The noise didn't die after Pavlović's goal.
It grew.
The Allianz Arena shook with it, a rolling thunder of chants, flags whipping through the air, the German crowd sensing something within reach. On the pitch, the players huddled briefly before jogging back into shape, adrenaline still pumping through every movement.
Portugal, though—
Portugal didn't shrink.
They surged.
Immediately.
"Now we will see the real test," Matthäus said, his voice cutting through the roar. "How Germany responds to this pressure."
Because it was coming.
Relentless.
Portugal pushed higher up the pitch, their shape tightening, their intent clear. Bernardo Silva dropped deeper to dictate, Vitinha—who had come on earlier for João Neves—slid into rhythm almost instantly, his touch sharp, his movement fluid. Bruno Fernandes roamed between lines, constantly looking for space, constantly demanding the ball.
It was no longer Germany controlling the tempo.
Portugal had taken it.
