In midfield, Ødegaard was already making himself felt.
Twice in the opening minute, he floated into the passing lane between Mac Allister and Jones, cutting out space without making a tackle.
His arms pointed, shifted, recalibrated Arsenal's shape like a conductor adjusting a live orchestra.
And when the ball finally came to Izan — for just a heartbeat — the crowd surged.
He'd pulled wide into the left channel, drifting away from Trent and inviting the ball.
Lewis-Skelly saw it, clipped a firm pass, chest-height.
It came down with pressure already on it, but Izan controlled it in stride, a velvet touch dropping it dead at his feet.
"Here he is," Alan said, voice sharpening.
"Izan Miura Hernández — just seventeen — but ready and now the name on every manager and fan's lips across Europe."
Izan took one touch inside, then another before feigning a pause.
His actions caused Trent to backtrack, but that was Liverpool's way of resetting.
