The Estadio Enrique Roca de Murcia was buzzing by the time the buses began to roll in.
Security was tighter than usual, with cameras already stationed outside the main entrance, with reporters jostling for position.
The Danish squad had arrived earlier with little fanfare, slipping into the stadium through the side tunnel with only a few nods from media personnel.
But it was the Spanish bus everyone had been waiting for.
And when it finally pulled up, the atmosphere shifted.
Phones went up, microphones extended like spears.
The Spanish national team began stepping down one by one—Pedri, Olmo, Lamine, Cubarsí, Nico—all greeted by camera flashes and hurried murmurs from the press.
But when Izan finally stepped down, hoodie half up and travel bag slung over one shoulder, the quiet murmur turned to chaos.
"There he is!"
"¡Izan, dónde estuviste durante la concentración?"
("Izan, where were you during the training camp?")
