Beyond the pitch, the mood of the Etihad was changing.
For a long moment after the final whistle, the supporters clad in blue had stood in grieving silence, as though the stadium had forgotten how to breathe.
On the grass, the same silence had settled over the City players like a net. Donnarumma sat with his gloves hanging between his knees, Enzo had pulled his shirt up over his face, and Nico stood with his hands on his hips, staring at the turf.
On the far side of the pitch, the Atlético players were still catching their breath.
They had broken away from the swarm around Hiro and were drifting toward the corner of the stadium where the small block of red and white stood.
Julian walked with his arm slung around Lee's neck. Daniel, who had finally stopped shaking, limped behind them with Guiliano's hand under his elbow. Hiro followed a few paces back, his towel still draped around his neck, intending to address the fans who had travelled all this way.
