As Doue approached, Raya straightened in his goal, his knees bending slightly, already calculating the angles.
Saliba and Gabriel were retreating fast, their eyes darting between Doué and the two danger men to his sides.
Dembele was drifting toward the right edge of the box, calling for it, while Vitinha ghosted into the left channel, waiting for a cutback and behind him, too, was Kvaratskhelia, keen like a cobra ready to strike.
"Arsenal caught out again! Doué wins it high, and now PSG have numbers forward!" the commentator shouted, his voice rising with the pace of the attack.
Doué drove forward, the white shirts scrambling in reverse, their lines bending dangerously close to their own area.
The noise in the Paris end was deafening now, their chants morphing into a deep, rhythmic rumble.
For a moment, it looked like Doué would slip it sideways to Dembele, who was free near the arc.
But instead, he steadied himself, drew his leg back, and shaped to shoot.
