April 4, 2018. Munich, Germany.
The night air in Bavaria was crisp, carrying the heavy, electric charge that only the Champions League knockout stages can generate.
The Allianz Arena loomed against the dark sky, a modern colossus.
Its exterior resembled a massive white kayak, brimming with a futuristic aesthetic that made Old Trafford look like a relic of the industrial revolution.
If you approached closely and counted carefully, you would discover its shell consisted of exactly 2,874 diamond-shaped ETFE foil cushions, designed for self-cleaning and thermal insulation.
But tonight, it wasn't white.
Under the external lighting, the stadium was glowing with a deep, blood-red luminescence.
It gave the entire structure an almost magical, menacing quality, like a dragon's heart beating in the darkness, signaling to everyone for miles that Bayern Munich was home—and they were hungry!
The shore outside the arena was already a sea of humanity.
Among the red of Bayern, pockets of traveling Manchester United fans clustered together.
Since it was only a short flight from Manchester to Munich, flight tickets weren't too expensive, allowing the Red Army to travel in force.
They waved their flags, their breath visible in the cold air as they loudly sang club anthems, trying to assert dominance in enemy territory.
This was Manchester United's first match returning to the Champions League quarter-finals after four long, painful years in the wilderness.
And their opponents were none other than the German giants.
History hung heavy here. United had once created miracles against them in '99, but they had also been systematically dismantled by them in recent years, making today's match particularly significant.
A BBC reporter, looking slightly intimidated by the noise, approached a group of United fans and shoved a microphone forward.
"Bayern is very strong, we know that," a fan in a retro Sharpe jersey said, clutching a plastic cup of beer.
"We're mentally prepared, so a draw or a one-goal loss away from home is completely acceptable! We just need to stay alive for Old Trafford."
"Bayern excels at offense while we're good at defense," another chimed in, looking fierce. "Everyone knows defense wins championships. Mourinho is a master of the dark arts. I believe we can ultimately triumph!"
"Mourinho is a cup specialist with extensive Champions League experience," a third added, nodding sagely.
"I trust he'll make the most suitable arrangements. He'll park the bus if he has to, and I don't give a shit as long as we go through."
The BBC reporter was quite surprised, as encountering such rational, almost tactical analysis from drunk fans was rare.
He then signaled the cameraman to pan toward the massive crowd of Bayern fans nearby.
The mood there was different.
Bayern fans were brimming with the kind of confidence that borders on arrogance.
Just three days ago, Bayern had dismantled Borussia Dortmund 6-0 in Der Klassiker, staging a slaughter at this very arena and clinching the Bundesliga title six rounds early.
Their players' morale was at its peak—they felt they could crush any opponent they faced, let alone a Manchester United side that was still rebuilding.
"We will win this game, whether at home or away," a German fan laughed, holding a giant pretzel.
"Because Bayern is the strongest team in the world! Who is Manchester United? They are history, we are the present!"
"Heynckes will lead us back to the top of Europe!" another roared. "Restoring the ultimate glory of the treble! No one can stop the German tank!"
Then they chanted in unison, a guttural roar that shook the concrete.
"Mia San Mia!!!"
It is Bayern's spiritual slogan, written in standard German as "Wir Sind Wir."
Literally meaning "We are who we are."
But on a deeper level, it represented the most stubborn winner's mentality.
It meant: We are Bayern, we win because it is our birthright, and we do not apologize for it.
...
As the two club buses approached from the distance, the fans erupted in deafening cheers, slapping the sides of the vehicles.
Inside the United bus, Ling leaned against the tinted window, surveying the glowing red shell of the Allianz Arena.
It was indeed much more beautiful than Old Trafford, a marvel of modern engineering, though perhaps it lacked the profound, ghostly sense of history that permeated the bricks of Manchester.
However, Ling's eyes narrowed as he looked past the architecture.
While the exterior looked excellent, reports and his own reconnaissance told him the pitch inside was practically a vegetable field—bumpy, uneven, and dangerously slippery due to a recent fungal issue affecting the turf.
It was the kind of surface where ankles were twisted and groins were pulled.
"Slippery as ice out there," Ling muttered to himself.
He reached into his kit bag and specifically changed into cleats with longer metal studs for better traction.
He wasn't going to let a slip cost him a goal.
Thirty minutes later, the pre-match press conference was underway.
"I have complete faith in my team," Jupp Heynckes said, his face a mask of calm experience. "The more critical the moment, the more important it is to remain calm inside. That is the hallmark of a strong team, just as we did in 2013."
"Bayern's current squad might even be stronger than it was five years ago," the veteran coach continued, his voice steady.
"Of course, we also respect Manchester United. They are a team with a glorious history, strong willpower, and sufficient aggression. So we will give our all to win today's match!"
"Mr. Heynckes," a reporter interjected, "it's rumored that Real Madrid is planning to sign Robert Lewandowski this summer. Is this true?"
Heynckes frowned slightly, a flash of irritation crossing his eyes. "When we discussed this issue last week, I made it very clear—Real Madrid absolutely has no chance of signing Lewandowski. He plays for Bayern."
In the adjacent conference room, the atmosphere was different.
Jose Mourinho stepped onto the elevated interview platform with a swagger.
He liked the setup of Bayern's press room; the podium was high, giving him a physical sense of superiority, as if he were looking down on the journalists from a throne.
"Mr. Mourinho," a Guardian reporter raised his hand, "I have two questions. First, will you coach Bayern in the future? Second, what is your prediction for today's match?"
Mourinho leaned into the microphone, a smirk playing on his lips. "First, I don't see any possibility of me coming to Bayern. I'm very happy at Manchester United, and both the management and the players support me. Why would I leave?"
"Secondly," he continued, dismissing the question with a wave of his hand, "I don't like making predictions about matches that haven't even started yet. I am a manager, not a fortune teller."
The reporter pressed further, not letting go. "But I recall that before the 2010 Champions League final when you were at Inter, you gave Wesley Sneijder a note and told him it contained the outcome of the match."
Mourinho paused, and then a genuine chuckle escaped him. "Well, actually, there was nothing written on that note. It was blank. It was just to make him believe."
...
Half an hour later, the noise from the stands was a distant rumble, vibrating through the concrete walls of the player tunnel.
The players from both teams weren't particularly close friends, so they simply exchanged polite, stony greetings.
There were no hugs here.
Ling looked across at Bayern's starting lineup and couldn't help but sigh in admiration.
Arjen Robben. Thomas Muller. Franck Ribery. Rafinha.
The squad's strength was undoubtedly world-class, dripping with experience, though the average age was creeping up.
For example, Robben was already 34 years old, balding and fragile, with a market value that had plummeted to only €9 million according to Transfermarkt.
But Ling knew better.
Anyone who dared to underestimate the Dutchman would be taught a painful lesson.
You knew he was going to cut inside onto his left foot, the whole world knew it, and yet he was still going to curl it into the top corner while you watched helplessly.
Moreover, Bayern's defensive line was a fortress compared to Liverpool's chaotic backline.
Jerome Boateng hadn't yet been completely broken mentally by Messi's dribbling—he remained undoubtedly a world-class center-back, physically imposing and quick.
While Ling was observing the Bayern legends, a pair of intense eyes were drilling into him.
Joshua Kimmich.
The young German right-back glanced at Ling out of the corner of his eye, his jaw set tight.
Ling had been making waves in European football recently.
In his debut season, he was about to surpass 30 league goals and had dribbled past every right-back in the Premier League like they were training cones.
Although Kimmich knew his defensive fundamentals were miles better than Alexander-Arnold's, he wasn't arrogant enough to be confident he could contain Ling one-on-one.
He knew this was going to be the longest ninety minutes of his season.
Suddenly, the music started and the legendary strings swelled.
"Ce sont les meilleures équipes!"
"Die Meister!"
"Die Besten!"
"Les grandes équipes!"
"THE CHAMPIONS!"
The Allianz Arena instantly erupted with roaring cheers, the voices of 70,000 fans transforming into a tangible wave of sound that hit the players as they emerged from the tunnel.
"Good evening, dear viewers," the commentator's voice boomed. "We are now broadcasting the first leg of the 2017-18 Champions League quarter-finals! Bayern hosting Manchester United!"
"A clash between the leaders of the Bundesliga and the Premier League! The two teams met in the 2013-14 quarter-finals, with Bayern advancing. Will history repeat itself, or will the Red Devils exorcise their German ghosts? Let's wait and see!"