"Did you see the keeper on that header?" Isak grumbled to Salah as they were getting ready to go back out."He flew. Like a cat with springs."

"Don't worry, big man," Salah grinned, a flash of pure confidence in his eyes. "We will make him tired of flying."

The second half began, and Liverpool were not just a team; they were a storm.

They played with a controlled, suffocating intensity, their passing a dizzying, one-touch symphony.

Leon, now fully committed to his new role as 'Support & Decoy', was a master of misdirection.

He made darting, selfless runs, pulling defenders out of position, creating vacuums of space for his teammates to exploit. He was playing a game of tactical ghost, and Crystal Palace had no idea where to find him.

"LIVERPOOL ARE A DIFFERENT BEAST IN THIS SECOND HALF!" the commentator roared. "They are playing with a pace and a purpose that is simply breathtaking! Crystal Palace are hanging on by a thread!"

In the 65th minute, the thread finally snapped.

The move started, as they all now did, with a decoy.

Leon received the ball and immediately made a sharp, diagonal run towards the right wing, dragging the entire Palace midfield with him, their eyes all drawn to the world-record signing. But it was a feint.

He didn't run with the ball. He just played a simple, cold pass backwards, into the vast, green meadow of space his movement had just created.

And running onto it, with perfect timing, was Florian Wirtz.

The German wonderkid took one touch to set himself, looked up from 30 yards out, and unleashed an absolute thunderbolt.

It was a shot of pure, beautiful technique and vicious power, a rising, swerving missile that seemed to gather speed as it flew.

The goalkeeper, who had been brilliant all day, was a statue, a helpless spectator to a moment of pure genius. The ball crashed into the top corner of the net with a sound that was less a "thud" and more an explosion.

2-1 to Liverpool. Anfield erupted in a sound of pure, delirious joy.

"A ROCKET! A MISSILE! A GOAL FORGED IN THE FIRES OF TACTICAL GENIUS AND TECHNICAL PERFECTION!" the commentator screamed, his voice cracking. "Florian Wirtz has just announced his arrival in the Premier League with one of the greatest long-range goals this stadium has ever seen! Liverpool lead!"

The players mobbed Wirtz, a joyous, screaming pile of red. Leon was the first one there, ruffling the German's hair, a huge, proud grin on his face.

But Crystal Palace, to their immense credit, did not crumble. Stung by the goal, they reminded Liverpool that the Premier League is a league of monsters, and they had a few of their own.

In the 78th minute, their star winger, Michael Olise, who had been quiet for most of the second half, decided to create a masterpiece.

He received the ball on the right touchline, marked tightly by Arnold.

He dropped his shoulder, feinted to go inside, and then, with a burst of acceleration so fast it was almost a magic trick, he was gone.

He was a blur of motion, a dribble that made the defense look like children, his feet a hypnotic, dancing blur. Arnold, one of the best defenders in the world, was left stumbling.

Ibrahima Konaté came across to cover, but Olise, with an audacious, ridiculous piece of skill, nutmegged the giant defender and was through on goal.

He looked up, saw Alisson rushing out, and with the composure of a seasoned assassin, he coolly slotted the ball into the far corner.

2-2.

The tiny pocket of away fans went berserk.

The rest of Anfield was plunged into a stunned, disbelieving silence.

They had been completely, utterly dominant, and they had been undone by a single, unstoppable moment of individual brilliance.

"WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?!" the commentator wailed. "A GOAL OF PURE, DISRESPECTFUL, AUDACIOUS GENIUS! Michael Olise has just sent the entire Liverpool defense for a cup of tea and a biscuit! We are level again! This league! You simply cannot breathe in this league!"

The clock showed 80:00.

The Liverpool players looked at each other, a mixture of disbelief and a new, grim determination.

Leon felt a surge of frustration.

His plan, his brilliant, selfless plan, had been canceled out.

He looked at Mo Salah, who was staring at the scoreboard, his face a mask of pure, murderous intent. The 'King's Hammer' synergy was not enough.

They needed something more.

He closed his eyes, a desperate plea for an answer.

Manager Mode. Analyze. Find me a weakness.

The system, recalibrated and more powerful than ever, responded instantly. It wasn't a choice this time.

[Live Tactical Override: AVAILABLE.]

[Analysis: Crystal Palace left-back (Player #3, Mitchell) is showing signs of 'Decision Fatigue'. Under pressure, he has an 84% tendency to show the attacker the inside channel.]

[Optimal Exploitation: This weakness can only be consistently exploited by a player with the 'Alpha Attacker' trait (Salah).]

Ten minutes to go.

This was not the time for hesitation. This was the time for a gamble. He looked at Mo Salah, the 'Alpha Attacker', the king of Anfield.

He took a deep breath. In the quiet, internal space of his own mind, he focused his entire will on the prompt. Activate.

On the right wing, Mo Salah was getting ready to make a run. His entire career had been built on instinct, on a supernatural ability to sense weakness.

His plan was to take the ball, drive at the fullback, beat him on the outside with his explosive speed, and whip in a cross. It was a move he had made a thousand times.

And then, something strange happened. A thought, clear as a coach's voice, echoed in his mind.

It wasn't his own thought. It was a calm, precise, and utterly confident instruction. 'The fullback is expecting you to go outside.

He's showing you the line. It's a trap. Your first movement, you cut inside. Hard. The space is there.'

Salah froze for a microsecond, a look of pure, bewildered confusion on his face.

He glanced around, as if expecting to see someone who had just shouted in his ear. He saw no one.

Just the roar of the crowd and the frantic movements of the game.

He looked over at Leon, who was in the center of the pitch, just watching, waiting.

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second.

Salah's confusion was replaced by a look of fierce, intrigued determination.

He grinned. Okay. Let's dance.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.