The noise in the stadium was deafening. 80,000 people chanting, singing, vibrating. But Erling Haaland could only hear his own heart, pounding against his ribs like a caged animal.

Norway vs. England. Quarterfinals of the 2026 World Cup.

Two years ago, this would have been just another match. Difficult, yes, but without the knot that now tightened in his chest. Two years ago, Jude Bellingham was his teammate. His friend. His… no, better not to think about that now.

Erling closed his eyes for a second in the tunnel, resting the back of his head against the cold concrete. He took a deep breath. But the smell of wet grass and liniment couldn't mask the memory that arrived unannounced: Dortmund, a winter training session, the two of them sprawled on the artificial turf after an exhausting workout, their breaths steaming as Jude laughed with his eyes closed and said, "You're an animal, Erling. But my favorite animal."

He clenched his jaw.

"Ready?" Martin Ødegaard asked from beside him, sensing the tension.

Erling nodded without looking at him. He couldn't afford any doubts now. Norway had waited decades to get this far in a World Cup. The whole country depended on him. But he also knew that, on the other side of the pitch, there was someone who knew him better than anyone. Someone who knew when he was going to shoot with his left foot, when he was going to fake it, when he was truly tired and when he was just pretending.

Someone who had stolen his sleep more times than he was willing to admit.

He stepped onto the pitch and the roar of the crowd hit him like a wave. Instinctively, he searched for the English number 10 among the line of waving players. And he found him.

Jude Bellingham walked with his head held high, his gaze fixed straight ahead, that confidence he'd always had since he was a kid in Birmingham. But when his eyes met Erling's, something broke in the air between them. A split second in which time stood still.

Jude looked at him. And in that look, there was no hatred or rivalry. There was something older, deeper. Something neither of them had dared to name in the two years they shared a dressing room in Dortmund.

Erling looked away first.

Focus, he told himself. It's just a game. It's just one opponent.

But as the Norwegian national anthem played and his hand trembled slightly on his chest, he knew he was lying. That this wasn't just a game. That night, in front of 80,000 people and millions of eyes around the world, he was going to have to face something much bigger than a World Cup qualifier.

He was going to have to face Jude.

And the worst part was, he didn't know if he wanted to beat him or hug him until the world ended.

And the worst? The losing team was out of the World Cup.