Stade de la Meinau rose from Strasbourg's industrial district like a fortress prepared for battle. Twenty-six thousand seats, arranged in steep tiers, were filled with voices that had been building toward this moment since the draw was announced six weeks ago.
Jake stood in the tunnel, watching his players complete their final stretches. The away dressing room at Strasbourg lacked the familiar comfort of Valley Parade. Narrow benches, limited space, and thick air, combined with the tension of visiting teams that had faltered here, created an uneasy atmosphere.
Chapman emerged from the changing area, the captain's armband secured against his sleeve. His pre-match ritual was unwavering: three deep breaths, a brief touch of the armband, and eyes fixed ahead. Behind him, Bradford's starting eleven fell into their practiced formation.
