The first fifteen minutes felt like a negotiation Frankfurt did not want to be dragged into, but had no choice but to accept. United started on the front foot, not with chaos, but with a kind of controlled arrogance that told you they had come to the Waldstadion believing the noise could be managed, believing the tie could be shaped from the very first pass.
Højlund pressed Koch and Tuta as if he had been given a personal mission to make their first touches uncomfortable. Garnacho hovered high and wide, receiving early switches and squaring up Brown at every opportunity, while Mount drifted in those irritating little pockets where a midfielder can look harmless until your whole shape starts leaning toward him.
