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As the second half got underway, Anfield—hushed for fifteen minutes during the break—plunged right back into frenzy. The Kop in particular was an arresting sight; a booming wave of sound from tens of thousands of diehards swept across the ground once more in majestic grandeur. The fact that all of them were standing made the spectacle all the more awe-inspiring! Watching that seething red sea of bodies, Du An felt an entirely new reverie take root in his heart. If one day he could don the Reds' shirt, take to this pitch, and stand enveloped in the roars of tens of thousands of fans, what would that feel like? At this moment, football was no longer just dry, monotonous drills, nor merely a way to make a living. It began to take on a concrete image—a genuine longing. Du An figured that if that day ever truly arrived, his legs would probably turn to jelly from nerves, wouldn't they? The match raged on. Every shift in momentum on the pitch held the heartbeats of tens of thousands of spectators in its grip. In the sixty-second minute, the deadlock was nearly broken by the visitors. Tottenham's Davies made a successful run down the left before cutting a cross back from near the byline. Jermaine Jenas, arriving unmarked through the middle, was presented with a gaping goal—only to slide in and steer his effort wide, squandering an absolute sitter. "Booo!!" A unified chorus of jeers and boos rang out instantly across the stadium. It was equal parts mockery at their opponent's blundering miss and relief that their own side had escaped unscathed. Tottenham were soon made to pay a heavy price for their wastefulness. Just a minute later, Liverpool launched a blistering counterattack. Gerrard broke at pace down the right flank and whipped in a pinpoint cross. In front of goal, Bellamy rushed in to side-foot a shot, but the ball crashed against the post and rebounded outward. Just as Bellamy clutched his head in dismay and groans of frustration rippled through the stands, Mark González came charging in to slot home the rebound, sending the ball rolling cleanly into the back of the net! The referee pointed straight to the center circle. Goal awarded! In that instant, Anfield utterly detonated! A goal! A deafening roar pierced the clouds as the stadium's frenzy reached a fever pitch! Everyone rose to their feet, bellowing at the top of their lungs and chanting Mark's name. Absolute euphoria! The supporters all knew that Mark's journey to Liverpool hadn't been smooth sailing. Mark González had signed with Liverpool as early as the previous year, but work-permit complications had delayed his Premier League arrival. After waiting in the wings for a year, he had finally joined Anfield this summer. In the earlier Champions League qualifiers, he had already come off the bench to score a dramatic go-ahead goal. Now, bagging his first-ever Premier League goal, he once again proved his big-game temperament—always delivering when the stakes were highest! Ethan completely lost his head, grabbing Du An in a fierce embrace and shaking him violently. He screamed hoarsely, his voice trembling with sheer exhilaration. He was practically beside himself! "We scored! We're ahead! Oh my god! That's the first goal I've ever seen with my own eyes at Anfield! I'm losing my mind, Du An! That was unbelievable! Oh god! I can't take it, Du An!" The feverish atmosphere enveloped every single person in the ground, leaving no one untouched. Du An felt the energy radiating around him with total clarity. Even he could sense his own body temperature rising, his blood beginning to simmer. It was a thrilling pulse he had never felt before. Deep within him, something seemed to awaken—fiery, scalding, and making him long to immerse himself entirely in it. He couldn't help letting his imagination wander. If, someday in the future, he could score a goal for Liverpool right here, could he make tens of thousands of fans go this wild, this ecstatic? Could he, too, become the reason Anfield erupted into jubilation? Du An smiled. If that day truly ever came, maybe it wouldn't be half bad. Once the deadlock was broken, Liverpool seized complete control of the match. Their attacks poured forward like mercury spilling across the ground, and Tottenham were struggling to hold on. In the seventy-third minute, Luis García threaded a through ball forward. Summer signing Dirk Kuyt made a clever run right into the ball's path and calmly slotted home, making it 2–0! Boom! A thunderous roar!! Another wave of sound surged through Anfield, billows of joy washing over the crowd one after another, carrying everyone to the pinnacle of ecstasy! Ethan jumped for joy once more, gripping Du An tightly and hollering without pause. The middle-aged supporter who had spoken highly of Kuyt earlier turned around to look at the two boys, grinning smugly as he shouted, "What did I tell you?! The lad's the real deal! He's going to score heaps of goals at Anfield! My eyes never lie!" Ethan hollered back at the man, "Spot on! Kuyt's going to score plenty more!" Both of them burst out laughing. As the match entered stoppage time, the outcome was already beyond doubt. The Anfield faithful were completely relaxed now. Terraces across the ground broke into song and dance, celebrating the victory ahead of time. A melodic yet resounding chorus drifted through the air, gradually swelling into a tens-of-thousands-strong anthem that echoed across the entire stadium: "Walk on, walk on, With hope in your heart, And you'll never walk alone, you'll never walk alone..." Listening to the familiar melody, Du An understood in his heart. Liverpool's anthem, "You'll Never Walk Alone," had long transcended the bounds of an ordinary club song. In the 1965 FA Cup Final, Liverpool supporters had sung it together at Wembley Stadium, establishing it as the club's defining symbol. In 1982, the words were carved into Anfield's Shankly Gates, becoming a spiritual totem for the club. Through decades of trials and tempests, it had borne witness to the team's greatest heights, soothed the agony of the Hillsborough disaster, and served as the warmest spiritual bond uniting the club, its players, and all of its supporters. Amid the singing, the match wound down into injury time. Just when everyone thought the match would conclude at 2–0, Liverpool mounted yet another blistering counterattack from deep in their own half. After a swift exchange of passes, the ball found John Arne Riise. The Norwegian drove forward and, from a full thirty yards out, unleashed a decisive long-range rocket! Thump! Nobody dared get in the way of this thunderous strike. Brimming with ferocious power, the ball tore through the sky and ripped straight into the netting! Swish! In it went! Three-nil! In that instant, Anfield boiled over once again! A three-goal sweep—a resounding, emphatic drubbing—etched the finest stroke yet into Liverpool's new season! Riise raced toward the touchline, pumping his arms wildly, and every Liverpool player sprinted over to mob him in frenzied celebration. A vast sea of red surged endlessly beneath the sky, blinding in its crimson brilliance! The sight was stamped indelibly onto Du An's heart. Perhaps now, what football's fever pitch truly meant—and what Anfield's faith was made of—had begun to form a faint answer in his mind. On the pitch, before the celebratory waves could dissipate, the referee blew his whistle for full time. Three long blasts sounded, and the dust settled. A comprehensive victory! Liverpool had routed Tottenham on home turf! The Tottenham players all hung their heads in sheer dejection. Two golden opportunities squandered over ninety minutes had ultimately yielded a humiliating 3–0 defeat. Many slouched their shoulders and trudged off in silence. Watching their crestfallen opponents depart, Liverpool's supporters at Anfield were hardly sparing with their banter: "Jog on home, zero-trophy Tottenham~" "D'you want to borrow our Champions League trophy for a look? Catch a bit of the glory! Might be the only chance you lot ever get to touch silverware in your lives~" It was the sweetest venting of pride that followed an emphatic rout. A Champions League title—and a trophy won after overturning a 3–0 deficit at that—gave them all the swagger they needed to taunt their opponents. Ethan joined right in with the mocking jeers of the supporters around him, grinning with unrestrained glee.