The sound of the strike echoed across the Etihad like a gunshot.
The ball left Haaland's boot low and hard, so fast that the air seemed to tear around it.
Unai had already come off his line to narrow the angle, and he threw himself at full stretch toward the far corner. His fingertips brushed the leather, and for the briefest instant he felt the pure, brutal force of the shot pass through his glove. Then it was gone, tearing past him and burying itself in the side netting.
The net bulged and rippled.
For three seconds, the Etihad was paradise.
Sixty thousand voices tore loose at once, and the sound rolled over the stadium like a tidal wave.
Fans leapt from their seats, scarves whirled overhead, and strangers threw their arms around each other. Haaland wheeled away with his arms spread wide and his blond hair streaming behind him, and the commentators were already shouting.
"He's done it! Erling Haaland has done it again! The stalemate is broken and City lead!"
