[Home dressing room]
Luis Enrique stepped through the doors, his expression tight, the low rumble of his voice cutting through the murmur of boots shuffling and players sipping at water bottles.
He wasn't speaking to anyone in particular at first, more to himself, as though the words had been weighing on him since the whistle.
"How do we stop him? How…?" he muttered, eyes already fixed on the clipboard in his hand.
He walked towards the tactics board at the front of the room, each step deliberate, before stopping dead in front of it.
For a long moment, he just stared, the magnets and lines on the board reflecting a plan that already felt like a relic, something from a different match altogether.
Then, with a sharp shake of his head, he turned back towards his players.
"Forget it," he said flatly, voice suddenly rising.
"We can't beat Arsenal like this, at least not normally, certainly not the way we've been playing."
