St James' Park didn't feel like Istanbul, and it wasn't supposed to.
There was no continental spectacle to it, no drums or flares timed for the cameras — just a stadium packed tight above the pitch, the noise sitting low and constant rather than building toward moments. It rose sharply the instant United tried to slow a restart, sharper still whenever Newcastle won a tackle anywhere near the touchline.
Demien had played through louder places by now. This wasn't about being intimidated. It was about making sure every instruction still carried the last five meters when the crowd decided to swallow it.
"Talk louder than you think you need to," Bruno told the midfield in the tunnel, raising his voice over the noise already leaking through the walls. "Nobody's going to hear the quiet version today."
