Kieran Trippier, caught too high up the pitch pressing Ashley Young, turned to sprint back, but it was already futile.
Facing the already accelerating Ling, the Spurs right-back instantly fell several yards behind.
He was chasing a ghost.
Eric Dier and Jan Vertonghen, the Tottenham center-backs, quickly grasped their opponents' intent.
They surged forward, determined to neutralize the aerial threat of Romelu Lukaku and Zlatan Ibrahimović.
But Lukaku, using his immense strength, backed into Vertonghen.
He didn't try to control it.
He leaped up, arching his back, and executed a perfect, cushioned flick-on header into the vast expanse of green behind the defensive line.
The ball bounced once on the wet turf, spinning perfectly into Ling's path.
It was just him and the goalkeeper.
And seventy-five thousand screaming fans.
Martin Tyler: "Lukaku with the flick... AND LING IS IN! He's got the wrong side of Trippier! He is away!"
Gary Neville: "This is it! This is the trap! He's one-on-one! Lloris has to come!"
Martin Tyler: "It's Jeremy Ling against Hugo Lloris... the youngster bearing down on goal... Old Trafford holds its breath..."
On the pitch, time seemed to dilate.
The noise faded into a white hum.
Hugo Lloris, the Tottenham captain cursed his teammates under his breath.
He saw the danger immediately.
He decisively charged off his line, narrowing the angle, spreading his arms to make himself big.
Ling controlled the ball smoothly with his instep, seamlessly continuing his movement as he drove forward.
He recalled Mourinho's demand in the tactical meeting.
So Ling sprang into action.
He didn't slow down. He engaged his core.
His upper body began to sway rapidly, left to right, while his feet never stopped moving, perfectly blending storm-like power with lightning-fast speed.
It was the Pendulum Dribble.
Like an unstoppable grand clock, ticking down Tottenham's fate.
Its rhythmic motion echoed like a stirring symphony in the minds of the fans who were old enough to remember Il Fenomeno.
Lloris froze mid-action, as if entranced.
It wasn't that he didn't want to move.
But in the blink of an eye, Ling had shifted his center of gravity three times without losing a single kilometer of speed.
Left? Right? Shoot? Dribble? It was impossible to predict his true intention.
'Monster!'
The word flashed through Lloris's mind.
He had to guess. Without further hesitation, he committed, diving low to his left toward the ball.
Martin Tyler: "He's shaping to shoot... no, he's going round him! OH, THE FEET! THE SHIMMY!"
Gary Neville: "He's sent him the wrong way! He's absolutely sold him down the river!"
Martin Tyler: "LING! HE'S ROUNDED LLORIS! EMPTY NET! HE ROLLS IT IN! SCENES AT OLD TRAFFORD!"
What followed was a heart-pounding scene on the pitch.
Ling's movement abruptly changed.
He didn't go left. He darted to the right like an arrow released from its bow.
Though Lloris had lunged the other way, he stretched out a leg at the last moment—a final, desperate attempt to intercept the ball with his studs.
But soon, he collapsed helplessly to the ground, clutching only grass and wet mud.
Because Ling actually managed to accelerate twice while dribbling past the goalkeeper.
He took a heavy touch past Lloris's outstretched boot, caught up to the ball, slightly adjusted his posture to ensure balance, and pushed it firmly toward the center of the gaping goal.
The ball rolled over the wet grass.
As it slowly crossed the goal line, hitting the back of the net, Old Trafford erupted completely.
It wasn't just a cheer; it was an explosion of noise that echoed through the skies of Manchester.
1-0!
Every fan watching the match was trembling, their faces flushed bright red.
That simple yet brutal breakthrough style was visually stunning—the overall spectacle was breathtakingly magnificent, while the intricate details were utterly mesmerizing.
In the stands, the group of Chinese international students were so excited they waved their arms wildly, shouting toward the neighboring away section where the stunned Spurs fans stood.
"Still talking trash?!"
"Answer me! Who scored the goal?! Who is the King of Asia now?!"
The South Korean fans in the vicinity were furious, their faces turning ashen.
They wanted to argue, to bring up Son's stats, but they couldn't find any reason to retort right now.
They could only anxiously hope that Son Heung-min would also score a beautiful goal to level the playing field.
On the pitch, after scoring, Ling grimaced slightly and rubbed his knees.
'That move..'. he thought. 'Rapidly shifting center of gravity at that speed puts too much shear force on the ligaments. I'll have to limit how often I use the Pendulum in the future. It's a knee-killer.'
But the pain faded quickly.
He sprinted toward the Stretford End, cupping his hand to his ear, signaling that the fans' cheers weren't loud enough.
'I can't hear you!'
The Manchester United fans naturally didn't want to disappoint their new hero.
They roared at the top of their lungs.
"JEREMY LING! JEREMY LING!"
Just as Ling was about to strike another cool pose for the cameras, he felt a heavy tap on his shoulder.
Turning around, he saw the towering figure of Ibrahimović.
"Zlatan," Ling grinned, breathless. "Was I cool just now? Be honest."
Ibrahimović looked down at him, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Not bad, menino. But still a long way from my level. It'd be hard to crack my top ten career goals. Maybe top fifty."
Despite his arrogant words, Ibrahimović's eyes were shining brightly with pride.
Ever since starting his football career, Zlatan had idolized the original Ronaldo—R9.
He had downloaded and saved videos of him and Romário, studying their "magical" dribbling skills.
And just now, for a split second, he truly felt like he had seen the Fenomenon in a United shirt.
The rest of the Manchester United players gathered around—Lukaku, Matic, Young—showering him with endless praise until Ling started to feel a bit embarrassed.
Meanwhile, the Tottenham players nearby were utterly frustrated.
Hugo Lloris, picking the ball out of his net, was unable to contain his temper.
He glanced around and realized his defenders were too senior to scream at, so he snapped at someone in the distance.
"Sonny! Why didn't you track back?! The space was huge! You have to help Kieran!"
Son Heung-min offered no explanation—he was used to goalkeepers venting—and simply walked away silently, his face burning with competitive frustration.
While the players reset for the kickoff, the broadcast cut to the instant replay, shown from multiple angles.
Martin Tyler: "Just look at this again, Gary. The pass from Lukaku is good, but there is still so much work to do."
Gary Neville: "It's absolutely frightening, Martin. Look at the body shape. Look at this... shimmy. Left, right, gone. He doesn't even touch the ball! He moves his body, and Lloris buys it completely. He freezes a World Cup winner. That is... that is 'Ronaldo-esque.' And I mean the Brazilian one."
Jamie Carragher: "I hate to agree with you, Gary, but you're right. That is the 'Pendulum.' We haven't seen that done effectively in the Premier League for years. It puts so much pressure on the keeper. Lloris thinks he's going to shoot, then he thinks he's going left... by the time he dives, the kid is already past him. It's humiliating for the goalkeeper, honestly."
Martin Tyler: "And the composure to roll it in. He didn't blast it. He just passed it into the net. Manchester United lead, and it is fully deserved. The trap was sprung perfectly."
The goal didn't just shake Old Trafford; it shook the internet.
The Chinese fans in the live streams were even more excited.
This goal demonstrated Ling's individual ability—even those who didn't understand offside traps or tactical shifts could feel the visceral shock of that dribble.
This moment gained Ling countless new fans.
After all, being Chinese themselves, they naturally hoped to see fellow countrymen represented in every field—culture, entertainment, sports.
And football, being the world's number one sport, naturally occupied the most significant mental real estate.
Perhaps many people would think that after a country becomes powerful economically, it doesn't need football to validate itself.
But in reality, football provides an indispensable spiritual fulfillment.
It is a global language.
Previously, without any Chinese standing on that stage symbolizing the pinnacle of football, Chinese fans naturally turned their attention to foreign clubs.
They supported United, or Milan, or Real Madrid.
But now it was completely different.
They had one of their own.
They had witnessed Ling's growth, witnessed his goals, and that profound sense of satisfaction was intoxicating.
...
Meanwhile, on Twitter, the hype train had lost its brakes.
@UtdFaithful: "DID YOU SEE THAT?! He sent Lloris back to France! R9 regen confirmed!"
@SpursOfficial: "..." (The comments section was a warzone of gifs)
@GaryLineker: "Always love a striker who goes round the keeper. Dying art. Beautifully executed by young Jeremy Ling. A star is born."
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