The noise outside the National Stadium hadn't died down at all.
If anything, it felt louder once the players stepped out into the humid night.
The crowd pressed against the barricades, chanting Izan's name in bursts that rolled across the plaza.
Phones lit up the dark with flashes going off every few seconds.
Izan walked beside Martinelli and Calafiori, with his bag hanging on his shoulder.
A few of the boys laughed quietly as the chanting spiked again while Izan lifted a hand, gave the crowd a small wave, and the reaction jumped like someone had turned up the volume.
Security guided them toward the bus, though the crowd weren't really that rowdy as much as the noise they were making.
Izan gave one last wave before climbing the steps.
The moment the door shut, the noise softened, not fully fading but turning into a steady hum behind the glass.
"Damn," Nwaneri muttered from his seat. "Singapore's finished."
Izan shook his head with a tired smile. "They're just excited."
