[Second Half]
The camera faded in from the studios of the halftime pundit session just as the players began walking back onto the pitch.
The lights were a touch sharper now, the shadows longer, the cold air sinking further across the grass.
Brentford looked tense—shoulders squared but heavy.
Arsenal, on the other hand, looked settled, as if they weren't satisfied with their first-half showing.
The ball wasn't rolling yet, but the tone had already returned.
"Well, if you thought Arsenal would slow down at four-nil, I wouldn't count on it. That wasn't just a dominant half—it was controlled, purposeful. And with the kind of movement and passing we saw? They don't need a reset. They need the whistle."
Down on the pitch, Izan jogged out slowly with Ødegaard beside him.
The Norwegian leaned in, muttering something low—something only meant for one person.
Izan didn't answer.
