Meanwhile, back in Liverpool at the Boot Room pub, the atmosphere was electric with wild laughter.
The television had just finished replaying Shelvey's own goal when Ted slapped the table with an open palm, sending beer foam splashing over the rim of his glass.
"Bloody hell! The lad's working harder in white than he ever did in red! Three years at Liverpool—69 appearances for seven goals and four assists total. Today? One match, and he's already contributed an assist and a goal—both for us! Helping us take the lead!"
The young supporter in a Julien number 10 shirt doubled over laughing, raising his pint and shouting, "Shelvey's an undercover agent, confirmed! Did he secretly sign a sabotage clause when he left in the summer? Knew we needed someone to unlock tight defenses, so he volunteered for special ops!"
The entire pub roared with laughter at that.
Someone else chimed in: "His heart never left Anfield!"
Behind the bar, George polished a glass and added his own observation.
"Remember back in 2012 when he was with us? Scored that screamer against Everton from distance. Everyone was calling him the future of our midfield. Never imagined he'd end up being more useful to Liverpool from the opposing team. One match contributing more than three seasons combined. If he'd maintained this efficiency, the club never would've loaned him out repeatedly before giving up on him entirely."
Ted nodded, gesturing at the television screen showing Shelvey's anguished face. "Look at that expression! That's not regret, that's the guilt of a man who just helped his old club again!"
Laughter mixed with the smell of beer throughout the pub. Nobody viewed Shelvey as a genuine opponent. He seemed more like one of their own who'd made an endearing mistake of "helping family instead of fighting them properly."
After all, an "opponent" who contributed more to Liverpool in one match than in three seasons as a player—you'd struggle to find another example in the entire Premier League.
Play resumed quickly, but Liverpool's attacking intensity had noticeably decreased. Before long, the referee's whistle signaled the end of the first half.
TWEET!
Half-time. The scoreboard read Swansea 1, Liverpool 2.
The 1-2 scoreline left the Liberty Stadium's atmosphere split in half tense, half buzzing with nervous energy.
As Liverpool players headed toward the tunnel, Julien found himself with Sturridge's arm draped over his shoulders. "That last dribble of yours, if you'd waited half a second longer, Shelvey might've gifted us another one!"
Julien just smiled, keeping his thoughts to himself.
Steven Gerrard walked a few steps behind, exchanging tactical observations with Henderson, though his brow remained furrowed. Despite the lead, the drop-off in attacking efficiency worried him.
On the Swansea side, Shelvey trudged at the back of the group with his head down. Teammates patted his shoulder in consolation, but he could only tug at his white shirt, his face was etched with helpless frustration.
The assistant coach waited for him at the tunnel entrance, handing him a water bottle. "Forget what just happened. Second half, focus on seizing opportunities."
But those words seemed to strike at exactly what Shelvey was thinking. He pressed his lips together and said nothing. After all, he'd just "helped" his former club twice, even he found the situation absurd.
Back at the Boot Room in Liverpool, supporters continued dissecting the own goals around the television.
Ted hoisted his beer glass high. "We should crowdfund a 'Best External Contributor' award for Shelvey!"
Someone nearby laughed and added, "Next time he comes back to Anfield, we owe him a proper round of applause! Without him, this lead might not even exist!"
In both dressing rooms, managers conducted their tactical adjustments with urgency while players grabbed precious moments of rest.
After finishing their analysis, the commentators shifted to discussing the current Premier League landscape after four rounds. The Liverpool-Swansea match was the final fixture of match-week four.
"Liverpool head into the break with a 2-1 lead, but this scoreline carries massive implications for the table. When this match concludes, we'll finally have the complete picture of the standings after four rounds.
Liverpool currently sit on top of the table despite playing one fewer match than most, their superior goal difference from three consecutive clean sheets is providing a comfortable cushion. But the chasing pack hasn't eased off one bit.
Arsenal in second place responded to their shock opening-day defeat with three straight victories, drawing level with Liverpool and their North London rivals Tottenham on nine points. They're breathing right down the Reds' necks.
Tottenham, who lost Gareth Bale in the summer, have managed three wins and one loss without their departed jewel, keeping pace at the summit alongside the top two.
For Liverpool, this match is straightforward in its importance. If they can weather Swansea's inevitable second-half surge and preserve their 2-1 advantage, they'll open up an early-season gap in the title race and build crucial momentum for the long campaign ahead.
But if they fail to hold on—if Swansea equalize or even complete a comeback, that top spot becomes precarious. Arsenal and Spurs are both trending upward, and one slip could see Liverpool overtaken. Behind them, five teams lurk on seven points: both Manchester clubs, Chelsea, Stoke City, and Newcastle—"
Soon enough, the second-half whistle blew. Liverpool increased their tempo immediately, but the goal-scoring fortune from the first half seemed to have abandoned them.
Daniel Sturridge's touch, in particular, had abandoned him tonight.
In the forty-eighth minute, Henderson slid a perfectly weighted through ball into the channel. Sturridge broke clear into the penalty area with only Vorm to beat, but he pushed his shot wide of the far post, the ball rolling harmlessly past the posts.
He kicked the turf in frustration as Julien jogged over to pat his back. "No worries, we'll get the next one!"
The commentator couldn't help but observe, "If Luis Suárez were still here! A one-on-one like that, he'd almost certainly tuck it away. Liverpool really miss having a striker of Suárez's ruthless finishing."
The fiftieth minute saw Swansea make their first substitution: Jonathan de Guzmán replacing Nathan Dyer.
The fresh legs made an instant impact. De Guzmán displayed his energy down the right flank, repeatedly skipping past José Enrique's challenges and forcing Liverpool to compress their defensive shape.
Two minutes later, Coutinho attempted to dribble through traffic at the edge of the penalty area when Ashley Williams grabbed a handful of his shirt. The referee didn't hesitate, showing a yellow card. Williams protested, but the replay showed clear contact—his fingers had definitely clutched Coutinho's shirt collar. The care was deserved.
The fifty-third minute brought Liverpool a golden opportunity.
Julien stood over a free kick on the right side of the attacking third. He took his run-up and struck the ball, sending it curling toward the back post with wicked spin.
Henderson arrived ahead of his marker to meet it, flicking the ball back across goal where Wisdom stretched out a leg for the deflection but Vorm had somehow anticipated everything. First, he palmed away Henderson's redirect with one hand, then he smothered Wisdom's follow-up attempt, single-handedly snuffing out Liverpool's attacking momentum.
"What a save from Vorm! Absolutely crucial!" the commentator exclaimed. "Liverpool have squandered another chance. If this continues, their lead is going to come under serious threat!"
But the bad news for Liverpool wasn't finished. Coutinho had tweaked his shoulder during that earlier dribbling attempt. After the medical staff examined him, they shook their heads. Iago Aspas came on in his place.
Coutinho walked off clutching his shoulder, eyes burning with frustration. His long-range efforts had already come agonizingly close tonight, and now he couldn't even continue.
The match began to simmer with increased fleshliness.
In the fifty-eighth minute, Shelvey and Lucas collided during a midfield challenge. Shelvey shoved Lucas backward; Lucas immediately pushed back. The two stood face-to-face, foreheads nearly touching, until teammates rushed in to separate them.
The referee jogged over and produced yellow cards for both players, delivering a stern warning: "Do that again and it's straight red!"
Shelvey touched his yellow card absently; his expression was darkening further. He hadn't helped his team score in this half; instead, he'd picked up a booking.
Shortly after, Henderson also found himself in the referee's book. Tracking back on defense, he clipped the ankles of a breaking Davies. The Ref showed no hesitation, flashing yellow. Henderson spread his hands in protest, but the replay clearly showed the contact with Davies' ankle.
The sixty-second minute saw Liverpool get another opportunity.
Enrique delivered a cross from the left that evaded the first line of defense and reached the edge of the box where Gerrard met it with a spectacular volley but a Swansea defender threw his body in front of the shot, blocking it. Gerrard could only shake his head regretfully as the ball reflected clear.
Just as Liverpool were regretting their missed chances, Swansea launched a dangerous counter-attack.
De Guzmán swung in a cross from the right channel. Shelvey, timing his run from deep, rose to meet it with a powerful header. He wasn't aiming for goal; instead, he directed the ball toward the penalty spot with perfect placement.
Michu had read it perfectly. He darted between two defenders and met the dropping ball with a first-time finish, driving it low toward the bottom left corner. Mignolet threw himself desperately toward it, and while his fingertips made contact, the ball carried too much pace and venom. It squeezed past his hand and nestled into the net.
Two-two!
Swansea had equalized!
The Liberty Stadium exploded. White scarves created a blizzard throughout the home sections as supporters roared the names of Michu and Shelvey.
Shelvey stood frozen for two seconds, as if unable to process what had happened, before teammates mobbed him in celebration. This time, he'd finally contributed something meaningful for Swansea—not an own goal, not a mistake, but a genuine, match-changing assist.
Liverpool players stood scattered across the pitch; disbelief was all across their faces.
The commentator's voice carried equal parts admiration and warning: "Shelvey! At last! He's helped Swansea draw level with a proper assist! After twice 'helping' his old club earlier, he's finally delivered for his new employers! Liverpool need to wake up. If they keep dominating possession without converting chances, they might even find themselves behind!"
Play continued.
Rodgers paced the touchline, gesturing ardently and roaring, "Push forward!"
Gerrard orchestrated from midfield, constantly adjusting positions with hand signals. And Julien became Liverpool's sharpest cutting edge.
The seventy-fifth minute showcased his brilliance.
Receiving another diagonal ball from Gerrard on the right, Julien's left toe performed the subtlest of touches, sending Davies' balance completely wrong.
Before he could recover, Julien flicked the ball behind himself with the outside of his right foot, spinning away from the onrushing de Guzmán in one motion. The away section responded with spontaneous applause.
But Swansea's penalty area had become a fortress of white shirts. When Julien reached the edge of the box, Ashley Williams and Leon Britton stood like two immovable boulders blocking his path, with Dyer tracking back to cut off any retreat.
He tried to drive a shot toward the far corner, the angle was completely shut down. He attempted to slip a pass to Sturridge in the center, then Williams' outstretched leg intercepted it before it traveled two yards.
Julien watched the ball roll out for a throw-in and showed a brief grimace of frustration, wiping sweat from his brow. This marked his third penetration into the penalty area in the second half, and still he hadn't managed a clean look at goal.
The eightieth minute saw Julien tear through again.
This time he collected possession centrally, facing up against Shelvey's tight marking. A feint left with his shoulders sold the defender completely, Shelvey was lunging with his leg extended. Julien's right instep dragged the ball to the opposite side in one motion, and he burst through the opening like wind through a crack.
Michu scrambled back to help defend, but Julien had already unleashed his shot, the ball was spinning viciously toward the near post. Vorm seemed to predict it, however, flinging himself across goal and getting just enough fingertip contact to deflect it behind for a corner.
The margins felt impossibly thin.
The eighty-fifth minute brought another near-miss. After beating two defenders down the left channel, Julien whipped in a curling cross that dropped perfectly onto Aspas' forehead but the substitute headed it just wide of the right post. Aspas pounded the turf in anguish.
In the dying minutes, Liverpool's attacks crashed against Swansea's defensive wall like waves against rocks. Julien broke through on the right once more, and this time instead of shooting, he laid the ball back for Henderson arriving late. Henderson struck it cleanly from distance, but the shot sailed fractionally over the crossbar.
Julien could only shake his head in exasperation. Swansea had basically packed their entire team into the penalty area, every clearance was executed with desperate commitment. No matter how sharp was Julien's dribbling, he couldn't overcome five or six players camping in the box simultaneously.
When the referee's whistle finally pierced the air, confirming the 2-2 final score, Julien stood motionless, staring at the goal for several seconds. His red shirt clung to his body, soaked completely through with sweat, the number 10 was plastered against his back.
He turned and walked toward the touchline.
Away matches truly weren't easy in Premier League.
The commentator offered his closing thoughts with a philosophical tone. "Full time at the Liberty! Two-two, a result dripping with drama from start to finish. The standout performer is Jonjo Shelvey, without question—involved in all four goals. First-half own-goal assist and own goal helped Liverpool lead, second-half header set up Michu's equalizer. From 'old club helper' to 'new club hero'—four goal involvements in one match!
"Liverpool dominated territorially but couldn't find the clinical edge, with Julien's brilliant dribbling unable to crack Swansea's massed defensive ranks. He needed support, but Sturridge's touch abandoned him today.
Swansea survived on Vorm's inspired shot-stopping and their united defensive resilience under pressure.
In the table, Liverpool remains on top, but they've only opened a one-point gap over Arsenal and Tottenham—"
________________________________________________________
Check out my patreon where you can read more chapters:
patreon.com/LorianFiction
Thanks for your support!