The commentary broke, trembling with emotion, as if about to witness something outrageous.
"Ohhh, you just can't take your eyes off him for a second!" Ian Darke roared as Izan took the ball to his chest before it dropped.
The ball seemed magnetised to his boot as Izan absorbed it on his right instep, cushioning it like a violinist catching a final note, before shifting his weight onto the other foot.
He dipped his shoulder, pushing out to the left as though he meant to spring that way, and for the briefest moment, Rudiger lunged forward, bracing himself for the burst.
But Izan was quicker in mind than body—the turn was sharp, cruel almost, dragging the ball back across the German's reach in a flash of deception that left the defender stumbling half a step behind.
With the space carved out of nothing, the teenager didn't wait.
He smacked through the ball, his strike whipping through the Madrid night like a bullet, and for a heartbeat, the Bernabéu held its breath.
