The noise hit them before the heat did.
It rolled out of the tunnel in a thick wall of sound that made Saka slow down mid-step and lean forward like he needed to check if his ears were lying to him.
He glanced around at the others, then muttered under his breath with his mouth half open.
"What the fuck."
It slipped out so naturally that even Nwaneri snorted.
No one blamed him.
The National Stadium wasn't just busy, it was overflowing.
Fifty-five thousand people crammed into an arena for a training session.
Not a match, not a trophy parade, not a farewell.
Just a run on the grass under the Singapore sun.
The players walked out first, followed by staff in their usual calm stride.
Arteta stepped beside them, hands in his tracksuit pockets, trying not to look impressed, but his raised brow gave him away.
He turned toward Albert Stuivenberg without slowing down.
"They said a small crowd, right? Or did they say a large one, and I heard wrong?"
Albert could only shrug.
