.
They had just crossed the 90-minute mark, and Arsenal weren't retreating.
They pressed higher, passed faster, and played harder while Liverpool dug in.
Robertson dropped deeper and Van Dijk had stopped stepping forward.
The midfield collapsed like a net around the penalty box while Slot's voice was hoarse from shouting instructions.
His bench was half-standing, half-sitting—no one settled.
And yet, Arsenal kept coming, like undead beings.
Never knowing when they're beaten.
The ball moved like a current, flowing through Rice, then to Timber, who pushed it into Merino.
Izan floated into space again—his boots barely making noise now, his movement a whisper between the lines.
"Merino" Izan called and the midfielder wasted no time slipping the ball toward him.
No time wasted.
One touch to kill it and then another to turn before—
[KNUCKEBALL LV 3 Activated]
He launched a shot with his left foot—low, skipping, snaking through legs before rising almost unimaginably.
