverpool and Manchester City."
"Liverpool will face Germany's powerhouse, Bayern Munich."
"And Real Madrid will take on Manchester City."
"This is the highest-quality semifinal lineup we've seen in years."
"All four teams are at their peak. Who reaches the summit of Europe? We'll find out."
...
Inside the dressing room, Liverpool erupted.
"Listen to me!" Klopp shouted, trying to rein them in.
"Everyone says we must stay humble if we want to go further."
"They say we shouldn't celebrate because we haven't reached the final destination."
He wagged his finger, then burst out laughing.
"To hell with that!"
"Enjoy the moment! Enjoy the win!"
"That's what matters right now!"
"Scream!"
The players screamed.
"Cheer!"
They roared.
"Passion!"
Klopp threw his head back, laughing.
"Henderson, dance!"
"Wijnaldum, shirt off!"
"Krawietz, grab a guitar!"
"Firmino, whistle!"
"Salah, give me a one-leg pose!"
"Mané—move those hips!"
"Everyone!"
"Two days off!"
"Celebrate! Enjoy it!"
The dressing room exploded. Jumping, singing, shouting. The celebration lasted over half an hour.
Klopp understood something crucial: Liverpool were fighting on three fronts.
FA Cup knockouts.
Champions League semifinals.
Top of the league by a narrow margin.
The pressure was enormous.
And sometimes, the only way forward was to release it.
That night, the team went out for dinner together. No alcohol. Just food and laughter.
They talked until midnight.
At 12:30 a.m., Firmino drove Leo Lin home—they were neighbors.
Music blasting. The streets nearly empty. Both swaying in their seats to the rhythm.
For two young men, it felt like the perfect moment.
Then—
At a right turn—
"BEEP!"
"CRASH!"
A car from the opposite intersection lost control during a left turn and slammed into them.
Everything spun.
Leo Lin felt the impact, the car whipping around before the rear smashed into a utility pole.
Dizzy.
He forced the door open and stepped out, lifting his pant leg.
Bruising on his knee.
No serious damage.
Firmino stumbled out too, shaken. Blood trickled from his knee and arm.
"Lin, you okay?"
"Just bruised," Leo Lin said. "You?"
Firmino stared at him.
How was he smiling?
"I'm fine. We're lucky, man."
Leo Lin grinned wider, pointing at his knee.
"See this bruise?"
"Life tried to hit me."
"I hit back."
Firmino burst out laughing.
They sat on the curb waiting for assistance. The night breeze drifted past.
Leo Lin thought about the win. His goal. The fans.
His lips curved upward again.
Even after nearly crashing, he felt light.
At ease.
He muttered quietly:
"Damn."
"Life… isn't it just this?"
...
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