The blue dash in Pedri reached the ball first.
His control was seamless, a single touch off the outside of his boot before he flicked it upward, the movement so natural it almost felt rehearsed.
In one fluid motion, he whipped his foot through the air, sending the ball curling high into the Arsenal box.
It hung there, spinning, as if deciding who deserved it more.
Then Saliba rose, defiant as always, neck muscles tensed, and powered it away.
But the clearance didn't travel far.
Out of nowhere, Lamine Yamal stepped in.
"Lamineeeee!!" Drury roared as his boot met the dropping ball cleanly, the sound of the strike cracking through the Allianz like a gunshot.
The ball flew, a streak of light, vicious and true, but stopped abruptly mid-flight.
There was a pause.
A strange, short silence before the referee's whistle cut through everything.
It was piercing.
It was final.
And then he pointed, straight at the spot.
