The sleet made Manchester, a city rarely known for warmth at the best of times, bitterly cold.
New Manchester United's anthem rolled around Old Trafford as the home supporters continued to back their team despite the scoreline. Manchester United, officially the away side for this fixture, had taken an early lead through a long-range strike from Roy Keane that flew past Čech, yet the goal had been greeted by a wall of boos from most of the stadium.
Keane was still not entirely used to that reaction at Old Trafford, but this was the reality now.
This was New Manchester United's home match, the twenty-second round of the Premier League season, and the vast majority of the packed crowd had come hoping to see the Red Rebels beat Manchester United again and complete a league double over them.
Fifteen minutes of the second half had already passed. New Manchester United were battling hard and refusing to give in, but they still had not found a way to change the score.
Ferguson had prepared specifically for them. Manchester United sat deep in their own half, protecting the central areas and crowding out New Manchester United's four attackers. Keane and Butt reinforced the midfield, while Giggs and Solskjær worked the flanks and pressed the advancing full-backs, preventing the home side from developing their usual width.
On the touchline, Cassell was too restless to sit down. He paced over the slippery remnants of snow near the technical area and repeatedly glanced back towards Rui Faria, who was on the phone with Mourinho. It was an awkward way to manage any match, let alone one of this intensity.
"Tell Palacio to hold the ball up more in the final third," Faria said as he hurried over with Mourinho's latest instructions. "And don't let the midfield and defensive line push too high. We're leaving too much space for their counters."
Cassell immediately relayed the message to the players.
As captain, Beckham could feel the pressure more clearly than anyone. Keane and Butt were competing ferociously in midfield, making it difficult for New Manchester United to progress cleanly. Villa, for all his movement and sharpness, was a small striker playing against a tightly packed defensive block. Once Manchester United surrounded him, he was almost swallowed up by the crowd of bodies.
When Beckham received the instruction to slow things down, he passed it on immediately. He then dropped deeper into his own half to collect possession and began controlling the tempo.
He raised one arm.
Villa, Kaká, Palacio, and Cristiano Ronaldo all recognised the signal and began dropping off in turn to offer passing options.
At Newton Heath, that gesture from Beckham meant one thing: calm the game down.
After more than half a season in Mourinho's system, Beckham had fully adapted to playing as a deep central midfielder. He was responsible not only for distribution but also for controlling rhythm, deciding when to accelerate the game and when to make it breathe. Even Redondo had praised the transformation. Beckham had preserved everything that already made him exceptional while revealing qualities that had rarely been demanded of him before.
After a few exchanges with De Rossi, New Manchester United slowed the circulation of the ball. Manchester United's midfield began stepping forward to press, and Beckham immediately spotted the opening.
He switched the ball to Palacio on the right.
Phil Neville stayed tight to the Argentine, so Palacio touched the ball inside to Kaká. Kaká returned it first time into the channel, and Palacio burst beyond Neville onto the pass. He reached the byline and tried to cross, but Ferdinand came across to cover and blocked the delivery behind.
Beckham took the resulting corner.
Ferdinand, excellent throughout the match, rose highest and headed it clear.
The attack produced nothing on the scoreboard, but it was noticeably more organised than what had come before.
New Manchester United had found a way into the game.
The players began lowering the tempo more deliberately, trusting their technical quality and looking for one-on-one situations on the wings. Cristiano Ronaldo and Palacio repeatedly challenged the Neville brothers.
Gary and Phil defended well, but both were beaten on occasion. The problem was that Villa still could not find a clean chance in the middle. Even so, New Manchester United's attacks were becoming progressively more dangerous.
High above the pitch in the directors' box, Mourinho watched with a deep frown.
If he had been on the touchline, he could have responded to Ferguson's adjustments instantly. From the stands, every instruction had to pass through a telephone call before reaching Cassell, and that delay was frustrating him more with every minute.
"Take Maicon off. Put Ishmael on."
The instruction travelled down almost immediately.
In the 68th minute, Ishmael Miller entered for Maicon. The Brazilian had played well and had largely kept Giggs quiet, but Mourinho was no longer interested in caution.
New Manchester United shifted into a 3-5-2.
It was an aggressive gamble.
With one full-back removed, the defensive burden on the midfield increased significantly. De Rossi in particular had to cover an enormous amount of ground. When Manchester United regained possession, he repeatedly moved towards the right to help contain Giggs.
Yet the young Italian refused to wilt.
Ethan had once affectionately called him the Red Wolf King because of the way he played, and there was something fitting about the name. De Rossi was relentless. Again and again he appeared in the right place to intercept a pass, break up a counter, or cover for a teammate.
The minutes continued to disappear.
Mourinho kept sending instructions by phone, while Cassell translated those instructions into changes on the pitch.
Despite trailing, New Manchester United had taken firm control of possession and territory. Ishmael's arrival gave them a physical reference point in the penalty area, something they had lacked with Villa alone against Ferdinand and Silvestre. Kaká and Villa now moved around him looking for second balls and openings, while Cristiano and Palacio attacked from the flanks and sent crosses into the box.
Ishmael was still young, and physically he was not yet at Ferdinand's or Silvestre's level. But he had come on fresh, full of energy and determination, and he managed to create several half-chances through sheer persistence.
Howard was having an excellent match, however, and repeatedly denied New Manchester United.
Mourinho checked the clock again.
Even he was beginning to struggle to stay seated.
The chants from the stands grew louder as the end approached. The supporters were doing everything they could to push the team forward, willing New Manchester United to find a way back against the club many of them had once supported themselves.
On the pitch, Beckham noticed something was wrong.
"Daniele?"
De Rossi had been outstanding all season. Since Essien's departure for the African Cup of Nations, his performances had been particularly consistent. He tackled hard, covered huge distances, contributed in possession, and possessed a dangerous shot from range.
Today, he had been running almost continuously since the opening whistle. There had been moments when he seemed to be gasping for air, yet seconds later he would be sprinting again to cut out another Manchester United attack.
His work ethic had always impressed Ethan. De Rossi played like a wolf locked onto prey, refusing to stop until the job was finished.
Essien's running came naturally from his extraordinary physical gifts. De Rossi's endurance had been built through years of work. When he first arrived at the club, he had been noticeably slight. Now he was one of the most tireless players in the entire squad.
More than anything, he was dependable. He trained hard, accepted whatever role he was given, and rarely complained.
"What's wrong?" Beckham asked again as several teammates gathered around him.
De Rossi's face tightened.
"My leg. Cramp."
He gritted his teeth and tried not to show how much it hurt, but everyone could see it.
The referee stopped play and came over to check on him.
Beckham looked towards the bench.
"I'll tell Jim to make the change."
He started to turn away.
De Rossi grabbed his arm.
"No. I'm fine."
Beckham looked back at him.
"I'm fine," De Rossi repeated.
The medical staff came onto the pitch and treated him quickly.
About a minute later, De Rossi forced himself back to his feet. He bounced on the spot, stretched the leg, and kicked it out a few times before signalling that he was ready to continue.
The match restarted.
The doctor had told him to avoid unnecessary sprints.
De Rossi ignored the advice almost immediately.
Soon afterwards, Giggs broke down Manchester United's left. De Rossi chased him all the way towards the byline, matching his acceleration stride for stride and refusing to allow him even a yard of freedom.
Another full sprint.
Another risk of cramping again.
De Rossi did not care.
Time was running out.
Manchester United, under increasing pressure, began dropping even deeper and trying to protect the 1-0 lead.
The stakes were significant.
New Manchester United had drawn 0-0 with Charlton in their previous league match, while Manchester United had won theirs. Victory here would bring Ferguson's side level with the Red Rebels on forty-nine points.
That was exactly why Ferguson had treated this fixture as an opportunity.
New Manchester United were missing several important players because of the African Cup of Nations. Mourinho was serving his touchline suspension. Manchester United had arrived intending to take advantage.
The fourth official raised the board.
Three minutes of added time.
Allowing for stoppages, there were barely four minutes left.
Ferguson stepped out from the dugout.
He knew Mourinho was somewhere above him in the stands, watching everything. He had already begun imagining how satisfying the final whistle would feel.
New Manchester United no longer had much of a conventional defensive shape.
Curtis was pushing forward.
Evra was pushing forward.
Bodies were everywhere.
One accurate Manchester United pass into space could have released Giggs and ended the contest.
But Ferguson's side chose to protect the lead instead.
They knew what happened when New Manchester United became desperate.
The crowd rose almost as one.
"GOAL!"
The shout began in one section and spread.
"GOAL! GOAL!"
Louder.
Stronger.
Thousands of supporters were on their feet.
Some had tears running through the paint on their faces, yet they kept shouting.
On the pitch, New Manchester United's players threw everything forward.
Beckham.
De Rossi.
Curtis.
Evra.
Ishmael.
Palacio.
Attack after attack rolled towards Manchester United's penalty area.
New Manchester United had not lost a home league match for years. They had not been beaten at all in the Premier League that season. Neither the players nor the supporters wanted that run to end here, against Manchester United of all teams.
The roar grew with every passing second.
Manchester United tried to drain the clock during stoppage time. Fouls slowed the game. Restarts took longer.
The three indicated minutes expired with New Manchester United still attacking.
The referee glanced at his watch.
There had been enough interruptions for one final phase.
He allowed play to continue.
Beckham received the ball and looked left.
Cristiano Ronaldo was isolated against Gary Neville.
The pass arrived perfectly.
Cristiano killed it with his foot, shaped to go outside, then cut sharply inside and created enough space to lift a cross into the penalty area.
Ishmael read the flight first.
He attacked the ball and powered a header towards goal.
Howard had already shifted across.
The goalkeeper reacted superbly, throwing himself at the effort and punching it away before crashing onto the turf.
But the clearance did not travel far.
Kaká arrived with the second wave and struck immediately.
Ferdinand blocked it.
The ball ricocheted towards the right side of the box.
Silvestre moved to clear.
Then a red shirt flashed across his line of sight.
A boot reached the ball first.
The strike was ferocious.
It flew low across goal and into the unguarded bottom corner.
1-1.
For a fraction of a second, Old Trafford seemed unable to process what had happened.
Then the stadium erupted.
Ferguson kicked a water bottle in fury. It skidded away across the technical area, spraying water through the air.
Martin Tyler's voice rose above the noise.
"De Rossi! Daniele De Rossi has rescued New Manchester United at the very end!"
"What a goal, and what a performance from the young Italian. He has run himself into the ground tonight. He cramped, refused to come off, and now he has produced the strike that saves their unbeaten league record and preserves their remarkable home run."
Andy Gray could barely make himself heard.
"That's priceless. Absolutely priceless."
"De Rossi has been everywhere tonight. He's tackled, covered, chased, organised, and somehow, after all of that, he's still the man arriving on the edge of the box in stoppage time."
"This is why Mourinho wanted him to stay on."
De Rossi tore away from his teammates.
Arms spread wide, he sprinted across the pitch with tears on his face, shouting until his voice seemed to disappear into the noise around him.
Tyler laughed.
"Look at him. It reminds you of Tardelli, doesn't it?"
After nearly half the length of the pitch, De Rossi was finally caught by his teammates. They dragged him into a jubilant pile near the touchline, where Cassell and the rest of the coaching staff joined the celebration.
Around them, Old Trafford shook with applause.
For that moment, players, coaches, and supporters felt like one.
The Red Wolf King had saved them.
(To be continued.)
◇◇◇
◇ One bonus chapter will be released for every 200 Power Stones.
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