Lewis Skelly stepped to cover — and Sancho skipped inside, cutting like a blade.
But this time, someone else was waiting.
Izan.
He had tracked back, quietly, almost ghost-like, had it not been for Enzo Fernandez, who had been pointing towards him with his voice.
And just as Sancho tried to drift inside again, Izan stepped forward and met him shoulder to shoulder.
A clean challenge?
No.
No contact at all.
Because Sancho — ever the technician — flicked the ball away.
A sharp little dragback, followed by a quick hop around Izan.
The move landed.
But something felt… off.
Because the ball? The ball hadn't gone with him.
It had stayed obediently with Izan, stuck near his boots like a spell had bound it.
And now he was gone.
Already moving.
He didn't even look back.
Sancho spun, expecting the ball, and only caught a glimpse of Izan's number disappearing into the distance like smoke after fireworks.
"What the f—"
Sancho's voice never made it past his tongue.
