"Guys, I'm afraid we need to step up our offense in the second half."
Nobody reacted immediately when Sir Alex Ferguson said that.
Although Manchester United led 1-0 in this leg, the aggregate score was 2-2. Ajax had the advantage with two away goals, while United had only one. If they wanted to reach the Europa League Round of 16, they had to score again.
So it wasn't surprising that Ferguson wanted a more aggressive approach.
What stunned the players was his next sentence.
"Juninho, in the second half... you're no longer fixed in the defensive midfield. You can roam freely."
The entire dressing room froze.
Eyes widened. Mouths opened.
They looked from Ferguson... to Juninho.
Sir Alex Ferguson. Did he really just say that?
Everyone knew how much he valued tactical discipline. Back when Beckham or any of the Class of '92 slacked off even slightly, they were immediately blasted with the legendary hairdryer treatment.
Juninho was stunned.
Ferguson looked him in the eye and continued. "I have only one request. Maintain the same level of defensive contribution you gave in the first half—but now, I want to see what you can do offensively."
This was a gamble.
A gamble on a Europa League match.
Ferguson could afford that.
What he truly wanted... was to see Juninho's full potential.
And to unlock that, he had to give the boy more freedom and responsibility.
"You're free to move and distribute the ball however you want."
Then he turned to the rest of the squad.
"In the second half... play around him. When he asks for the ball—don't hesitate. Give it to him."
The players exchanged uncertain glances.
Core treatment?
At 17 years old? First-team debut?
This was unreal.
But Ferguson's word was law in the dressing room.
Even legends like Scholes and Giggs wouldn't question him—how could the current substitutes dare?
So they nodded, obeying the instruction, even if they were baffled.
Some couldn't help but glance at Juninho again.
Just what did this kid do to earn the boss's trust?
---
Fifteen minutes passed.
Juninho walked out with the rest of the team into the buzzing Cruyff Arena.
Cheers. Boos. Anthems. Jeers.
The crowd created a deafening, chaotic symphony.
Juninho's blood was boiling with excitement.
He knew Ferguson had seen something in him.
That was the kind of coach Ferguson was—the one who trained multiple generations of United legends.
He saw how comfortable Juninho was in defense... and he also saw the attacking fire beneath the surface.
This was a golden opportunity.
He was going to use this game to conquer Ferguson's heart completely.
To prove that he belonged in the first team.
To eliminate Ajax. As the midfield core. And carry Manchester United into the Round of 16.
That would be his stepping stone.
---
Second half.
Ajax stuck with their total football style, maintaining tight lines across defense, midfield, and attack.
Their team press swarmed United.
But this time, Manchester United pushed back harder.
And at the center of it all... was Juninho.
He moved like water through the midfield.
Receiving. Passing. Creating.
Ajax's collective pressure was relentless.
But Juninho always found a seam to slip into, always found a clean outlet.
On the sidelines, Ajax manager Martin Jol frowned.
A few minutes later, he leaned toward his assistant.
"Do you see it?"
"See what?"
"Number 39. That kid—Juninho. He's touched the ball more than anyone in the second half... and he hasn't lost it once."
The assistant narrowed his eyes. "So?"
"It means he's not just a good defender. He's much more than that."
Indeed, United's possession surged.
Because of him.
Juninho.
---
Ferguson watched with sharp eyes.
The boy found space effortlessly.
He received and passed instinctively—never holding the ball too long, never trying to be flashy.
Quick touches. Clean execution.
That kind of rhythm looked simple—but in reality, it was high-risk.
Yet Juninho made no mistakes.
Which meant... every move was thought out before he even touched the ball.
He'd already scanned the pitch, already decided what to do next.
And soon...
Juninho began to direct the rhythm of the game.
His passes led teammates into runs.
He never stood still after a pass—always moved to the next gap, always giving his teammates an outlet.
Ajax couldn't pin him down.
Ten minutes in, they gave up on the press.
They dropped deep into a compact block.
"Fine," they seemed to say. "Pass it around all you want. If you don't attack, you're still going home."
---
Ferguson never took his eyes off Juninho.
He said nothing.
He just watched.
"What about a substitution?" McPhelan asked from beside him.
The team needed goals.
Ferguson shook his head.
"I want to see how far that brain on the pitch can go."
McPhelan turned his eyes to No. 39.
Serious now.
The last time Ferguson showed this kind of focus... was years ago.
Back when a skinny Portuguese kid named Ronaldo arrived at Old Trafford.
As if sensing McPhelan's thoughts, Ferguson spoke.
"This is a test. If he passes with flying colors... he'll be the next player on Cristiano's level."
"Maybe even more important."
"If Cristiano is the fist of this team... then Juninho has the potential to be its brain."
And the brain, after all, controls everything.
---