As the whistle blew for the break, players drifted toward the tunnel, Leeds' heads down and Arsenal, just their regular selves.
Izan jogged off last, the sound following him like a wave.
"This is starting to feel familiar," the commentary concluded.
"Arsenal at home, ruthless. And Izan, once again, at the centre of everything. This kid is making this league look like child's play."
Even with the players gone, the noise didn't really die down.
It felt rather, like the crowd, were feining for more.
By the time the halftime break clock crept toward fifteen minutes, resignation had settled into the away end.
Leeds fans slumped into their seats, scarves loosened, conversations dropping into quiet honesty.
A man near the aisle rubbed his face with both hands and let out a long breath.
"This is brutal," he said, not angry, just tired.
His mate shook his head, staring at the pitch.
"Four down and it could've been worse. You can't even say we haven't tried."
