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At Goodison Park, Liverpool had done everything they could.

Klopp's team had beaten Everton convincingly, but the result no longer mattered.

Salah heard confirmation of United's victory and stood still for several seconds.

Liverpool had spent the afternoon chasing the possibility that City might provide them with an opening, only for United to remove that hope themselves.

Another excellent league campaign had ended without the championship.

The disappointment was difficult to avoid.

Liverpool had pushed United almost to the final whistle of the final day, and that proximity made the result hurt more.

Klopp understood intellectually that his side had performed at an extraordinary level.

Emotion did not always care about rational explanations.

Once hope existed, losing it was painful regardless of how impressive the journey had been.

Klopp adjusted his cap and gathered his players.

They would have another season.

For now, the title was going back to Old Trafford.

...

The celebrations there were already beginning.

Red smoke drifted through parts of the stands as supporters waved scarves and sang while the players remained on the pitch.

"Champions again," Drury said. "Three Premier League titles in three seasons for this Manchester United side."

"Manchester City pushed them. Liverpool pushed them all the way to the final day. United have survived both challenges and finished the season where they began it—at the top."

Ling's hat-trick in the final match provided another fitting conclusion to his remarkable league campaign.

He had already broken the Premier League single-season scoring record earlier in the year, and the three goals against City simply pushed his own mark farther away.

There was no need to reach for unrelated calendar-year records or declare the total untouchable. His league numbers were extraordinary enough on their own.

The United supporters understood that.

"LING!"

"LING!"

"LING!"

His name echoed from the stands as Ling celebrated near the touchline.

Then he noticed several supporters beginning to climb over the barriers.

That immediately changed his priorities.

He turned and ran.

He had celebrated enough titles by now to know what happened when thousands of excited supporters reached the pitch at the same time.

Shirts disappeared, boots were grabbed, and anyone slow enough could lose half their kit.

Maguire learned that lesson the hard way.

His acceleration was never going to save him.

By the time he reached the tunnel, his championship jersey had been pulled apart badly enough that he looked as though he had escaped from a fight.

Ling entered the dressing room first and found several teammates already opening champagne.

A few seconds later, Maguire appeared with the remains of his shirt hanging from his shoulders.

Ling looked at him.

"Why didn't you run?"

"You lot left me!"

"We shouted at you."

"I was celebrating!"

"That sounds like your problem."

Maguire dropped onto the bench and stared mournfully at the ruined shirt.

"My championship jersey. I only had one."

Ling laughed.

"Next time we win something, you'll know not to stand still in front of thousands of people."

"That doesn't help me now."

"Fine. Change clothes. I'm buying dinner tonight."

That improved Maguire's mood considerably.

...

Ling's own emotions were quieter than they had been when he won his first Premier League title.

There was still satisfaction, but also a growing sense of how quickly football changed around him.

The squad from his breakthrough season no longer existed.

Fellaini had moved to China.

Lukaku was at Inter.

Pogba had gone to Juventus.

Rashford was now with Barcelona.

Others had gradually left through transfers, declining roles, or changing circumstances.

Ling remained at Old Trafford while new teammates arrived around him.

His eyes settled on McTominay.

Scott was one of the few who had been there through almost the entire journey.

Ling put an arm around his shoulders.

"Think we keep doing this until they put statues of us outside?"

McTominay laughed.

"You'll get one."

"What about you?"

"I'll ask them to put a small one next to yours. Maybe somewhere near the bottom."

Ling laughed.

"Keep playing well and negotiate your own statue."

"We've got time."

"That we do."

There was still a long career ahead of them if everything went well.

...

Mourinho entered the dressing room while the celebrations were gathering pace and clapped several times to get everyone's attention.

"Lads, well done."

The room quieted slightly.

"I know this is probably the worst possible moment to say something serious, but remember this feeling."

He looked around at the champagne bottles and medals already being passed between players.

"Take it with you to Lisbon."

The Champions League final remained.

Three consecutive European titles.

That achievement would mean something even greater to Mourinho than another league championship.

Ling grinned, picked up an open champagne bottle, and emptied it over Mourinho's head before the manager could react.

For one second, the room went silent.

Then everyone joined in.

Mourinho was usually far too stern for anyone to try something like that during the season.

A title celebration provided a rare opportunity for revenge, and the players took full advantage.

By the time they finished, Mourinho's suit was soaked.

He looked around the room with the expression of a man quietly memorizing every culprit for future training sessions.

Nobody appeared concerned.

...

After changing into their presentation shirts, the players returned to the pitch for the trophy ceremony.

The Premier League anthem played as they gathered beneath the podium, where medals were presented one by one.

When Ling stepped forward, Premier League chief executive Richard Masters congratulated him on another championship.

"Three in three years," he said. "Congratulations."

"Thank you."

Ling accepted the medal and moved along to join his teammates.

His value to the Premier League extended beyond Manchester United.

He had become one of the most recognizable footballers in the world while spending his entire senior career in England, and naturally the league benefited from having its biggest star remain at Old Trafford.

Whether Real Madrid, PSG, or anyone else wanted him mattered little at the moment.

Ling had never shown any serious desire to leave.

One by one, the United players climbed onto the podium.

Maguire positioned himself near the trophy.

Ling stood beside him.

The countdown began.

Three.

Two.

One.

The Premier League trophy rose above their heads as confetti burst around the podium and fireworks climbed into the evening sky.

Manchester United were champions of England for the third consecutive season.

"Another Premier League campaign ends with Manchester United at the summit," Drury said.

"Three seasons since Ling's first-team breakthrough, three league championships, and another chapter added to a club already overflowing with them."

The current United team had its own identity.

It did not need to be compared constantly with every previous generation.

Best had represented one era.

Cantona another.

Beckham and Cristiano another.

Ling was building his own.

He had inherited the No. 7 shirt at a time when its reputation had become almost burdensome and turned it back into one of the most important numbers in football.

He had become captain.

A Ballon d'Or winner.

A Premier League record scorer.

And now a three-time Premier League champion.

There was still one match capable of making the season even greater.

Manchester United would soon travel to Lisbon to face Paris Saint-Germain.

The league title was secured.

The FA Cup still remained.

And beyond both waited the opportunity United had pursued throughout the entire season.

A third consecutive Champions League crown!

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