Zachary took it in stride, touched it forward with the outside of his boot, and glided into the box. The keeper stepped forward, expecting a blast. But Zachary didn't go for power. Instead, he went for precision with a low, curling finish slotted into the far corner, just out of reach.
The net rippled.
He didn't explode. No knee slide. No shouting at the cameras.
Just one hand raised to the crowd. A quick nod to the bench.
All business.
He didn't need to scream.
The goal spoke for him.
After that, Liverpool's grip tightened. The midfield pressed higher. The fullbacks bombed forward. The crowd chanted in waves, feeding the tempo.
Then, just before halftime, Salah made it two.
The ball dropped to him near the edge of the area. With a defender in his shadow, he took one touch, chopped inside, and bent a shot with that trademark left foot. It soared past the outstretched keeper and buried itself in the top corner.
The keeper didn't move.
2–0. Halftime.
