Back on the pitch, PSV were the first to emerge from the tunnel.
Their players jogged out with fixed expressions—some steely, others hollow—as if trying to outrun the echoes of the first half.
The crowd stirred faintly, a murmur of recognition, not expectation.
Peter Bosz remained by the touchline, arms folded, jaw tight.
His eyes scanned the far tunnel, waiting.
Moments later, Arsenal appeared.
The noise inside the Philip Stadion swelled.
Not with hope, but memory of what they'd just witnessed, and fear of what was still to come.
The energy in the stadium hadn't died.
It had only been thinned by shock, now rekindled by a reluctant anticipation.
Nobody knew what to expect—but they knew it wasn't over.
Ødegaard trotted ahead, slowing near the centre circle where Izan stood already, foot on the ball, eyes forward.
He tapped Izan's shoulder.
"That thing you said—Malacia, left side? If it's still there," Ødegaard gave a sharp nod, "let's kill it early."
