Moyes was anxious, his hands were in constant motion as he gestured urgently at his players, telling them to adjust their positions.
But Liverpool's high press up front remained relentless, and Manchester United could only search desperately for counterattacking chances while pinned on the back foot.
The match reached the eighteenth minute.
Fellaini shook off De Bruyne's close marking on the left flank and whipped in a curling cross. The ball sailed precisely toward the middle of the box, only for Van Dijk to power it away toward the far post.
But Van Dijk's clearance didn't go far enough.
Van Persie, who had been lurking there all along, pounced on the loose ball. Without a hint of hesitation, without even bothering to set himself, he spun and fired!
Van Dijk didn't even have time to react.
Any ordinary striker receiving the ball with his back to goal in that position would need at least a touch to adjust, wouldn't he?
But Van Persie went for it immediately!
Watching a senior teammate from the national side finish like that, Van Dijk had learned a hard lesson.
He now knew he couldn't afford to give an inch of space for the rest of the match.
But there was no time for Van Dijk to dwell on it.
He spun around at the same time, just in time to see the ball rocketing toward the near corner of the goal!
It looked certain to go in but Piszczek raced back in time and threw himself into a sliding tackle and blocked the ball with his body.
Van Persie wasn't ready to let it go, and was charging in for a follow-up shot.
Fortunately, Van Dijk wasn't caught flat-footed this time. He recovered in time to block it out for a corner, and Manchester United's golden chance slipped away.
A ripple of noise swept through the stands.
United's fans let out a sigh of disappointment.
Moyes's brow furrowed even deeper, the anxiety inside him was thickening.
Barely a minute later, Liverpool surged forward on the counter.
Seizing back control of the game's rhythm.
Julien picked up the ball down the left channel. With defenders' eyes on whether he'd try to break through, he suddenly threaded a through ball that sliced right past Manchester United's back line.
The ball dropped at Sturridge's feet.
Sturridge took it in run, cutting past a wrong-footed Vidic, before darting into the right side of the box and firing a low shot with his left foot!
But the shot lacked power. The ball crawled toward goal never really threatening De Gea.
De Gea gathered it up with ease.
Though it didn't result in a goal, the speed of Liverpool's counter had once again sounded a warning for United's defence.
On the touchline, Klopp gave a small nod and waved for his players to keep up the tempo.
The 28th minute.
Sturridge, on the ball up front, spotted a gap in United's back line and threaded a pass through it. Vidic, rushing to clear it, slipped and lost his footing in a fatal mistake. The ball barely travelled anywhere and dropped right at the feet of the on-rushing De Bruyne.
De Bruyne didn't hesitate for a second, striking it first time!
The shot flew with tremendous force, arrowing toward the dead corner of the goal!
De Gea reacted in a flash, throwing himself sideways and palming the ball away for a corner, defusing the danger in the nick of time.
De Bruyne couldn't help grimacing, running a hand through his hair.
Only De Gea's quick reflexes had kept that one out.
Any other keeper would have just watched it fly into the net!
The traveling Liverpool fans roared their approval, chanting De Bruyne's name again and again, while the shaken United faithful hurried to applaud De Gea's brilliant save.
The rapid swings between attack and defence kept intensifying up the tension, and the players' challenges were growing rougher by the minute.
In the 31st minute, the match's first yellow card appeared.
Defending on the left, Piszczek grabbed a fist of Januzaj's shirt to stop him from breaking through. Referee Clattenburg blew for the foul and pulled out a yellow card.
Piszczek raised no objection, just simply nodded in acceptance before turning back to his defensive duties.
But barely seconds later, another foul followed. Defending in midfield, Rafael, desperate to stop Gerrard's dribble, scythed him down. Gerrard hit the turf hard, and Clattenburg's whistle sounded again.
Another yellow card, this time for Rafael.
Two yellow cards inside a single minute sent the tension on the pitch soaring.
Tempers on both sides began to fray.
Then, in the 33rd minute, the controversy exploded.
Sturridge picked up the ball on the right and clipped a precise diagonal pass to the left side of the box, where Julien arrived to collect it.
With a burst of blistering speed, he left Rafael for dead.
Then chipped the ball into the middle!
Desperate to intercept, Rafael whether deliberately or on reflex, it was hard to say stuck his arm out away from his body, almost like he was going up for a rebound, and blocked the ball.
There was no mistaking it: the ball had struck his hand, plain as day.
"Hey! Handball!"
Julien threw up his hand at once, shouting toward the referee.
Clattenburg hesitated for a second or two before blowing his whistle.
Peep!
Then he pointed straight at the spot: penalty to Liverpool!
But surprisingly, Clattenburg didn't produce a second yellow for Rafael.
The decision detonated Old Trafford in an instant.
Liverpool's players clearly felt hard done by.
That was a deliberate handball!
It deserved a card!
Rafael already had one yellow—this should have been his second, and he should be walking.
But Clattenburg clearly had no intention of reaching for his pocket again.
Up in the stands, the Liverpool fans hadn't even started kicking up a fuss yet.
Instead, it was the United end that erupted first, thunderous jeers and boos crashing down as fans waved their arms and roared: "Biased ref!" in unison, accusing Clattenburg of favouring Liverpool.
Watching this, the traveling Liverpool fans could only laugh in disbelief, firing back with jeers of their own:
"Biased? He's practically playing for you lot!"
"Two blatant fouls waved away, and now a deliberate handball gets a penalty but no card—keep protecting them like this and you might as well just hand United the win!"
None of the noise from the stands reached the pitch.
Clattenburg's expression stayed calm and unmoved. He held firm to his decision, signalling for Liverpool to set up for the penalty.
By convention, as Liverpool's designated first-choice penalty taker, the responsibility for this crucial spot kick should have fallen to Julien.
But instead, Julien scooped up the ball and strode over to Gerrard, gently placing it in his hands. "Steven, you take it."
It wasn't that Julien didn't want the goal for himself.
He simply wanted to give Gerrard the chance to make history.
To let the Liverpool legend have his moment.
In the history of the North West Derby, Manchester United's George Wall held the all-time scoring record with nine goals in twelve appearances, comfortably out in front.
Gerrard, meanwhile, had played thirty-two Red Derbies and scored seven goals, just one shy of tying for second place.
If he converted this penalty, Gerrard would move into second place on the all-time North-West Derby scoring list, behind only George Wall.
And at the same time, he'd also become Liverpool's joint all-time top scorer in the fixture.
Gerrard looked at the ball in Julien's hands. He didn't say much, just gave a firm nod. No words were needed.
Julien clapped him on the shoulder, then stepped back and walked out to the edge of the box.
Gerrard carried the ball toward the penalty spot.
The jeers at Old Trafford never let up, United fans were booing in an attempt to put Gerrard off.
Gerrard took a deep breath, set the ball carefully on the spot, then stepped back to steady his breathing.
His eyes locked onto De Gea, steady, without a trace of nerves.
Peep!
Clattenburg's whistle gave the signal to take the kick.
Gerrard took one more breath, then began his run-up. His right foot met the ball, sending it toward the right side of the goal in one smooth clean motion.
De Gea guessed wrong, diving to his left.
The ball nestled into the net!
Goal!
0–1!
Liverpool had taken the lead away from home!
The moment the ball hit the net, the traveling Liverpool fans erupted, waving their red shirts, cheering and jumping, their roars drowning out the United boos!
Liverpool's players sprinted toward Gerrard, mobbing him in celebration.
Julien ran over too, slapping Gerrard hard on the back with a wide smile on his face. Gerrard saw him open his arms and pulled him into a tight embrace.
"Thanks, Julien."
He meant it, he was truly grateful. Julien had fought for that penalty himself, and there would have been nothing wrong with him taking it.
But Julien had given it to him instead.
And now, he was Liverpool's all-time top scorer in the North West Derby!
Julien didn't say much back, just kept smiling and held the embrace.
On the touchline, Klopp leapt up in excitement, pumping both arms and roaring out loud, every ounce of frustration over the referee's earlier missed calls vanished in that instant.
On United's side, the fans in the stands wore looks of dejection, their jeers slowly turned away to sighs.
Moyes's face had turned grim with arms folded across his chest, despair was creeping further into his heart.
De Gea shook his head helplessly, bent down to retrieve the ball from the back of the net, and tossed it to a teammate, his eyes showed frustration.
Meanwhile, commentator Martin Tyler picked up the thread:
"Liverpool lead one-nil, and this is turning into a real problem for United! They've been on the back foot from the first whistle. Just when things were starting to look up, with a few decent forays going forward, this goal has thrown their whole rhythm off.
In a situation like this, it's easy for the players' heads to drop, mistakes tend to pile up, and pulling level from here is going to be very difficult. Moyes on the touchline looks as grim as I've ever seen him—this clearly isn't the situation he wanted.
We all know that ever since taking over at United, Moyes has lived under the shadow of Sir Alex Ferguson, carrying immense pressure, and this season's poor results have already brought him no shortage of abuse from fans and scrutiny from the press."
Tyler's voice carried a trace of genuine sympathy.
"For him, this Derby is nothing short of a 'must-win'—he can't afford to lose it, and he simply cannot lose it. But right now, with the team down one-nil and being thoroughly outplayed by Liverpool, his job may already be hanging by a thread.
At this moment, he might be suffering more than any player out on that pitch. They need to find a way to turn things around quickly and break out of this passive spell, but given the current rhythm and mentality, that's going to be a tall order.
Moyes will have to make tactical changes in the second half—perhaps even bring on fresh legs to inject some life into the side because otherwise, they'll have little hope of turning this match around…"
Peep!
Once the penalty had been converted, the match quickly resumed.
With Liverpool up 1–0, the boos at Old Trafford never let up.
United's players, desperate to level the score, grew increasingly hurried in their play.
The contest grew fiercer, and the tension on the pitch thickened with it.
The 35th minute.
Liverpool swung in a cross. Gerrard and Fellaini rose together for it, battling for the header, and their heads collided hard in mid-air.
The next instant, Fellaini's famous afro was stained red with blood which trickled steadily down through his fingers.
It quickly soaked into his collar. He staggered and went down clutching his head, his face twisted in pain.
Gerrard was down too rubbing at his forehead.
Clattenburg blew his whistle at once and hurried over. After checking on both players, he ruled it a foul on Gerrard and showed him a yellow card.
Gerrard didn't argue, just gave a small nod.
Once back on his feet, he went over to check on Fellaini with real concern, making sure he wasn't seriously hurt.
Play was halted while the team medics rushed onto the pitch to treat Fellaini.
Meanwhile, Carrick jogged over to the touchline and found a grim-faced Moyes; the two leaned in for a brief, hushed exchange.
Carrick gestured at the pitch as he spoke clearly relaying the tactical gaps and the players' condition—he had his own ideas about what needed to change.
Moyes stood with his arms crossed, brow furrowed, listening, offering only the occasional stiff nod.
Elsewhere, Fellaini was helped to the bench, where the medics quickly cleaned the wound on his head with saline before wrapping it tightly in thick gauze to stem the steady seep of blood.
A staff member hurried over with a clean pair of United shorts, and Fellaini, gritting his teeth, changed out of his blood-soaked pair with the medic's help.
His eyes stayed resolute; even bloodied and hurt, he showed no sign of backing down.
After a quick clean-up, he signalled to the medic that he was ready to go back on.
He wanted nothing more than to stay out there and fight for United's equalizer.
While Fellaini's wound was being treated, United's Welbeck had already made his way to the warm-up area and begun loosening up, looking ready to come on at a moment's notice. But Fellaini was determined to carry on.
So, Welbeck soon sat back down on the bench.
A few minutes later, Fellaini returned to the pitch.
Play officially resumed.
The contest remained tightly fought.
In the 40th minute, United showed a dangerous attack. Januzaj picked up the ball on the left, shook off his marker, and sent it across; Rafael arrived in time to control it cleanly.
Rather than rushing his pass, he took a touch to settle himself before slipping a ball through at the edge of the box, trying to split Liverpool's back line.
But he misjudged the weight of it, and Van Dijk cut the ball out.
Van Dijk fed it straight to De Bruyne without hesitation, and Liverpool's counterattack was on!
But United didn't back off.
They pressed on the spot, grinding it out with Liverpool in midfield.
Soon enough, Rafael won the ball back.
Reading the situation, he found Van Persie, who had dropped deep to the edge of the box.
Van Persie took the ball while in run, spun away from Van Dijk's attention, and shot without breaking the run. The ball flew toward goal with venom but crashed into the head of Agger, who had thrown himself in the way.
It ricocheted out for a corner, and United won the set piece.
Agger dropped straight to the ground.
The referee immediately stopped play and went over to check on him.
The team medics hurried on too—Van Persie's shot had carried so much power that it had left Agger dazed.
After a further check, they confirmed there was nothing serious.
Only then did Agger get back to his feet and continue.
After that, Mata stepped up to take United's corner, lofting the ball high into the Liverpool box.
Evra rose above the rest, timing his jump to get there first and throwing everything into the header but he put too much into it and the angle was slightly off. The ball drifted just over the bar and out of play, and a golden chance to equalize went begging.
Evra shook his head as he landed, his face showed frustration while he was muttering something under his breath.
On the touchline, Moyes could barely contain his anxiety, stamping his foot hard on the ground.
The match reached the 47th minute, deep into stoppage time. With Liverpool sitting men behind the ball, a counterattacking chance opened up.
Julien carried the ball forward near the centre circle, glanced up toward the United goal, and spotted De Gea standing well off his line. Without hesitating, he went straight for a shot from long, long range.
There was no other option—nobody was up there to receive a pass.
Might as well go for it!
He struck it with everything he had, and the ball traced a beautiful arc through the air toward United's goal—only to drift just wide of the right post, skimming the line before going out. So close to a spectacular lob.
Watching the ball sail out of play, Julien showed no frustration, just raised a hand toward his teammates.
Even though it hadn't gone in.
Martin Tyler let out a gasp of his own.
"My word, the flight on that ball—it very nearly went in! I very nearly leapt out of my seat for Julien there! Liverpool's counterattacks are simply terrifying…"
The stoppages for Fellaini and Agger's injuries had eaten up a good deal of time.
So, stoppage time ran to a full six minutes.
After De Gea put the ball back into play,
United pushed forward once more.
Rafael picked up the ball on the right and drove forward, shaking off his marker before delivering a pinpoint square ball. Rooney arrived in time to bring it under control.
He took a touch to set himself, then drove a shot with his right foot toward the inside of the goal but the angle was too straight, and it never got past Mignolet.
Mignolet reacted quickly, palming the ball firmly away for a corner.
Rooney watched the save in frustration. He kicked hard at the turf to vent his irritation.
Liverpool's players, spirits lifted, exchanged high-fives of encouragement and kept up the intensity in defence, giving United no opening to exploit.
In the closing minutes, United had plenty of the ball.
But nothing to show for it.
Peeeep!!!
Clattenburg's whistle sounded for the end of the first half!
Manchester United trailed Liverpool 0–1.
Players from both sides made their way back to the locker rooms, preparing for what the second half would bring.
United's players wore downcast expressions saying nothing—clearly, the first half's struggles and the deficit had gotten into their heads.
Liverpool's players, by contrast, looked relaxed, chatting and laughing among themselves.
Given the level United had shown tonight, they weren't remotely worried about a comeback. As United just weren't good enough tonight.
If Liverpool hadn't eased off deliberately in the back half of the first period, pulling things in a little to look for balls in behind, United would never have seen this much of the ball.
But the truth was clear: this Moyes-led United side simply didn't have much to offer.
________________________________________________________
Check out my paatreon where you can read more chapters:
paatreon.com/LorianFiction
Thanks for your support!