Chapter 200: He's Not Here to Challenge—He's Here to Conquer the Premier League!
"I knew Leon's passing was top-notch. He's had double-digit assists for two straight seasons. But now? He's on pace for 20+ this year? That's insane!"
"Did you think all those Spanish reports were fake? About him learning under Xabi Alonso and Pirlo for three years? This is what 'slow build, big payoff' looks like."
"This kind of development is just ridiculous. He was gunning for goals in the preseason friendlies, but now? He's calm, surgical—wasting nothing in real matches."
"He polished his defensive game first, then slowly unlocked his offense. What other young player has had that kind of patience?"
"Mark my words—if Leon doesn't finish this season with at least 15 goals and 15 assists, I'll run across London Bridge naked!"
As soon as Leon collected his third Premier League assist in just two matches, fans across England went into overdrive.
Well—most fans.
You wouldn't find many United supporters praising him.
They were too busy suffering.
At Old Trafford, over 60,000 Red Devils had watched Leon carve them open again.
After a moment of stunned silence, they responded with a deafening chorus of boos.
If this were the Camp Nou, Leon might have cupped his ears and smirked.
But here?
He just calmly hugged his teammates and jogged back like it was no big deal.
His mindset was simple.
Barça fans had suffered, sure—but they had Messi, and they always had the hope of revival.
Post-Ferguson United?
They were on a ten-year funeral march.
It was 2013 now.
But in Leon's memory, even by 2023, United were still "on the right track"—with no end in sight.
United fans had it rough.
So why bother provoking them?
Why antagonize the already miserable?
Better to score, crush their hope quickly, and move on.
If a few boos made them feel a bit better, Leon figured it was a fair trade.
Mourinho didn't know what Leon was thinking.
He just assumed Leon was becoming more like Alonso—calmer, wiser, more mature.
Seeing the game unfold exactly as planned, Mourinho gestured from the sideline:
Drop back. Hold the shape. Lock it down.
Piling forward was fun, but Mourinho wasn't about to hand United a lifeline.
Especially not when they were bound to throw everything forward now.
As expected, once the match restarted, United turned up the intensity.
Rather than deflating, they roared forward, pushing deep into Chelsea's half.
Old Trafford shook with cheers, like the crowd could will their team back into glory.
It was easy to imagine Ferguson on the sideline, gum in mouth, arms crossed—
Instead of Moyes, frowning, anxious, unsure.
United still carried Ferguson's DNA—fierce, bold, proud.
Especially at home.
They weren't going to let Chelsea walk in and dominate.
Even if they were getting outplayed.
They had to hit back.
Mourinho respected that.
He'd always admired Ferguson's ability to get average players to punch above their weight—
To turn even benchwarmers into warriors through sheer belief.
Mourinho couldn't replicate that.
Give him last season's broken United midfield and backline, and there's no way he wins the title.
But to exploit a team like that?
Oh, he had full confidence.
Leon was thinking the same.
As he tracked Rooney through midfield—nearly a third defensive midfielder now—
He knew exactly what United were missing.
Rooney was the only real threat.
Maybe Mata, too.
But van Persie? Washed.
Welbeck? Raw, clumsy.
Let the backline handle them.
Leon focused entirely on shutting down the only two men who could flip the script.
Rooney was dangerous. When he caught fire, he could change everything.
Mata was sharp, but he wasn't the kind to break a game open by himself.
And without a "Hazard" of their own to draw attention, Mata was neutralized.
Leon understood United's flaws intimately.
And on the pitch, he exploited them ruthlessly.
So when Carrick hesitated—just for a second—Leon threaded a pass into space.
De Bruyne, sharp and creative, sent it back to Zlatan, who played it wide to Ashley Cole.
Hazard drifted inside.
United's backline scattered.
Leon, now lurking in the left channel, received the ball.
He didn't look for Cole or Hazard.
Instead, he whipped in a looping cross…
And Ivanović, storming into the box, rose high and smashed a header past De Gea.
Old Trafford was stunned.
And the hulking right-back's gliding airplane slide was the exclamation point.
A heavy bomber had just dropped a payload on the Theater of Dreams.
Once again, the architect?
Leon.
Three goal involvements in two Premier League games.
The message was clear:
He didn't come to compete.
He came to conquer.
And Manchester United?
They were about to learn that the hard way.
Mata wanted to break through Chelsea's defense, but he could only do it with help from Rooney.
And once Rooney was targeted and shut down by Leon, Mata's influence on the game faded into silence.
Needless to say, this kind of performance didn't sit well with United fans.
Just a week ago, in the opening round of the Premier League, Mata had delivered a goal and an assist in a 5–1 demolition of Swansea.
Back then, Red Devils everywhere were praising him to the skies.
They were even thanking Chelsea online for selling them such a top-tier player.
Now?
Not even 30 minutes into the match, many of those same fans were asking:
"If Nani or Valencia had started instead, wouldn't we be tearing through Chelsea's flanks by now?"
Of course, the players on the bench always seem better in hindsight.
Right now, Nani and Valencia had become perfect solutions in the minds of frustrated fans.
But that illusion didn't last long.
After baiting United's formation and draining their attacking momentum, Chelsea launched a rapid counterattack from the back.
The ball wasn't stolen directly by Leon this time,
but his pressure on the wing forced Rooney into a heavy touch—
And Lampard pounced.
Chelsea's build-up came from a somewhat unexpected source:
Ivanović, who had been on fire this game.
The Serbian right-back surged forward after Lampard and Leon pulled defenders inward.
With Evra still recovering from a failed overlap-turned-winger experiment, he could only chase from behind.
Carrick, seeing the threat, told Cleverley to cover the flank.
That was exactly what Ivanović had been waiting for.
Once Cleverley abandoned the middle, Ivanović cut inside and passed square.
Lampard dummied the pass, making space for Leon to pick it up.
Leon faked a charge at Carrick, ready to explode into the box again.
The entire United defense held its breath—
They couldn't afford to let him shoot.
But then… he passed.
A soft, unexpected, laser-like diagonal ball slipped into the right side of the penalty area—
Right to Lampard, now unmarked.
He had no shooting angle, but that wasn't the plan.
Lampard whipped in a low-driven cross across the face of goal.
Not a lofted ball—
This was a skimming missile, tailor-made for chaos.
In most cases, Ferdinand and Jones would deal with this.
High balls? They'd crush it.
But a fast, low ball?
Risky business.
Zlatan, reading it all like a seasoned general, positioned himself perfectly behind Jones.
Jones dived—
Missed.
And Zlatan, without any flair or dramatics, just slid in with one long leg and poked it home.
It was textbook striker's instinct.
A simple but deadly finish.
A 35-year-old making it look easy.
Two matches.
Two goals.
Zlatan was back.
The crowd?
Stunned.
Except for one man—
Leon, who was already sprinting toward his brother-in-arms, fist raised, grin wide.
The scoreboard blinked.
0–2.
Barely 40 minutes gone.
Old Trafford was in shock.
Sure, Chelsea were strong.
Everyone knew that.
But last season, United had done the double over them.
Even the most cautious fans had believed that a draw—at home—was the minimum.
Now?
They couldn't attack.
They couldn't defend.
They were being dragged around the pitch like lost children.
On the touchline, Moyes stood frozen, the confidence from last week's 5–1 win over Swansea nowhere to be seen.
Mourinho, on the other hand, was already applauding the away section, encouraging the traveling Chelsea faithful to let loose.
And up front, roaring at the skies with Zlatan, Leon looked every bit the leader he was becoming.
It wasn't just United fans who were nervous now.
Fans from every other big six club watching from home swallowed hard.
This kid didn't come to England just to challenge.
He came to conquer.
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