When Alessandro made the interception, Sir Alex Ferguson stopped chewing his gum.
When he burst past the halfway line, Ferguson clenched both fists on instinct.
The moment he released that long diagonal to Valencia, the legendary manager half-rose from his seat.
And when Sim de Jong got to the cross first, heading it awkwardly into the air, Ferguson sat back with a sigh.
But just as quickly—he jolted upright again.
Because out of nowhere, Alessandro reappeared at the far edge of the box, completely unmarked.
Chest control. Composure. A clean right-footed finish.
Goal.
Ferguson's eyes widened.
He hadn't even been watching Alessandro anymore—why would he? A defensive midfielder wins the ball and plays the pass. Job done.
But then Alessandro kept moving, calmly drifting into the one pocket Ajax had left unguarded.
When the ball landed there, and Alessandro finished without panic, without a trace of surprise...
Ferguson shot to his feet, fists clenched, roaring toward the touchline.
"This kid! He's full of surprises!"
Assistant coach Mike Phelan rushed over, high-fiving him.
"I didn't expect him to follow through all the way like that," Phelan said. "Was it luck? Or did he see it coming?"
Ferguson hesitated.
The header from de Jong had been completely unpredictable. A messy deflection, nothing more.
But then again... Alessandro hadn't looked surprised. His first touch had been deliberate. His shot? Cool. Clean. Composed.
No panic.
Not the reaction of someone chasing a lucky bounce.
Most players would've rushed it—leaned in for a header, tried something wild.
But Alessandro had stopped the ball with his chest, took his time, and buried it.
No rush. No second-guessing.
Ferguson kept watching the lad walk back to his half, surrounded by teammates.
If that wasn't luck...
Then maybe—
"He has the potential to be our central midfielder," Ferguson said quietly.
Phelan glanced at him. No disagreement.
If that goal wasn't accidental...
Then Alessandro hadn't just finished it—he'd orchestrated it. Interception, build-up, timing, positioning. All of it.
At seventeen.
Ferguson and Phelan stood silent for a moment.
Then Mike said, "He doesn't have a representative yet."
Ferguson nodded. He understood exactly what that meant.
If Alessandro kept playing like this, the agents would come running. And signing him to a professional deal wouldn't be simple anymore.
Just like it wasn't with Pogba.
And Ferguson had no interest in another showdown with a greedy Italian agent.
"We sign him," Ferguson said. "Immediately."
---
On the other touchline, Christian Eriksen couldn't take his eyes off Alessandro.
Sharp.
Disciplined.
Different.
Eriksen was no stranger to flashy midfielders—players who flicked, feinted, and danced around the ball like circus acts. But Alessandro wasn't that.
He was calm. Smart. Pure football brain.
Even the way he anticipated passing lanes—Eriksen recognized it immediately. That wasn't just instinct. It was vision.
Then there was the goal.
It wasn't just talent.
It was command.
A midfielder who reads danger, breaks play, and then chooses the exact moment to strike... that's rare.
As Alessandro walked back into position after celebrating, Eriksen watched closely.
There was no showboating. No wild celebration.
Just a quiet nod to the bench. Like he expected it.
Like that goal was just another step in his game plan.
Eriksen clapped his hands sharply. "Don't underestimate him again!" he shouted to his teammates. "Reset! Keep the attack going!"
He meant it.
Alessandro was no longer a teenage unknown.
He was now—an opponent.
And not a soft one.
Ajax adjusted fast.
They shifted their focus out wide, looking to stretch the pitch and avoid the center.
Because anyone watching could tell—they were intentionally avoiding Alessandro's zone.
But it wasn't enough.
Manchester United held strong through the rest of the half.
Alessandro didn't just cover space—he read the game.
He filled the gaps no one else saw. Closed the angles. Blocked the passing lanes.
Ajax kept probing.
But time and again, Alessandro was where he needed to be.
Breaking rhythm. Delaying attacks. Forcing restarts.
By the end of the first half, the scoreline still read Manchester United 1 – Ajax 0.
---
As the referee blew the whistle, the cameras zoomed in.
Zhang Jun's voice came through the live broadcast:
"Brilliant first half from Alessandro! But it's not over yet—United need at least one more goal to go through."
The players jogged off.
Alessandro disappeared into the tunnel, boots caked with grass, shirt damp with sweat.
Eyes focused.
Still calm.
---