October 8, 2023.
Anfield, Liverpool.
Dark clouds hung in the sky, and a fine drizzle fell steadily over the stadium.
In the away stands, several Manchester City fans with their windbreaker hoods pulled low looked up at the sky and muttered.
"This place has bad juju. Every time I come here, I get this creepy feeling."
"It's always gloomy. The atmosphere."
"Why does it feel so dark here?"
It wasn't that the weather was cold, but everyone had their arms crossed, and somehow none of them looked particularly comfortable.
An inexplicably gloomy and desolate feeling.
The aura emanating from Anfield was certainly not one that felt welcoming to the away team.
Perhaps it was due to the overcast weather, or perhaps the rugged impression of the Liverpool people, from an industrial and port city.
You could say it felt somewhat oppressive, like an invisible weight bearing down on your spirits.
In fact, Anfield's reputation was already so storied that there was no one ignorant of it.
After all, Liverpool held both the record for the longest unbeaten home run and the record for the most consecutive home victories.
An away trip to Anfield was classified as a grueling fixture not only for the Premier League's strongest teams but also for the foreign powerhouses one might face in the Champions League—so much so that securing even a single point was considered a respectable result.
As such, Anfield's infamy as an away ground was legendary.
And the same held true even for a team of Manchester City's caliber.
Manchester City was a side whose win rates between home and away fixtures did not differ greatly.
Whether at home or away, City simply boasted a high win rate regardless.
Yet even for such a City side, their win rate at Anfield was poor relative to the team's stature.
To give some idea, Manchester City had secured a victory at Anfield in Matchweek 23 of the 2020/21 season—a win that came after a staggering eighteen years.
That alone was enough to explain how much Manchester City had dreaded visiting Anfield.
"And to top it off, De Bruyne can't play..."
"This won't be easy."
It was already a difficult trip to Anfield.
It was the kind of situation where gathering every available resource still wouldn't feel sufficient; to make matters worse, a core player was missing from their ranks.
Kevin De Bruyne had been lost to injury.
A hamstring injury from the previous match.
According to the club's announcement, he was expected to be sidelined for at least four months.
So naturally, he was unavailable for today's match.
Every Manchester City fan knew full well.
The difference between having De Bruyne and not having him.
Just how vast the gulf in the team's performance was.
Honestly, fans of other teams might struggle to sympathize.
Because Manchester City had so many excellent players, complaining about the absence of just one De Bruyne might come across as mere whining.
Like they were feigning weakness and making a fuss for no reason.
But the common opinion among City fans was that it wasn't like that at all—without De Bruyne, they might as well be a different team.
Of course, there were many great players.
In attack, there was Haaland, and players like Phil Foden and Julián Álvarez.
In midfield, too, there were many solid players who fulfilled their roles admirably, like Rodri and Bernardo Silva.
But De Bruyne was a player who gave off a feeling of being 'different' even within that star-studded squad.
Much like David Silva in the past.
There was no one who could match his blend of reliability and the ability to surprise.
So it was only natural that he was also the player who received the most love from the fans.
But that very player was missing.
And of all times, it had to be on the away trip to Anfield—one of the most difficult fixtures of the year.
Their opponents, Liverpool, had no players missing through injury and were expected to field their full strength today.
Given the situation, it was little wonder that Anfield felt particularly bleak today.
"A draw would be fine today, I think."
"One point isn't bad. We can beat them in the second half of the season."
"I think we'll be fine as long as we don't concede early... but I'm a bit uneasy."
The anxiety couldn't be erased.
Somehow, the image of Manager Klopp fist-pumping toward the crowd in celebration after the match formed in their minds.
But it wasn't a situation completely devoid of hope.
It was lamentable that it had to be De Bruyne, but regardless, all the other players were fit and available.
They were also riding high on momentum, having maintained an unbeaten run through the preceding League Matchweek 12 and the Champions League.
More than anything, it was because a player who had recently earned the fans' trust nearly equal to De Bruyne's had been named in today's starting lineup.
"So what we're relying on is an eighteen-year-old kid."
"To be exact, a 200-billion-won kid."
"He'll do well, won't he? Though it's his first time at Anfield."
"He's still an unknown quantity. But based on what we've seen so far... we have to be hopeful, don't we?"
There was certainly cause for concern.
He was performing brilliantly regardless of whether it was the league or the Champions League, but it had only been about ten matches or so.
Moreover, with De Bruyne out today, it was obvious that the opposition's marking would focus on him.
But his genius was already known to all.
The anxiety that had swirled before the season had long since vanished the moment the campaign began.
Talk of him being overpriced, and claims that he would never replicate his Serie A form in the Premier League, had disappeared completely within five matches.
Of course, the biggest concern was likely that today was his first away trip to Anfield.
Had he ever felt the air of this place even once, it might be different.
But if today was his first time, the air of Anfield would inevitably feel several times heavier.
Honestly, the fans thought that even if he underperformed compared to usual today, they couldn't criticize him.
After all, it would be insane to hurl abuse at an eighteen-year-old player still adapting to the league for struggling a bit on his first visit to Anfield.
But on the previous away trip to Old Trafford, the fans had sensed it.
That Ijian's greatest strength might not be his vision, his dribbling ability, or his passing.
That his greatest strength was a mental fortitude ill-suited to his young age.
No matter how much young players stood out these days, and no matter how far Manchester United had fallen.
For an eighteen-year-old to perform like that at Old Trafford without batting an eye was no easy feat.
It wasn't something possible through skill alone; it required a strong heart as well.
Today would be no different.
To win at Anfield, a bold heart was the foremost requirement.
Anyone who had ever visited Anfield would know.
How the Liverpool fans in the Kop tormented the away players throughout the match.
To overcome that and play one's own game was impossible without a fairly stout heart.
The City fans believed that Ijian possessed this.
The fact that he could carry such a burden at his age and still deliver such performances was proof in itself of an extraordinary mentality.
"Whew..."
"Let's go. Please."
As tension mounted in the bleak atmosphere of Anfield.
The Premier League Matchweek 12 fixture between home side Liverpool and away side Manchester City was on the verge of kickoff.
*
"Whew...!"
Just before the whistle.
Exhaling deeply, I looked around widely.
Suddenly, the sign posted in a conspicuous place when entering the stadium came to mind.
This is Anfield.
A phrase that almost seemed to welcome those who had arrived.
That phrase, which had exuded an inexplicable pride—standing here in the middle of the pitch and looking around, I felt I finally understood why it had been stuck so prominently at the entrance.
So this is Anfield.
"As we've been saying, let's just do our thing."
"Okay, okay."
With something like a slight shiver down my spine, I traded shouts of encouragement with my teammates before scattering to our positions.
As I'd just said, ahead of this match, the most important thing the manager had emphasized was doing our own thing well.
Rather than worrying about how the opponents would come at us or how to break them down.
It meant that reducing our own mistakes, knowing the direction we needed to go, and focusing on our own game was more important today.
Standing here, I instantly understood why the manager had emphasized that so heavily.
Playing a match here... it felt something like this.
Like gathering a crowd of people who hated you and having to show off your talents in front of them.
Except there were tens of thousands of them right in front of me.
Booooooo—
Even before kickoff, while Haaland was just preparing to take it, the jeers were already ringing in my skull.
Of course, I'd already experienced something like this at Old Trafford, but...
If the jeers sounded more frightening today, it was probably because the opponents were Liverpool.
Beeeeep—!
Feeling my body stiffen with tension, constantly rolling my shoulders and shaking out my legs, the match began.
Thwack-!
Haaland's kickoff came my way, and I laid it back and dropped deeper.
The opponents, who had been pressed up against the halfway line waiting for the whistle, surged into our half the moment play started.
From the pre-match analysis, I'd heard that the opponents were the team with the highest energy levels and the most intense high press in the league.
They had also said it was the only team that could not back down against us but rather push us back instead.
The truth of those words was revealed the instant the match began.
Thwack-!
Thwack-!
The speed of the passes circulating at the back was incomparable to usual.
It was because the opponents had stationed many players in our half and were pressing aggressively.
Thanks to that, even our goalkeeper, Ederson, had already taken several touches.
Tap-tap-tap-!
I dropped my position even lower and moved down.
Attacking mattered, but for now, the priority was enduring the opponents' heavy pressure and getting out of the danger zone.
In truth, if De Bruyne had been here, I might not have had to drop this deep myself.
Because with Rodri and De Bruyne, there was a belief that we could overcome any pressure and play out.
But today, the opponents were who they were, and De Bruyne was absent.
Perhaps that weighed on me more than having to prove my 200-billion-won transfer fee.
The fact that it was me who had to fill De Bruyne's void.
But I had decided to think of it as an opportunity.
An opportunity to become the protagonist.
An opportunity to become a hero, as the manager had said.
Besides, thinking about it from another angle, the pressure was actually less.
Because De Bruyne was such a truly great player, filling his void was no easy task.
So rather, I thought that even if I fell a bit short, I would be understood.
Just as one wouldn't receive enormous criticism for failing to stop Lionel Messi.
Tap-tap-!
Scanning the shape of the opponents' press, I took up a position that seemed appropriate.
But within three seconds, I moved again.
Because the opponents moved so quickly and cohesively, swarming at the ball.
To escape that, we had to move one step faster, so there was no time to stand still with feet glued to the turf.
If there was one relief, it was that this was exactly what we trained for every day.
Thwack-!
Thwack-!
Perilous, yet calm, the passes continued.
From a distance, it might look like we were simply passing the bomb to evade the opponents.
But this was similar to solving a Rubik's Cube.
When watching a skilled cuber, it might look like they're turning it meaninglessly.
But doesn't the cube complete with one final turn at some point?
It was something like that.
At a glance, it might look like we were just running away, but each and every pass was a step toward completing the puzzle.
And once all the groundwork was laid, the puzzle was completed with one final piece.
Thwack-!
The pass came toward me.
I was standing in the left central midfield position.
Swish—
As the pass came, I could see opposing players rushing in at nearly the same speed.
The ball couldn't outrun a person.
It felt that way because they had anticipated the passing lane and moved first.
But if the opponents could predict it, so could we.
To put it more precisely, one could say we had lured them into moving that way.
Just as the colors of the cube align with one final twist, our build-up too was completed with one final pass.
Fwhooooosh-!
I sprayed a long one-touch pass toward the right side of the opponent's half.
We had lured the opponents to press us to the left.
So naturally, the direction to attack was the right.
Phil Foden would be waiting there.
Tap-tap-tap-!
After playing the pass, I sprinted upfield.
Investing many players in the high press meant fewer numbers at the back.
We knew this well, as it was our own style.
As expected.
Thanks to the long pass crossing the halfway line in one go, the number of opposing defenders rushing back to guard the box was few.
I ran as fast as I could, crossing the halfway line along the right half-space.
Thwack-!
Foden played the pass to me.
The weight and direction were so exquisite that I needn't slow down; I simply knocked it forward and kept driving.
With just that, I was already confronting the opponent's last line of defense.
But strangely, I didn't feel like I had met with a clear-cut chance.
The reason Liverpool could leave the back so exposed while applying a high press was, as I'd heard, because an outstanding defender was guarding the rear.
Virgil van Dijk, was it?
Liverpool's guardian blocked the path with an overwhelming presence.
Tap-tap-tap-!
But I had no intention of stopping either.