97 Sunderland

The cold breeze of the northeast coast whipped through the narrow tunnel of the Stadium of Light as the Manchester United players lined up, readying themselves for another battle. Barely a day had passed since their draining Champions League clash in Ukraine. The players' legs were heavy, their minds even more so. Tiger King had seen it during the light recovery session — the fatigue in their bodies, the dimmed fire in their eyes.

This was their third match in a week. It showed.

King knew this would be a rotation game. There was no other way. The long season ahead demanded conservation. So, he turned to the squad's depth. He put his faith in the veterans and the young blood alike.

The Lineup:

Allison stood between the sticks, tall and sharp.

The central defense saw the return of Rio Ferdinand, reunited with Nemanja Vidic — the old wall, reliable as ever.

Ashley Young and Antonio Valencia were tasked with full-back duties, overlapping runners one moment, disciplined stoppers the next.

In midfield, Tiger turned to Darren Fletcher and Shinji Kagawa, two men of technique and intelligence.

The wings were handed to Jesse Lingard on the right and a young, eager with Anthony Martial on the left.

And up top, leading the line were Wayne Rooney — ever the talisman — and a fresh face, James Wilson, handed his first real test in the red shirt.

Kanté had returned from injury. The doctor had confirmed it — twice. But King decided to hold him back for now. The devilish run of fixtures to come would need the French warrior fresh and firing.

From the bench: De Gea, van Persie, van Dijk, Mahrez, Nani, Anderson, Rafael.

As the players milled about in the tunnel, preparing to step onto the pitch, a familiar laugh echoed through the corridor — warm, deep, and unmistakably Irish.

A figure in red and white caught Scholes' eye. "Brother, long time no see!" spoke the familiar voice.

O'Shea turned, and his face broke into a wide smile. "Paul?"

The two embraced tightly, two warriors from a shared past.

"I saw the lineup — no Giggs, no Nani. Taking it easy on us, are you?" O'Shea teased with a smirk.

Scholes chuckled. "Resting the legs, not the ambition. You know Ryan — he'll probably come on if we need a miracle in the 89th."

O'Shea nodded. "Still feels weird seeing you guys from this side."

Scholes glanced behind him. "Yeah... most of the old guard's either retired or behind the scenes now."

O'Shea's eyes softened. "Feels like yesterday we were lifting titles. Good to see you, Paul."

Scholes grinned. "Better to beat you."

Giggs suddenly poked his head out from behind. "Oi, you two done hugging? Matchday, remember?"

The trio laughed, and for a fleeting moment, time rolled backward.

The three of them stood there for a moment — not as rival coaches and players, but as three veterans of Manchester United's golden age. For a few minutes, time stood still.

O'Shea pointed at the United crest on Giggs' jacket. "You remember that night in Turin? Semi-final against Juventus?"

Giggs raised an eyebrow. "Which one?"

"The one where you nearly ripped the net off with your left foot — and I was screaming for a pass the whole time!" O'Shea laughed.

Scholes shook his head. "We all were. Ryan never passed when he saw white shirts in front of him — only red."

Giggs smirked. "Worked out well, didn't it?"

"Don't get me started," O'Shea chuckled. "I still remember the night we won the league at Wigan. Fergie shouting at me because I didn't overlap enough. And I'd just played center back the week before!"

"Typical," Scholes said, smiling. "He'd shout at anyone who didn't overlap like Cafu."

Giggs nodded slowly. "We didn't realize how special it all was until it started slipping away."

O'Shea looked at the pitch ahead. "No… I think we knew. We just thought it'd never end."

The mood turned a touch nostalgic. The stadium noise above was muffled here in the tunnel — a rare moment of quiet in the storm of modern football.

"I miss the nights at Old Trafford," O'Shea murmured. "Floodlights. That roar when we scored in Fergie Time."

Giggs looked at him. "Come back, we'll give you a staff tracksuit."

O'Shea laughed. "You're tempting me. But I've got to earn my keep here now."

"Earn it later. Tonight, we're getting the three points," Scholes said, patting his old teammate on the shoulder.

"Let's see," O'Shea replied with a grin. "But if we lose, I'll claim it's for old time's sake."

But once the whistle blew, the warmth of reunion turned into the cold steel of competition.

O'Shea, ever the professional, transformed. Gone was the brotherly banter. In its place stood the no-nonsense defender that had served Sir Alex for a decade.

And so, the game against Sunderland started.

Sunderland parked the bus. Not one, but maybe two.

Eleven men behind the ball. United's waves crashed against the wall, but nothing broke through. Rooney dropped deep, Martial twisted and turned, Lingard darted into channels, and Kagawa tried to weave the magic, but space was a luxury they weren't afforded.

Fletcher held the base, calm and methodical, but Sunderland weren't interested in attacking. Their counterattacks were half-hearted at best. It was pure defense — pure survival.

And United couldn't find the crack.

As the final whistle echoed through the night air, the scoreboard read: Sunderland 0 – 0 Manchester United.

A stalemate. One point. A test of patience.

Tiger King remained seated on the bench for a moment longer. His jaw clenched. Two games. Two draws. This wasn't the form he wanted.

But this was football. He knew the rhythm of the season — the highs, the slogs, the heartbreaks in early October that set the table for triumphs in May.

The players trudged back onto the bus. The mood was quiet, reflective.

King sat near the front, arms crossed, eyes gazing out the dark window, rain streaking down the glass.

"Now," he muttered to himself, barely audible.

"Now I finally have the time... to take care of the matter."

Whatever that meant, it was clear — the next chapter wasn't going to be written on the training pitch. Not yet.

Something else was coming.