Declan Rice was the first to move.
He didn't even glance at the PSG players still circling the referee.
He bent, scooped up the ball, and stormed straight toward Izan, thrusting it at his chest with a grim nod, as though handing over the crown.
Izan, back on his feet now, brushed his shorts and adjusted his socks once more, almost casual in his movements.
The referee, trying to restore some order, blew his whistle sharply and gestured with wide arms, clearing the penalty box of encroaching players.
He barked at Vitinha, waved Hakimi away, and even pointed at Marquinhos, who was still shouting.
Slowly, reluctantly, the Parisians shuffled out of the area, muttering darkly under their breath as the referee then turned back, standing right over Izan at the spot.
He leaned in slightly.
"Place the ball."
Izan dropped it onto the turf with care, his hands steady.
