Kai Havertz stood at the centre circle, one foot resting lightly on the ball.
Around him, the noise rippled like a storm, a thousand drums and voices crashing together, like praise.
The referee glanced left, glanced right, signally both teams to get ready, and then blew.
Havertz, hearing the referee's whistle, didn't need any invitation and rolled it back with a snap of his boot.
The leather skidded across the turf and met Ødegaard's stride as the second half of the second leg began.
"And we're off again!" Darren Fletcher's voice rang in tandem with the roar.
"Arsenal leading here in Paris, and forty-five minutes away from writing history, forty-five minutes from a Champions League final. It is all to fight for at the Parc des Princes"
The Arsenal captain didn't rush, despite the Paris players who were galloping towards him like mad bulls.
Instead, Ødegaard opened his body, let the ball kiss his instep, and surveyed the field as though he had all the time in the world.
