Old Trafford – Away Team Locker Room, 4:00 PM
The hum of anticipation buzzed through the Liverpool dressing room like static before a storm. Boots were being laced, shin pads tapped into place. Jerseys with that red Liverbird crest hung proud on each chest. But all eyes were locked on one man — Brendan Rodgers, standing tall in the center of the room, voice firm and eyes gleaming.
"This isn't just another game," he thundered. "This is Old Trafford. This is payback."
A ripple of energy went through the room. Rodgers walked slowly, making eye contact with each of his players, commanding the space like a general before battle.
"They embarrassed us last time. Three-nil. No fight. No bite. That ends today."
He turned to the whiteboard, where the team was set in a familiar, fearless 4-3-3. "No surprises. We play our way. All-out attack. Full press. Today, we take the game to them. Today, we show the world that Liverpool are back."
He tapped the top of the board. The front three. Suarez. Coutinho. Sturridge.
"They're missing their leaders. No Ferdinand. No Kante. No Vidic. No excuses. Today is your moment."
Behind him, the team erupted in shouts of "Come on!" and claps, but one man sat still — elbows on knees, taping his wrists in silence. Luis Suárez. His eyes, dark and focused, were locked on the floor. But inside, a fire was boiling.
He hadn't forgotten.
That humiliating 3-0 at Anfield. Helpless on the sidelines. Watching from the stands while Tiger King's Red Devils danced over his team.
Rodgers looked at him. "Luis."
The Uruguayan looked up.
Rodgers nodded. "You're back. Make them feel it."
Suárez didn't need a speech. Just a whisper: "I will."
Gerrard, already kitted up and banded with the captain's armband, slapped Suarez on the shoulder. "You know what this means, lad. No mercy today."
Around them, the room began to swell with the rhythm of battle — thudding boots, slaps to chests, last-minute prayers muttered under breaths. Jordan Henderson bounced on his heels, fists clenched. Coutinho juggled a ball softly, focused. Skrtel and Toure exchanged nods. Everyone ready. Everyone angry.
Rodgers's final words cut through the noise. "We're not just taking three points. We're taking their pride. We leave no doubt. Now go out there and finish what we started."
The team surged to their feet, voices rising in a cacophony of belief and fury.
In the middle of it all, Suarez stood up slowly.
His eyes narrowed toward the tunnel door.
"Manchester United…" he whispered, almost to himself. "Today, I bite back."
Old Trafford – Home Team Locker Room, Moments Before Kickoff
The tension was thick in the air. Boots were tied tighter. Shirts were pulled over heads with deliberate force. Eyes were focused. Tiger King stood in front of his injury-ravaged squad like a general preparing his troops for battle.
He had just finished laying out the tactics — a familiar 4-4-2 formation, but today, patched together with grit, heart, and sheer necessity.
"De Gea in goal," Tiger King began, his voice calm but commanding. "Our wall."
The players listened with rapt attention. Not one interruption. They all knew — this wasn't just a League Cup match. This was Liverpool.
"Defense. Van Dijk and Toby," he nodded to the only two fit center-backs remaining. "Alonso on the left. Rafael, the right is yours."
The two fullbacks nodded. Alonso flexed his shoulders. Rafael grinned, slapping his chest. "Boss, last time at Anfield we shut them out. We'll do it again. They'll leave this pitch broken."
Tiger King smirked. He liked the fire.
He continued, moving to midfield. "With Kante and Carrick out, we go with Fletcher and Giggs. Fletcher holding, Giggs pushing forward."
The two veterans exchanged a glance. They didn't need words.
"Nani left wing. Mahrez on the right. This is your canvas."
Mahrez cracked his knuckles. Nani bounced lightly on his toes. Both were itching to explode into life.
"Rooney's back," King said with a steel edge in his voice. "Up front with Martial."
The room vibrated with energy. Martial had been handed a massive responsibility. Van Persie rested, and the spotlight was now his. He met Tiger King's gaze. No fear — only fire.
"On the bench — Alisson, Anderson, Lingard, Young, Valencia, Kagawa, and young James Wilson. All ready."
Tiger King paused, scanning each face. No sugar-coating. "This is every healthy body we've got. No hiding today. We fall, and we fall together. But I say — we rise. We show the world that even injured, even counted out, we are still Manchester United."
Rooney stood. Today, he wore the captain's armband. "Boss, we'll give them the welcome Old Trafford's famous for. Nobody walks through us. Not Liverpool."
De Gea added with a rare grin, "You said it yourself — 'see them once, destroy them once.' Let's make it two."
Tiger King slammed his fist into his palm. "Go. Second kill Liverpool. This is our house."
The players roared in unison, storming out of the locker room like a wave of fury. In the tunnel, the Liverpool players were already waiting. Suarez glanced over. So did Gerrard. The rivalry needed no words.
The two managers passed each other in silence. No handshake. No glance. Just pure, focused hostility.
And behind it all — the hum of Old Trafford rising to a thunder.
The battle was about to begin.