Old And New [Pistacho031_3]

The rain had long since stopped being a backdrop.

It was now part of the match—a fifth element woven into the tempo, clinging to skin, shirts, and blades of grass alike.

Every footfall sent water splashing; every pass skidded faster than intended.

It was miserable weather for most—but for Spain, it was a canvas.

And they were painting with fire.

The game had barely resumed from Lamine, almost equalizing, yet Spain's intent was clear.

There was no panic. No reckless reaction. Just a slow, tightening coil of possession, as they squeezed Switzerland further up their pitch.

Rodri, ever the anchor, stopped Switzerland trying to come back into the game with a perfectly timed interception. After escaping a press, he turned and recycled the ball to the left flank.

The ball found its way to Izan.

Rainwater beaded off his brow as he stared down Widmer.