The grass clung to their boots like a second skin, still damp from the morning's watering.
Training cones were scattered across the pitch as the coaching staff rotated drills.
The ball zipped across the surface, every pass sharper than the last.
Izan's foot met the ball with precision, splitting two mannequins with a clipped one-touch pass toward Merino.
"Again," shouted Arteta from the sideline.
Izan turned with Odegaard, ready for the next pass.
No words were needed—just a glance between them, and the Norwegian popped the ball into space.
"I didn't think you could see that," Odegaard said once the sequence ended.
"Well, I guess I'm full of unraveled surprises waiting to be done," Izan replied with a slight smile, brushing the sweat from his brow.
Down the other end, Saliba had just shrugged off Jesus for the second time in a row, which irked the latter a bit.
"Try a spin next time," Ben White offered from the sidelines, arms folded.
