The media had gotten hold of the narrative already.
"The White Angels Have Landed — Real Madrid to Slay the Devil of North London."
– Marca headline, bold on every sports stand by morning.
It wasn't hard to guess who the devil was.
The Spanish press had already adopted the myth.
Izan Miura Hernández — Arsenal's prodigy and, inarguably, Europe's current best, at just 17 at that.
Real Madrid knew it too well, and they were prepared to put their pride aside to battle it out at the Emirates.
.......
It was past midnight in Hampstead, but the house wasn't quiet.
Olivia was asleep upstairs, her breathing soft and even, but Izan sat in the dim light of his room, hoodie up, thumb resting over the screen of his phone.
A message pinged in.
Jude Bellingham:
He's locked in, mate. Carlo's not said a word to anyone all evening. That man's in full war mode.
Izan blinked at the text, smirked slightly, then watched as another one came through almost immediately.
Jude Bellingham:
