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3-0. No typo. No cap. Just pure domination under the North London lights.

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Declan Rice turned into a free-kick demon. First one? Nasty. Second one? Straight out of a fever dream. First time was so nice, he had to do it twice. Bend it like Declan turned into bend it past Courtois. The man’s got that “they got him for half price” energy and that’s feeling like daylight robbery right now. Bernabéu better invest in a new wall.

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Mikel Merino? He’s not just him, he’s himothy. Came through with a levitating strike that had defenders frozen like NPCs. Real cold shoulder finish. Didn’t even need the run-up, just picked his spot and said “hold this.”

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Madrid? Didn’t know what hit them. Bellingham couldn’t breathe, Vini looked like he was buffering, and Modrić was chasing ghosts. Arsenal pressed them like vinyl. This wasn’t just a win, this was a statement. It’s what the culture was feeling. This was pressure with poise. This was Not Like Us in football form.

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Now it’s onto the Bernabéu, but Arsenal don’t fear the lights, they become them.

Spain better prepare. Because if tonight was a warning… the remix might just be louder.

Gunners are outside.

And they ain’t finished yet.

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