Congratulation to Liverpool FC for their 20th league title. YNWA - 27/4/2025
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Score: Liverpool 8 – 0 Norwich
Goalscorer:
Azim (9' minute, 19' minute, 24' minute, 43' minute, & 66' minute)
Sturridge (32' minute & 39' minute)
Coutinho (58' minute)
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The chants didn't stop.
"Azim! Azim! Azim!"
One wave.
Then another.
Then a third.
By the fourth, half the stadium had tears in their eyes.
After celebration, Klopp nodded once to the fourth official. "Now."
Behind him, Divock Origi (ST) already stood near the bench, lacing up his right boot with quick, practiced hands. Pep Lijnders gave him a firm tap on the back - the kind of tap that wasn't just an instruction, but a passing of responsibility.
"You know the plan," Pep said, voice low but steady. Origi (ST) simply nodded. No smile, no words wasted. His expression was carved from the moment - respectful, focused. He jogged lightly toward the fourth official, where the digital board was already raised.
The board went up.
Bright and clear.
(RED) OUT: 9
(GREEN) IN: 27
Divock Origi (ST) bounced on his toes, tightening his wrist tape, grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
He turned - and there was Azim (ST), jogging toward the touchline, face lit not by arrogance, not by exhaustion - but pure, human happiness.
The Kop erupted into a roar, standing almost in perfect unison.
Not a formal send-off.
Not a polite applause.
But a celebration.
Azim (ST) clapped his hands above his head once, then dropped them to chest height, smiling wide, genuine, heart visible in every step.
He wasn't just leaving the pitch.
He was leaving behind a performance that Anfield would tuck into its heart forever.
At the touchline, Origi (ST) waited.
Azim jogged the last few steps - and instead of just a professional handshake, he pulled Origi into a quick half-hug, slapping his back.
"Finish what we started, brother," Azim said, voice loud enough only for Divock to hear.
Origi laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and bounded onto the pitch.
The transition was seamless - a celebration, not a disruption.
Waiting at the technical area, Klopp was already stepping forward.
Grinning like a proud father, he opened his arms for a brief, powerful hug.
Azim (ST) accepted it without hesitation, clapping Klopp firmly on the back before pulling away.
"Good job," Klopp said into his ear.
"Now go rest. You earned every second."
Azim nodded, still beaming, cheeks flushed but not from running.
From living.
He turned back once to the Kop, lifted a hand, and gave them a full, joyful wave.
The response wasn't polite applause. It was primal.
A chorus swept down from the stands like thunder rolling through the valley:
"Azim… Azim… Azim…"
Scarves waved. Grown men shouted until their voices broke. Kids screamed his name like it was magic.
He stood there, frozen under the noise, letting it pour into him. He raised both arms slowly, just once - then dropped them to his side, smiled, and whispered.
"IS… show me the table."
A flash of deep blue shimmered across his vision. Then the data unfolded in clean, perfect structure:
Premier League Table – Week 6:
Rank_____Club___________Pts
1. Manchester City_______15
2. Liverpool______________13
3. West Ham United______12
4. Leicester City__________12
5. Arsenal_________________10
6. Manchester United____10
7. Tottenham Hotspur_____9
8. Everton_________________9
9. Swansea City____________9
10. Watford________________9
11. Crystal Palace___________9
12. West Brom_____________8
13. Norwich City___________7
14. Bournemouth__________7
15. Chelsea________________7
16. Southampton__________6
17. Aston Villa_____________4
18. Stoke City______________3
19. Newcastle United_____2
20. Sunderland_____________2
--------
Liverpool were second. And it wasn't luck.
It was him.
"Goals next," he muttered, hands still at his side. The chant hadn't stopped.
Top Goalscorers – Week 6:
Rank_Name_Team_Total Goals
1. Abdul Azim__Liverpool_7
2. Bafétimbi Gomis__Swansea City_4
3. Callum Wilson_Bournemouth_4
4. Riyad Mahrez_Leicester City_4
5. André Ayew_Swansea City_3
6. Jamie Vardy_Leicester City_3
7. Romelu Lukaku_Everton_3
----
"Show me the assists."
Top 5 Assists – After Week 6:
Rank_Name_Team__Assists
1. James Milner_Liverpool_6
2. Abdul Azim_Liverpool_4
3. David Silva_Manchester City_3
4. Roberto Firmino_Liverpool__2
5. Bacary Sagna_Manchester City_2
-----
IS Note:"Trending Worldwide: #AzimLFC. Social spike +48.3%."
Azim smiled lightly.
Not bad for someone who didn't even exist on the squad sheet six weeks ago.
Then came the whistle.
Not one, not two - but the triple tone. Sharp. Final.
Azim didn't flinch. He simply turned back to the pitch, where teammates began pouring toward each other.
Eight-nil.
And five of them had come from his boots.
He jogged slowly toward the center circle, boots barely bending the grass now. Breath steady. Not tired - not even close. His chest swelled with something heavier than pride but lighter than burden.
Satisfaction.
Norwich's captain - grizzled, soaked in effort - reached him first.
"Unreal, lad."
Azim grinned, shook his hand.
"Keep your head up. It'll turn."
Another player slapped his back. "Hat-trick? You score five."
"Didn't see a rule against it," Azim joked, just enough to make them smile.
The referee approached next. No drama. Just respect.
"Ball's yours," the official said, holding it out.
Azim took it in both hands, nodding. "Thanks."
"You'll need a shelf, I think."
Azim tucked the match ball under his arm. He didn't feel the weight of it - only what it meant.
As he turned, a voice from the side:
"Azim!"
He looked up - one of Norwich experienced defenders held out a hand.
"Jersey?"
Azim peeled off his shirt without hesitation, exchanging it. The other man nodded.
"You're going places."
Azim smiled. "So are you."
They bumped fists once, then turned back to their teams.
Walking toward the tunnel now, the sound had changed - but not faded.
The chant hadn't stopped.
If anything, it had deepened. Rawer. Louder.
"Azim… Azim… Azim…"
He walked along the touchline. Fans reached out from the front row - arms stretching, red shirts crumpled from joy. He touched every hand he could.
Not fast. Deliberate.
Then he turned to the pitch one last time.
The match ball still tucked under his arm.
He raised his free hand into a small, compact fist pump. Just once.
The whole stadium exploded.This was not about ego.
It was about arrival.
He nodded once more. Then ducked into the tunnel - match-worn jersey swapped, boots heavy with grass, heart light as fire.
The tunnel wasn't loud.
That was the strange part.
After the chaos of the pitch, the roar of the Kop, and the chorus of his name rolling like thunder through the sky, this narrow concrete corridor felt like a monastery. Still. Cool. Dim.
Azim (ST) walked down it alone for a moment, the match ball tucked in his left arm. The air was sharp with the clean chemical sting of turf disinfectant and sweat.
His boots clacked softly on the concrete. No rush.
Each step was deliberate. Measured.
Like his night.
Then came the noise. But not from the stands.
From behind.
"AZIMMMM!"
Lovren's voice, stretched into a roar. The defender burst into the tunnel, half-laughing, half-shouting. Clyne followed next, then Firmino, then Moreno, all of them hooting, stomping, grinning like schoolboys who'd snuck into a candy factory.
Azim didn't flinch. He just kept walking.
"Match ball already in hand, huh?" Milner caught up to him and slapped the back of his neck with a soft towel whip. "Show off."
"Gotta carry it into training," Azim grinned.
"You're carrying the whole bloody team," Milner fired back.
Azim held up his free hand in surrender, but the smile never faded.
Inside, the air was warmer. The room buzzed like a live wire.
Music hadn't started yet - but the voices were enough. Coaches talking, studs clicking against the tile floor, someone cracking open a sports drink. The smell of deep heat, fresh kits, and something cooked - maybe chicken or rice - wafted faintly from the nutrition crates by the wall.
Azim walked in last. He always did.
Let them take the light first.
As soon as he crossed the threshold, the place erupted again.
A spontaneous, booming chant - just voices this time, bouncing off the walls:
"Azim, Azim, Azimmmm!"
He raised the match ball once, and instantly felt a bottle explode against his back - energy drink, ice cold, sticky. Another one hit his shoulder. Then two more.
Klopp entered next - not to stop it. To smile.
He leaned back against the frame, arms folded, just watching.
"Alright, alright," Coutinho shouted over the chaos. "Get him a towel before the lad slips and tears an ACL."
Sturridge finally blasted the speakers - Drake - "Hotline Bling".
The beat dropped.
The room moved.
Amid the dancing and towel-whipping, Klopp raised a single hand.
Just once.
Silence didn't hit instantly - but gradually. Like a tide retreating from the shore.
He didn't step on a box. Didn't raise his voice.
Just spoke.
"You respect your opponent… even when you destroy them."
A few heads nodded.
"You celebrate - yes - but you do not mock. You do not forget they are human. And next week, someone will want to destroy you."
Eyes sharpened.
He paused.
Then looked at Azim.
"And that's why I'm proud of this one."
Azim lowered his head slightly. He didn't grin.
Just listened.
Klopp continued.
"Five goals. Two assists. But still - you passed. You moved. You ran. You fought for others. This is football."
He turned back to the room.
"And this-" he spread his arms - "this is family. Now go on. Ruin this place."
Laughter broke out again.
Music returned. So did the showers, the claps, the chaos.
Azim took a seat.
Just breathing.
He set the match ball on the bench next to him. Leaned forward. Forearms on knees.
His shirt had already been swapped - only his boots were original, still heavy with Anfield grass.
The room spun in movement around him - Moreno yelling something in Spanish at Lucas Leiva, Firmino dancing like the speakers owed him rent, Emre Can opening a protein gel with his teeth.
One of the kit staff leaned in.
"Post-match interviews in ten. You good?"
Azim nodded.
Then picked up the match ball and whispered into it, like it was a secret:
"Let's go again next week."
The mixed zone smelled like plastic carpet, cold air, and fake smiles.
Azim (ST) stood behind the red backdrop, club badge repeating across it like a political banner. A media officer nodded him into place. Microphones were already pointed. Phones hovered just off-frame. Flashlights winked on like sniper sights.
But Azim didn't blink.
He stood still. Match ball tucked under his arm. Crown of taped foam still half-folded in his hand.
The camera light turned green.
The MVP Interview - Sky Sport
"Here with us - man of the match, five goals, two assists… Abdul Azim. First of all - how do you feel?"
Azim smiled, easy and boyish.
"Bit hungry. Is there food back there?"
Laughter from the studio.
"No nerves?"
"I'm still learning where the tunnel door is," he joked. "So maybe the nerves got lost somewhere in the warm-up."
The interviewer smiled. "Walk us through the performance tonight. It felt… inevitable."
Azim shook his head.
"Nah. Not inevitable. Just… rehearsed."
"What do you mean?"
Azim shrugged, eyes glancing upward as if the words were floating there.
"I practice movements a lot. Angles. Weight of passes. Finishing from awkward positions. If the defenders are here-" he gestured with his hands - "then I try to be where they hate it most."
"Positioning?"
"No. Patterns. Football is about recognising the same dance with different music."
Pause.
The reporter blinked.
"You make it sound simple."
Azim laughed.
"It's only simple when you run hard enough to slow the game down."
"Favourite goal tonight?"
"Third. Intercept. No script. Just instinct."
"Best assist?"
"Sturridge's second. Dragged the keeper. Backheel. He finished it clean."
"Any message for fans?"
Azim looked dead into the camera.
"No message. Just… thank you. For chanting my name when you didn't need to."
The interviewer nodded, closing the segment.
"Future England striker?" someone called off-camera, trying to bait a soundbite.
Azim just smiled and walked away.
He stepped out of the lights and into the hallway behind. Still warm from the dressing room, but cooler. Calmer.
IS shimmered quietly across his vision.
IS Note:
"Live trending: #AzimKing #9LFC #EnglandStriker #Anfield9.Media engagement: +73.4% spike."
Fan Tweets:
"Azim's third goal is what FIFA would call 'unfair scripting'."
Another:
"Bro scores 5 like it's a college tryout. He's HIM."
Another:
"Azim's heatmap tonight looks like a galaxy formation."
Azim smirked as he walked, phone in hand now.
----
Behind a half-open door, Klopp stood with Lijnders and Krawietz, deep in analysis.
"He doesn't run just for show," Klopp was saying. "Every movement has weight. His decoys pull defenders like gravity."
Lijnders nodded. "And he doesn't cheat the press. Triggers perfectly."
Krawietz added, "If he keeps this up, we need to consider building around him sooner than expected."
Azim paused at the door, hearing none of this - but feeling all of it.
Media Lounge – Tactical Show Highlights
As Azim entered the player lounge, the TV was already rolling:
Sky Sports Tactical RecapGary Neville speaking:
"Watch here. It's not just the finish - it's how he anticipates Milner's press before it even starts. That's elite."
Jamie Carragher pointing:
"And here - look at the delay in his final step. He waits, lets the defender commit, then glides past."
Another clip:
"This drag-back pass to Sturridge… look, you can't coach that. That's instinct + vision + calm under fire."
Azim stood silently, watching.
But only for a moment.
He didn't need to see what he already knew.
IS Breakdown – Post-Match Analysis (Private)
A soft pulse lit up inside his head.
IS Breakdown Summary:
Minutes played: 70
Distance covered: 10.2km
Sprints: 32
Successful take-ons: 9/10
Shot conversion rate: 83%
Pass success (final third): 91%
Press triggers executed: 23
Total goals: 5
Total assists: 2
IS Comment:
"System status: Optimal. Pattern mapping accuracy: 98.2%. Tactical drift successful."