It was a primetime rebroadcast on a major football network, revisiting the ceremony three weeks past.
It played with dramatic cuts—Bonmatí's win, Rodri holding the trophy, the still of Izan in his midnight-black suit, stone-faced and radiant under golden lights.
Then came the post-show panel.
A sleek modern set.
A London skyline through tinted glass.
Three pundits sat around the circular desk, lights gleaming off the polished surface.
The host, Cara Eastwood, turned to the one on her right, raising a brow.
"Alright, let's just go straight to it—Rodri won. But this young man," she gestured to the screen behind them, where Izan's highlight reel played, "hasn't left the headlines. Still. Thoughts?"
"Here's my issue," said Martin Yeats, leaning back, arms crossed.
His grey suit fit too well and his voice had too much bite.
"Izan's talented. No question. Possibly the best teen we've seen since Pele, as some say."
