The tunnel smelled of nerves and hot adrenaline as players drank, stretched, and breathed fog into the chilly Andalusian night.
Xabi Alonso's voice was quiet and deliberate, the opposite of panic despite the halftime result as he addressed his players.
He moved through the group like a man with iron in his pocket. He placed a hand on Bellingham's shoulder, another on Mbappé's back, and then looked around the room.
"They're tired now," he said with a subtle smile on his face, as calm as a metronome. "They bled a lot in the first half. Now, you keep your heads, keep the structure, and keep the pressure, then go kill them".
He grinned. "They can't withstand the pressure now".
There was no theatrical roar in response to his speech, no venom either, just a sentence with the weight of certainty and it landed like a pledge.
Sevilla had done it against all odds in the first half, holding Real Madrid to a stalemate. The momentum was still with them, all they had to do now was push.
