The referee moved towards Van Dijk and then pulled out a yellow card towards the player who had already accepted his fate.
Boos poured from the Arsenal end like boiling water while cheers rose just as fiercely from the other side.
But none of that mattered to Izan.
He pushed himself up slowly, blades of grass stuck to his arm, jaw clenched like stone.
Odegaard jogged over, hand on his shoulder.
"You good?" the captain asked, voice low as Izan gave a small nod, sucking in air through his nose.
"That won't be enough to stop me," he muttered before turning towards the ball.
The Arsenal end of Wembley found its voice again.
First one voice.
Then another.
Then a wave.
"Izan! Izan! Izan!"
They were on their feet.
Every single one of them.
Clapping, shouting, chanting.
Like they'd just watched him walk through fire and not burn.
......
The whistle cut through Wembley, sharp and unsparing.
