A quiet murmur of assent filled the space, just like a shared breath and the sound of belief stitching itself back together.
Arteta looked around once more, his expression softening at last, before continuing.
"You've already shown what you can do," he said. "Now show them who you are."
He turned toward the door, clapped once, and the tension in the air snapped, replaced by the shuffle of players standing, the hum of voices rising again.
Somewhere behind them, the muffled roar of the crowd began to swell again as the tunnel lights flickered to life.
Arteta didn't say anything more.
He just stood by the doorway as they filed past, tapping each shoulder once, a silent reminder.
When Ødegaard passed, Arteta's eyes dropped for a fraction of a second to the injured foot.
The captain caught the look and smiled faintly.
"I told you," he said under his breath. "I'll live."
