Gelsenkirchen was a cauldron of noise. The blue sea of Italian fans roared in euphoria, their chants shaking the stadium, while Spain's supporters sat frozen in stunned silence.
Chiesa had buried the penalty, and just like that, all of Spain's first-half dominance had been erased.
On the pitch, Izan exhaled, tilting his head back, his pulse steady despite the chaos around him.
His jaw tightened. He knew what this meant. Italy had tasted blood, and now they would fight like hell to rip the game away.
But he wasn't about to let that happen.
Luis de la Fuente called out instructions from the touchline, his voice lost beneath the cacophony.
Izan didn't need to hear them. He knew exactly what had to be done. Spain couldn't sit back. They couldn't let Italy dictate.
No hesitation. No second-guessing.
It was time to take control.
The ball rolled back into play after the referee whistled, and Italy came flying.
