On the pitch, Benteke took up position as the central striker.
The Belgian's presence immediately changed Liverpool's attacking shape. Where Azim had spent much of the match dropping into midfield and moving defenders away from the centre, Benteke offered a more traditional target. His size made him difficult to move once he established position, and his teammates could now aim crosses towards him without needing to disguise the destination.
Klopp had told the team to use that advantage.
"Width!" he shouted. "Make the pitch big! Cross when the position is right, not because you're standing near the line!"
Clyne began overlapping more aggressively, and Moreno advanced on the opposite side. Lallana held the right channel before moving inside, creating room for Clyne to travel beyond him. Coutinho continued to offer a passing option on the left, but Rubin's defenders were now even more reluctant to leave the penalty area.
They had conceded five goals.
There was little incentive to risk a sixth by abandoning their shape in pursuit of the ball.
Instead, they remained compact and attempted to protect Ryzhikov from further punishment.
Benteke attacked the first cross, rising between two defenders and directing a header towards goal. Ryzhikov caught it cleanly.
A few minutes later, Lallana delivered another ball from the right. Benteke challenged for it, but Kvirkvelia managed to get enough contact to send it behind for a corner.
The delivery was cleared.
Liverpool recovered the loose ball.
Their pressing did not disappear with Azim's departure. Firmino and Coutinho still closed the centre-backs, while Lallana and Milner worked to prevent Rubin from building through the midfield. Whenever the visitors tried to play forward, Liverpool's nearest players reacted quickly enough to deny them an easy transition.
But the tempo had changed.
There was less frantic running from the forwards, more circulation across the back line, and greater care in choosing when to press. With a five-goal cushion and another match only days away, Klopp had no reason to invite unnecessary physical battles.
He watched the players carefully.
At the seventy-first minute, the fourth official raised the board again.
James Milner's number appeared.
Joe Allen would replace the captain.
Milner jogged towards the touchline, clapping his hands and issuing one final series of instructions to the players around him.
"Stay compact! Don't give them the counter!"
He reached Klopp, exchanged a few words, and turned towards the bench.
Azim rose just enough to greet him.
"Good game, captain."
Milner wiped sweat from his forehead.
"Good game? You've scored three! HATTRICK."
He sat down beside Azim and accepted a bottle of water.
For a few seconds, neither spoke. The pitch stretched in front of them beneath the lights, and the sound of the crowd softened into a steady hum.
Then Milner glanced sideways.
"You know what the best part was?"
Azim looked at him.
"The goals?"
"No. The way you kept working after the goals." Milner twisted the bottle cap between his fingers. "You could have stopped running after the second one. Plenty of players would have. But you kept closing the lanes, kept making their defenders play the difficult pass. That helped us control the game."
Azim looked back towards the pitch.
He had spent much of his life imagining how it would feel to score for Liverpool. It had never occurred to him that one of the most satisfying moments might come from hearing a teammate praise the work nobody in the stands had come specifically to watch.
"Thanks, captain."
Milner nudged him with his shoulder.
Rubin attempted to find a consolation goal in the final quarter of an hour.
With Liverpool protecting their lead, there were moments when the visitors could move beyond the halfway line. Kanunnikov tried to advance down the right, and Karadeniz offered an occasional outlet on the left. But without numerical superiority in midfield, their attacks rarely developed into sustained pressure.
When they did find an opening, Liverpool's defenders dealt with it.
Škrtel stepped forward to intercept a pass aimed towards Dević, then immediately released the ball to Allen. Sakho tracked a run behind the defensive line and used his body to shepherd the striker away from goal. Clyne recovered in time to block a cross near the edge of the penalty area.
Mignolet remained alert, but he was no longer forced into the kind of desperate intervention that might have changed the match's emotional atmosphere.
Rubin's manager continued shouting instructions.
He had watched his team's captain leave the pitch before half-time, seen the defensive plan concede two further goals, and spent the second half trying to find a balance between keeping the score respectable and creating any meaningful threat.
There was little he could do with ten men against a Liverpool side that refused to become careless.
At the seventy-sixth minute, Klopp used his third and final substitution.
Coutinho, who had worked tirelessly on the left and contributed to several of Liverpool's most dangerous attacks, made way for Jordon Ibe.
Klopp greeted the Brazilian with a hand on his back.
"Good work, Philippe. Recover now."
Coutinho nodded and headed towards the bench, accepting the applause from supporters who had enjoyed his contribution.
Ibe took up the wide position and immediately threatened to run at the defence. His fresh legs gave Liverpool another outlet, forcing Rubin to guard against the possibility of a sudden burst down the flank.
The visitors retreated.
Liverpool continued circulating possession, occasionally attempting to release Benteke behind the defenders, but most attacks ended in a blocked cross or a clearance that returned the ball to the home side.
The absence of another goal no longer felt like a failure.
Liverpool had done what they needed to do. The scoreline was decisive, their defensive structure remained intact, and players who had carried a heavy workload were being given valuable minutes of rest.
On the bench, Azim leaned back and watched Ibe chase a long pass towards the corner.
His body was finally beginning to settle. The tightness in his calves eased, and his breathing had returned to something close to normal. When he lifted his feet from the floor, however, he could still feel the dull ache of fatigue.
He had left because his manager had recognised that the next important decision was not about football alone.
It was about the season.
That lesson would probably be harder to accept on another night, after a defeat or a missed chance. Today, with three goals to his name and five on the scoreboard, it was easier.
The final minutes passed without another goal.
Rubin continued to defend in numbers, their central line barely moving unless the ball forced it to. Liverpool refused to rush. Allen kept possession moving, Ibe stretched the play on the right, and Benteke offered himself as a target whenever the ball reached a crossing position.
Near the end, Ibe beat his marker and sent a low pass across the face of goal. Benteke moved towards the near post, but the defender reached it first and cleared.
Liverpool recovered the ball almost immediately.
The Gegenpressing remained even now, though its purpose had changed. There was no need to hurl every player forward. It was enough to stop Rubin turning a clearance into a counterattack, force them to play another difficult ball, and regain possession before their forward could receive it.
Allen intercepted the next pass.
He turned away from pressure and moved the ball to Can, who carried it forward before finding Lallana. Liverpool's players exchanged passes, drawing Rubin out by a few steps, then returned the ball to their own half rather than force an attack into a crowded penalty area.
The home supporters approved.
They were no longer demanding another goal.
They were enjoying the control.
Azim watched the final seconds with his arms folded. At one point, he found himself smiling at a particularly patient spell of possession, when Rubin's midfielders chased the ball from one side of the pitch to the other without ever getting close enough to win it.
It reminded him of the first half.
Only now he was outside the action, able to see how tiring that kind of defending must be.
The visitors were not weak. They had reorganised after the sending-off, protected the central areas, tracked his movement, and made Liverpool work for every opening. Their plan had not failed because it was foolish. It had failed because Liverpool had found ways to manipulate the spaces it left behind - and because the home side had punished the moments when Rubin's concentration slipped.
Azim appreciated that more now than he had before the match.
A good opponent made a victory meaningful.
A stubborn opponent made every successful decision matter.
The referee checked his watch.
The crowd began counting down.
Liverpool maintained possession near the halfway line, and the next clearance was gathered by Sakho. He played it safely to Allen.
Then came the whistle.
FULL-TIME: LIVERPOOL 5–0 RUBIN KAZAN.
The players raised their arms. The Kop roared. Klopp stepped forward to shake the hands of his coaching staff before turning to greet the players coming off the pitch. Buvač said something that made him laugh, and the manager responded with another broad grin before waving towards the supporters.
Austrian referee Robert Schörgenhofer bent down to scoop the match ball off the turf, tucking it under his arm as he walked towards the center circle. The electric atmosphere inside Anfield was still vibrating through the stadium grass, a wall of sound echoing down from the Kop where thousands of supporters sang in triumphant chorus.
Azim stood near the center circle, unspooling the tape from his wrists and breathing heavily. The sheer thrill of the evening was still coursing through his veins, every muscle in his legs humming with exhaustion and adrenaline. Three goals under the floodlights at Anfield. A debut home performance that would be replayed on sports channels for years to come.
Schörgenhofer caught Azim's eye and offered a respectful, approving nod. The Austrian official beckoned him over with a wave of his hand.
Azim wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead with the collar of his jersey and walked toward the match officials.
"Great performance tonight, young man," Schörgenhofer said in clear, crisp English, holding out the pristine Nike match ball. The black paneling was scuffed with grass stains, a permanent record of ninety minutes of relentless football. "Three goals, clean play, no trouble for me or my assistants. You made our job very easy tonight."
"Thank you, sir," Azim said, taking the ball into his hands. The weight of it felt different now, heavy with history and meaning. He squeezed it tightly against his ribs. "That means a lot coming from you."
"Keep this safe," Schörgenhofer added with a slight smile, extending a hand. "I suspect it won't be the last one you collect in your career, but the first one is always special."
Azim shook the referee's hand firmly. "I certainly won't forget it."
As the match officials walked toward the tunnel, Azim turned back around to look at the grandstands. The stadium announcer's voice boomed over the public address system, cutting through the roaring chorus of You'll Never Walk Alone.
"Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's Official Man of the Match, sponsored by Heineken... with a sensational hat-trick on his European home debut... Number 19, AZIM!"
A massive cheer erupted from every corner of Anfield. Azim held the match ball high above his head with one hand, acknowledging the roar. Teammates swarmed him from all sides. Philippe Coutinho wrapped an arm around his shoulder, ruffling his sweaty hair, while Nathaniel Clyne patted his back enthusiastically.
"Save some goals for the weekend, mate!" James Milner shouted with a grin, clapping Azim hard on the shoulder. "Incredible shift tonight. Go enjoy the applause."
Klopp was waiting near the edge of the touchline as the squad began to make their lap of honor. The tall German manager enveloped Azim in one of his trademark, bone-crushing bear hugs, lifting him slightly off his feet.
"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant, my friend!" Klopp bellowed into his ear, his voice raspy from shouting instructions for ninety minutes. "The movement, the composure... you destroyed their defensive line! But remember, tomorrow we recover, and then we go again!"
"Thank you, Boss," Azim said, grinning from ear to ear as Klopp finally let go and slapped him heartily on the chest.
"Now go, talk to the media," Klopp said, pointing a thumb toward the tunnel area where the UEFA Europa League backdrop was already set up. "They are waiting for the star of the night."
Azim made his way off the pitch, pausing at the mouth of the tunnel to give one final wave to the supporters in the Main Stand. He tucked the match ball under his arm and stepped into the brightly lit indoor corridor. The air was warm, smelling of sweat, deep-heat lotion, and wet leather.
Standing in front of the flashing LED sponsor boards was the UEFA pitchside reporter, microphone in hand and a cameraman resting a heavy rig on his shoulder. Beside the reporter stood a senior club liaison officer holding a small, sleek glass trophy inscribed with the UEFA Europa League emblem.
"Azim, congratulations," the reporter said, stepping forward as the camera light turned a sharp, glowing red. "A magnificent night for Liverpool, a five-nil victory over Rubin Kazan, and a match-winning hat-trick for yourself. You've also been named the Official UEFA Player of the Match. How does it feel?"
The reporter handed him the glass award. Azim held the trophy in his left hand and kept the match ball secure under his right arm.
"It feels surreal, to be honest," Azim said into the microphone, his voice remarkably steady despite the pounding in his chest. "Playing at Anfield is something you dream about as a kid. To get the start, to score three goals, and most importantly to help the team get three crucial points in the group stage... it's an incredible feeling. I couldn't have asked for a better night."
"Walk us through your second goal," the reporter continued. "That magnificent turn on the edge of the box before curling it into the top corner. Was that pure instinct?"
"Yeah, definitely instinct," Azim replied, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Philippe played a great line-breaking pass to my feet. I felt the defender tight on my back, so I knew if I could take a sharp touch on my left foot, I'd turn into space. Once I saw the goalkeeper off his line, I just aimed for the far post. Fortunately, it went right where I wanted it."
"Jürgen Klopp has brought immense energy to the club since his arrival," the reporter noted. "How much confidence has he given you personally since coming into the side?"
"The Manager gives all of us immense confidence," Azim explained. "He tells us to play with freedom, to work hard for each other, and to never be afraid of making mistakes as long as we react immediately to win the ball back. You can see the intensity in our pressing tonight. Everyone on the pitch gave everything."
"And finally, what are you going to do with that match ball?" the reporter asked with a nod toward the leather sphere under Azim's arm.
Azim looked down at the ball and laughed softly. "I'm going to get every single player and member of the coaching staff to sign it in the dressing room. Then I'm going to send it straight home to my family. It's going right in the middle of the living room."
"A night you will never forget. Azim, congratulations again, and enjoy the win."
"Thank you very much."
Azim stepped away from the flash zone, clutching his trophy and the match ball tightly. He walked down the concrete tunnel toward the home dressing room, where the loud music and cheering of his teammates were already booming through the heavy wooden doors.