Arteta, who had been pacing his box like a chess master all night, now stood still.
Frozen.
He looked toward Carlos Cuesta beside him, then toward the bench.
"Get the medics to check on him. Fast," he muttered.
The medical team was already moving, sprinting toward midfield as Arteta's mind worked in overdrive—was it just a knock?
Or had they lost their playmaker for the rest of the match... or worse?
Izan jogged toward the group, heart thudding harder than it had after his goal.
Martinelli stood just behind the huddle, biting his glove.
"He said it twisted bad," he muttered to no one in particular.
Izan's jaw tightened.
One bad turn, and everything could unravel.
The tension in the Gewiss Stadium shifted, rippling across the pitch and into the stands.
Play had resumed, but Arsenal were a man short, with Martin Ødegaard still on the sidelines, limping slowly, flanked by the medics.
