The locker room was silent.
Everyone sat with their heads down, frustration clear on their faces. The first half had been a disaster, with Liverpool conceding three goals and trailing by two.
Even the usually cheerful Alexander-Arnold looked dejected, his eyes slightly red. Watching the team he loved get torn apart was painful.
Then, with a loud bang, the door swung open.
Klopp stormed in, his expression dark with anger.
As the head coach, he was furious. The gap in strength between the two teams wasn't that big, but the first-half performance didn't reflect Liverpool's true ability.
The players shrank in their seats. Emre, who had been directly responsible for two of the conceded goals, looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor.
Klopp's voice cut through the silence.
"This is not your level!"
"What the hell was that first half?"
"Emre! Are you a child?"
"Were you exhausted last night?"
"My grandmother has stronger legs than you!"
"Does that jersey even belong to you?"
His frustration exploded like a storm. Klopp had always been known for his passionate outbursts, and today was no different.
After venting, he motioned for the assistant coach to bring the tactical board.
He slammed his hand against it multiple times, emphasizing each point as he spoke.
"Listen up! We're switching to a 4-3-3 in the second half!"
"Chamberlain, drop into midfield!"
"Salah, push wider!"
"Focus our attacks on Salah's side—Delph is struggling!"
"Exploit the space between him and Otamendi!"
"High pressing! Don't let them settle! Win the ball back immediately after losing possession!"
"Disrupt their rhythm! Don't let them play their game!"
His voice was sharp, cutting through the tension in the room.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes!" the players responded in unison.
Salah had been waiting for a chance to speak, ready to suggest a change.
But before he could, Klopp turned toward Pierre.
"Pierre!" he called, motioning for him to come over.
Pierre quickly stood up. Klopp grabbed him by the shoulders, his eyes serious.
"I wanted to give you a smooth debut, let you start under the right conditions."
"But those bastards from Manchester City aren't letting that happen!"
"I need you now!"
Klopp felt guilty. Emre's performance had been disastrous, but Pierre was still untested at this level. Throwing him into such a tough situation was a risk.
If things went badly, the pressure from fans and media could be overwhelming.
But Pierre didn't hesitate.
"I'm ready!" he said firmly.
He had thought he might miss his debut, but now, he had a golden opportunity.
Pressure? A tough situation?
He thrived on challenges.
A comeback victory would make for an unforgettable first match.
Klopp nodded, his grip tightening on Pierre's shoulder.
"Good!"
"You'll push forward, Wijnaldum will cover behind you!"
"Use your defensive skills to disrupt their attacks!"
"When you win the ball, start the counterattack immediately! Your long passing ability—use it!"
"And one more thing!" Klopp's eyes burned with intensity.
"Make Aguero disappear in the second half."
He was still fuming over Aguero's first-half hat trick and his celebratory knee slide right in front of the Liverpool bench.
Klopp wasn't going to let that go.
Pierre met his gaze and nodded.
"Understood."
"Good! Go warm up!"
The second half began.
As the players took the field, Klopp made an immediate substitution.
Emre was benched.
Watching from the sidelines, he clenched his fists.
Why should a young player take his place?
Sure, Pierre had looked good in training, but this was a real match. The pace, the pressure—he wouldn't be able to handle it.
Emre was convinced Pierre would fail.
On the field, Pierre was oblivious to Emre's doubts.
Salah grabbed his arm, speaking urgently.
"That guy—Aguero!" He pointed toward the Manchester City striker.
"He ran wild in the first half! He even celebrated in front of the coach!"
"You have to shut him down!"
"Treat him like you do in training."
"No—go even harder!"
"Dominate him! Steal from him! Frustrate him!"
"And use your words! Get in his head!"
Salah's grin was mischievous.
He had suffered enough under Pierre's relentless defending in training. Now it was Aguero's turn.
Pierre chuckled and reached out, ruffling Salah's curly hair.
It had a nice texture.
"Just keep an eye on the space on the right," Pierre said. "I'll send long passes when I get the chance."
His technique was top-class, but long passes still needed good movement from the receiver.
Salah nodded. "Got it!"
"If you get me an assist, I'll buy you dinner!"
Pierre laughed. "Deal."
The players lined up for kickoff.
The fans in the stands quickly noticed the change.
Emre was out.
Their new number 10, Pierre, was in.
Some fans were skeptical.
"Why bring in a kid now?"
"We need experienced players to change the game!"
"Damn, we're done! This is too risky!"
Others, especially female fans, had a different reaction when Pierre's face appeared on the big screen.
"Wow! Who is that?"
"He's gorgeous!"
"Does he have a girlfriend?"
"Our new number 10? I need to know everything about him!"
"Forget Beckham—Pierre is even more handsome!"
"I want to be his girlfriend!"
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