Some fans sang the Liverpool anthem; others barked insults.
Every Arsenal shirt was like the red rag myth to a bull.
One by one, the players filed off, heads down, headphones on, trying to drown out the madness.
But when Izan emerged, the volume doubled.
For a moment, he just stood there, the evening chill brushing his face and the lights of Anfield looming above.
The wave of hostility rolled at him, unrelenting, but he just turned his head toward the crowd, eyes scanning the sea of red scarves and furious faces.
Then, in a move that caught even some of his teammates off guard, he raised his hand and waved.
Not dismissively, not arrogantly, almost casually, like he was greeting old acquaintances.
The reaction was instant.
A ripple of confusion passed through the crowd, then turned into renewed fire.
The chants came back louder, harsher, as if his small gesture had insulted them more than any boast could.
Izan didn't flinch.
