When Juninho D'Alessandro completed the steal, the Manchester United bench stirred.
Sir Alex Ferguson stopped chewing his gum, narrowing his eyes at the pitch.
When Juninho dribbled past the halfway line, Ferguson clenched his fists.
When he released a long cross-field pass, the legendary manager leaned forward in anticipation.
When Valencia's cross was cleared by Sim De Jong, Ferguson almost slumped back in disappointment.
But then, he saw something he hadn't expected.
Juninho had silently arrived at the back post—unmarked, unnoticed.
He had time to control the ball calmly and take the shot.
Ferguson's eyes widened.
He hadn't been watching Juninho.
Why would he?
A defensive midfielder who had already contributed a steal and a pass was doing enough.
Ferguson's attention had been fixed on the final third—on Valencia, on the forwards battling for position in the box.
And yet… as the ball fell, there was Juninho.
In open space.
And then came the goal.
Ferguson froze for a heartbeat, then jumped up from his seat, fists pumping as he rushed to the sideline and let out a roar of pure delight.
"This kid! He's full of surprises!"
Assistant coach Mike Phelan rushed over to high-five him.
"I didn't think he'd be there… is that luck or just his instinct?"
Ferguson hesitated.
Who could predict exactly where the ball would land after De Jong's header?
Yet Juninho had been there—ready.
Probably luck…?
But the calm way he handled the ball, the composure as he stopped it, adjusted, and shot—it didn't look like chance.
He looked prepared.
No hint of surprise. No panic. Just smooth, intentional action.
Stop. Aim. Shoot.
Textbook.
And if the ball had simply fallen to him by accident, surely he would've just thrown his body at it—maybe a diving header, an awkward poke.
Not a clinical trap-and-finish.
Ferguson kept watching.
If he was right, and this wasn't luck…
Then Juninho's ceiling was far higher than anyone expected.
"He's got the potential to be our central midfielder."
Phelan blinked. He didn't argue.
That whole sequence—if not lucky—meant only one thing: Juninho had read the play from the beginning.
His awareness, his prediction, his poise—it had stunned both coaches. But more than anything, it excited them.
Seventeen years old.
And playing like a general.
"A kid like that… he doesn't even have an agent yet," Phelan said.
Ferguson gave a tight nod.
He understood the implication.
With Juninho's performance today, agents would soon come knocking.
And Manchester United would have to navigate complicated negotiations—just like with Pogba.
And Pogba still gave him headaches.
"I want him signed. As soon as possible," Ferguson said sharply.
No way they were letting this one slip.
---
On the Ajax bench, Christian Eriksen never took his eyes off Juninho.
Sharp. Brilliant.
Not every genius on the field danced around with flashy moves and quick feet. Some operated like chess masters.
Eriksen was a midfielder too—he knew what to look for.
And Juninho… had it.
Even predicting a passing lane was tough.
But Juninho didn't just intercept passes—he turned every steal into a purposeful transition.
Each touch was composed. Every decision smart.
As Juninho jogged back to his own half, exchanging quick high-fives with teammates, Eriksen's gaze deepened.
This wasn't some rookie he could press and dominate.
This was an opponent.
A dangerous one.
"We can't underestimate him!" Eriksen shouted. "Keep pushing the attack!"
Ajax had misjudged him.
They assumed Juninho was the weak link in United's midfield.
But after that goal—and his calm presence—they knew better.
He might just be the strongest piece in the lineup.
From then on, Ajax focused more on the wings—trying to stretch play and avoid his zone.
And anyone watching closely could tell:
Ajax was passing around Juninho.
They didn't want to deal with him directly.
But even avoiding him didn't work.
Again and again, Juninho would pop up in the danger zone, cutting off plays, closing passing lanes, shielding his backline.
By halftime, Ajax had failed to find the net.
And Juninho had made sure of it.
As the whistle blew and the players headed toward the tunnel, the camera zoomed in.
Juninho D'Alessandro walked calmly off the pitch with his teammates—unbothered, unreadable.
"He was perfect in the first half!" Zhang Jun exclaimed in commentary. "But Manchester United still lead just 1–0. If they want to eliminate Ajax, they'll need one more!"
Juninho disappeared into the tunnel.
But his presence still lingered on the pitch.
The second half would tell the rest.
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