"—We are here."
Arteta's voice came from the front, a little louder than usual, breaking the lazy hum of the van's engine.
The words made a few heads lift, phones drop, and necks crane toward the tinted windows.
Izan leaned to the side, peering through the tinted glass.
Outside, a short stretch of cordoned road led to a bright red-and-white stage, banners waving, handlers moving between leashes and cameras.
A small crowd of fans pressed against barriers, some waving Arsenal flags while others just held their phones up, already recording.
Saka let out a sharp laugh from the seat ahead and started rubbing his palms together.
"I'm ready for those little dopamine balls," he said, grinning wide enough for his reflection to smile back.
"Man's been waiting all morning for this," Nwaneri murmured, adjusting his tracksuit zipper.
He looked fresher than he had at breakfast, the nausea from earlier apparently gone.
