When Twain returned to the field, he felt that something was off, but he could not pinpoint why at that moment.
It was not until he saw Rijkaard walking out of the tunnel and looking up at the sky that he finally realized.
He looked up at the night sky too.
The rain had stopped.
He widened his eyes and reached out his hands. There was not a single raindrop on his cheeks or palms.
It was windy over the field and he could even see the dark clouds in the night sky rolling away.
The quagmire that Barcelona was bound by was gone. Luck had changed.
"Dammit… Dammit…" Twain muttered as he looked up.
The weather condition that was most conducive for them had become beneficial to their opponent.
Without the heavy rain and with the drainage capability of the Stade de France, the field would soon not be as slippery as it was in the first half. By that time...
He did not dare to think about it any further.
