The Greatest of all Time

Chapter 758: A Great Start of Another Season

Having won the Community Shield and after another week of training, Liverpool finally stepped into the real business of the Premier League.

The curtain-raiser at Anfield was set for a Friday night. Newly promoted Norwich City were the visitors, a side full of energy and optimism. They had fought their way up from the Championship, fearless under Daniel Farke, and promised to attack no matter the opponent. But this was Anfield. And it was opening night.

The Kop was alive long before kickoff. Scarves stretched high above heads, banners rippled across the stands, and the sound of You'll Never Walk Alone rolled like thunder through the stadium. Floodlights glared down on the perfect grass, a stage waiting for the first act of a long season.

Liverpool's lineup was strong. Alisson in goal. Alexander-Arnold and Robertson pushing up the wings. Van Dijk marshalling the back line. Henderson, Fabinho, and Zachary Bemba anchoring midfield. Salah, Firmino, and Origi up front. Sadio Mané sat out this one, still returning to full sharpness after the summer, but the squad looked powerful regardless.

For Zachary, this was his Premier League return. The Community Shield had been the first taste, but this was different. This was the league where consistency mattered, where every point defined the story of the season. He walked out of the tunnel with the calm face of someone who had been here before, though inside he carried the quiet fire of a man determined not to let history repeat itself. Last season had ended in injury. This one, he promised himself, would end in glory.

The match began at a furious pace. Norwich, true to their word, did not park the bus. They pressed high, they tried to string passes, and for the first ten minutes they even pushed Liverpool back. Teemu Pukki darted around Van Dijk's shoulder, Todd Cantwell twisted into pockets, and for a moment, the underdogs looked daring.

But that daring left gaps.

It started with a surge down Liverpool's right. Alexander-Arnold whipped in a dangerous cross, Norwich scrambled, and in the chaos Grant Hanley stuck out a foot. The ball spun into his own net. Anfield erupted. Liverpool led 1–0.

Zachary had been at the heart of the buildup. He had held off two Norwich midfielders, rolled the ball out to Alexander-Arnold with perfect weight, and then drifted into space to draw another defender away. It was small, almost invisible work, but it tilted the field. Klopp clapped on the sideline, knowing exactly what his midfielder had done.

From there, the floodgates opened. Salah darted inside and finished with his left foot for 2–0. Van Dijk rose above everyone on a corner and powered a header in for 3–0. Norwich were rattled, and Liverpool smelled blood.

Zachary's first goal came in the 35th minute. The move began deep in midfield. Norwich tried to press high, three yellow shirts closing him down near the halfway line. He did not panic. One body feint sent one man sliding the wrong way, a quick touch eliminated the second, and then he played a crisp one-two with Henderson.

By the time the ball came back to him on the edge of the box, he had already scanned. The keeper was unsighted. Zachary's shot was low and clinical, driven into the bottom corner. 4–0.

The roar that followed shook the stadium. Players crowded around him, Henderson slapping his back, Salah pointing toward him with a grin. It was not the wild goal of a man trying to prove something. It was the cold strike of someone who already knew he belonged here.

Kristin watched from the stands, seated among the Liverpool staff. She had been careful to stay low profile, not drawing eyes, but she could not hide her smile as Zachary celebrated. When he glanced up, even for just a second, their eyes met. In the middle of all that noise, it was a moment of calm, a reminder of why he was playing with such composure.

Liverpool did not stop. Before halftime, Origi added a fifth, sliding in at the back post after a Robertson cross. The Kop sang louder, and the match already felt like a statement.

The second half slowed. Norwich regrouped, and Pukki eventually pulled one back, sliding a shot past substitute goalkeeper Adrián after Alisson had gone off injured. But the result was never in doubt. Liverpool finished 5–1 winners. Zachary added a second goal late in the match, drifting into the right half-space as Firmino dropped deep, then finishing calmly when Salah squared it across.

Two goals. Ninety touches. Pass completion above ninety percent. Not flashy. Not chaotic. Just efficient, controlled dominance.

Klopp's post-match press conference summed it up. "Zachary today played like the player who sets the rhythm for us. He knows when to speed it up and when to slow it down. This is what top-level football is. Not only talent, but control."

The Premier League season had barely begun, and already Zachary had written himself into its story.

Yet this was only the start as what was next on schedule was Istanbul a few days later, on a Friday night.

The UEFA Super Cup, played under humid Turkish skies, brought a tougher battle. Chelsea, under new manager Frank Lampard, had a mix of fresh youth and seasoned professionals. Mason Mount and Tammy Abraham pressed high. Kante hunted everything in midfield. Olivier Giroud gave Liverpool's defenders no rest.

The Vodafone Park was rocking. Red on one side, blue on the other. It felt more like a European semifinal than a one-off August trophy.

Liverpool started brightly, but Chelsea struck first. Giroud finished smartly in the first half after a clever through ball split the defense. For the first time in weeks, Liverpool trailed.

Zachary remained composed. He did not chase the game. Instead, he tightened midfield, offered himself constantly for passes, and waited for the moment to shift the balance. It came just before halftime. A quick exchange with Henderson, a disguised pass into Salah, and suddenly Firmino was through. His shot was saved, but Mané pounced on the rebound. 1–1.

The second half brought waves of pressure from both sides. Mané added a second in extra time, curling one in from a tight angle. But Chelsea responded again, Abraham winning a penalty after Adrián clipped him. Jorginho converted. 2–2.

The game ticked into the 98th minute. Players looked exhausted. The heat weighed heavy. That was when Zachary struck.

Liverpool built slowly from the back. Henderson played to Robertson, who cut inside. The ball was rolled across to Zachary, thirty yards out. He could have recycled it. He could have played safe. Instead, he took one touch forward, spotted the narrowest of gaps, and fired low into the bottom corner.

The ball kissed the inside of the post and went in.

For a moment, the stadium froze. Then the Liverpool supporters erupted. Klopp punched the air on the touchline. Zachary wheeled away toward the corner flag, fists clenched, teammates swarming him. It was the winning goal.

Not a frantic shot. Not luck. A perfectly measured strike, delivered when it mattered most.

When the final whistle blew, Liverpool had their second trophy of August. The players lifted the Super Cup high into the Istanbul night. Cameras flashed. Medals gleamed.

Zachary stood at the back of the group, smiling quietly, not the loudest in celebration but unmistakably central to it all. Kristin, somewhere in the staff section, clapped until her hands hurt. She had seen what it took for him to reach this point, including the discipline, the recovery, the hours of calm routine that made nights like this possible.

And now, in only the opening weeks of the season, he had already given Liverpool two trophies.