THE GREATEST OF ALL TIME

A while later, inside the Manchester City dressing room, Pep Guardiola stood before his players, his tactical mind racing.

He knew that an all-out attack would expose them to even greater danger, but he also couldn't allow Liverpool to humiliate his team further. Instead of urging them to chase the game recklessly, he focused on defensive organization and patience.

"Stay compact, don't let them play through the middle. Force them wide and deal with the crosses. We'll get our chances on the break—just stay disciplined!" Guardiola commanded, his hands gesturing sharply as he drilled his instructions into his players.

City's squad listened intently, absorbing his words. This wasn't about winning anymore—it was about survival.

As the teams re-emerged, a shift in City's approach was evident. They no longer pressed high, no longer left open spaces in midfield. Instead, they sat deeper, maintaining a rigid shape, inviting Liverpool to come at them while waiting for a moment to counterattack.

Liverpool, still brimming with energy, resumed control, circulating the ball with masterful precision. But as minutes passed, it became clear that City's new defensive stance was making things difficult. Every attempt to penetrate through the middle was met with immediate resistance, forcing Liverpool to rethink their approach.

Noting the challenge, Jürgen Klopp barked instructions from the touchline, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere.

"Use the wings! Stretch them! Overloads, crosses, quick switches—let's go!"

Immediately, Liverpool adapted.

Trent Alexander-Arnold and Andrew Robertson pushed higher up the pitch, whipping in dangerous crosses at every opportunity. With City clogging the central areas, Liverpool focused on overwhelming them from the flanks.

The forward trio adjusted as well—Sadio Mané and Mohamed Salah floated into the penalty area more often, ensuring that each cross had a target. Zachary Bemba, always the intelligent playmaker, began drifting wide, pulling defenders out of position and creating more overloads on the flanks.

The impact was immediate.

Cross after cross rained into City's penalty box, forcing their defenders to scramble desperately. Some deliveries were cleared, some forced Ederson into sharp saves, and some narrowly missed their intended targets. The pressure was mounting once again.

By the 60th minute, the game had returned to a familiar pattern—Liverpool in complete control, Manchester City simply holding on for dear life.

The Etihad had fallen silent once more, save for the relentless chants of the Liverpool faithful. With thirty minutes still to play, one question lingered in the air—was another goal inevitable?

Liverpool soon provided the answer.

In the 69th minute, yet another opportunity unfolded with the same unrelenting intensity that had defined their play all night. Andrew Robertson, an engine of energy down the left flank, burst forward once more, his tireless legs carrying him past Danilo before whipping in a dangerous cross into Manchester City's penalty area.

Inside the box, Sadio Mané and Roberto Firmino charged forward, both leaping in unison, desperate to connect with the delivery. But Vincent Kompany and John Stones were alert, reading the danger just in time. Kompany, with his towering presence, rose highest and managed to head the ball away from immediate danger. City's defense breathed a momentary sigh of relief.

But had they truly defused the situation?

The answer came in the form of Zachary Bemba, who lurked just outside the area. As the clearance came hurtling toward the arc of the eighteen-yard box, Zachary watched it descend, his instincts sharper than anyone else's on the pitch.

His eyes gleamed with intent.

He stepped forward, timing his movement perfectly, and just as the ball reached the perfect height, he swung his right foot through it with breathtaking precision.

Bang!

The sound of his boot striking the ball echoed across the pitch, a pure, clean connection that sent the ball zipping through the air like a missile. It sliced through the narrow spaces between players, traveling at an impossible speed.

Ederson barely had time to react. And then—

The ball smashed off the crossbar with a thunderous clang, then ricocheted down over the goal line and into the back of the net before the City keeper could even move.

Manchester City 0, Liverpool 4.

The traveling Liverpool fans exploded in frenzy, their cheers reverberating through the stunned Etihad Stadium.

Zachary Bemba, arms spread wide, raced toward them, his teammates in pursuit, swarming him in celebration. He had done it again—his second goal of the night, his 23rd of the Premier League season, and perhaps the most devastating blow yet to Manchester City's fading hopes.

Guardiola stood on the touchline, hands on his head, watching helplessly. His side had fought hard to keep Liverpool at bay, but nothing could have stopped that strike. It was a moment of brilliance, a goal of the season contender, and the exclamation mark on Liverpool's sheer dominance.

Up in the commentator's box, Peter Drury's voice soared, capturing the magic of the moment.

"Oh, take a bow, Zachary Bemba! That is outrageous! That is sublime! That is a goal that belongs in the Louvre! Liverpool are not just winning—they are putting on a masterpiece! Bemba, with technique as perfect as the stars aligning, meets the ball first time, and it is an absolute rocket! The crossbar rattles, Ederson is left for dead, and Manchester City are utterly demolished!"

Beside him, Jim Beglin was shaking his head, his voice full of admiration.

"Peter, that is one of the cleanest strikes I've seen in years. The timing, the precision, the sheer power—it's an absolute work of art. Ederson could have had four arms and still wouldn't have stopped it. That's a hit you dream about as a footballer, and Zachary Bemba has just painted his masterpiece on the grandest of stages."

Meanwhile, a big part of the stadium remained eerily silent, save for the Liverpool fans singing in full voice. The scoreline read 0-4, and yet, there was still over 20 minutes left to play.

Liverpool weren't just winning.

They were humiliating the champions in their own fortress.

Soon enough, the goal celebrations came to an end, and the referee signaled for play to resume.

Manchester City, desperate to regain some measure of control, tried to keep possession, knocking the ball around their defensive line. But Liverpool were relentless, hunting in packs, pressing with the same hunger they had shown from the very first whistle.

Within moments, the pattern of the game repeated itself. City's brief spell of possession was crushed. Liverpool's intensity overwhelmed them once more, forcing a misplaced pass that was swiftly intercepted.

The Reds then wasted no time—immediately stretching the field, shifting play from side to side, looking for the gaps that would allow them to inflict further damage.

Then came the 73rd minute—and with it, disaster.

The ball found its way to Zachary Bemba near the center circle. He turned gracefully, his first touch immaculate as he skipped past David Silva with ease. Lifting his head, he scanned the pitch, his mind already calculating his next move. He spotted Sadio Mané making a dangerous run in behind and prepared to unleash a forward pass.

But before he could make the play, a blur of blue swept into his peripheral vision.

Fernandinho!!

The Brazilian midfielder lunged in from the side with a terrifying force, his boot crunching against Zachary's left ankle just as he planted his foot. A sickening crack rang out as Zachary let out a pained yell, his body twisting violently before he crashed onto the turf.

A searing pain shot through his ankle, and instantly, he knew something was terribly wrong. His heartbeat pounded in his ears as agony exploded in his leg, spreading like wildfire. He clutched his ankle, his breath coming in short gasps, his mind racing in panic.

He had suffered knocks before, endured tough tackles—but this was different. This pain was deep, unforgiving, unbearable.

His teammates saw his distress immediately. Sadio Mané and Fabinho were the first to react, sprinting toward him, waving frantically for the medical team. The referee, seeing the severity of the challenge, immediately blew his whistle and rushed over.

Zachary lay motionless on the grass, his face contorted in pain. He could feel the swelling already beginning, his ankle locked in a throbbing, stabbing agony that refused to relent. Every time he tried to move, a fresh wave of torment shot up his leg.

The Liverpool bench was already in motion—Jürgen Klopp looked worried, his hands clenched as he turned to his medical staff. The club doctor sprinted onto the pitch, kneeling beside Zachary, already assessing the injury.

The referee took one look at Fernandinho's reckless challenge and didn't hesitate.

Another straight red card.

Fernandinho barely protested as he trudged off, his face blank, knowing there was no defending the challenge he had just made. But for Manchester City, that red card hardly mattered anymore. The real story was on the ground—Zachary Bemba, the two-goal hero of the night, in absolute agony, his night—no, his season hanging in the balance.

The medics carefully inspected his ankle, their faces grave. This wasn't just a minor knock. This was an injury that couldn't be directly assessed on the field of play.

As the stretcher was brought onto the field, Zachary's world spun. The pain was one thing, but the reality of the situation was even worse. He had been flying—23 league goals, leading Liverpool to an emphatic victory, a potential Premier League title within reach. And now?

Now, he was being carried off, his season hanging in the balance.