Signal Iduna Park wasn't just loud—it thrummed.
The noise hit Thiago in waves as he stepped onto the sideline with the other substitutes. Eighty thousand voices chanting in unison, their roars crashing against the stadium walls like a living thing. The famous Yellow Wall loomed behind one goal, a towering sea of scarves and flags that seemed to ripple and pulse with every drumbeat. The air smelled like fried food, beer, and the sharp tang of winter grass.
Thiago tilted his head back as the anthem blared through the speakers. His heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his throat. His breath came out in quick, visible puffs in the cold night air. But unlike his first time here, his hands didn't shake. His focus didn't waver.
He was calm.
