[Next morning ]
The Arsenal team bus pulled through the familiar black gates of London Colney, engines humming low beneath the drizzle that had started to fall.
The sky was pale grey, a soft post-storm tone, the kind that made the world feel like it was finally exhaling after the chaos of the night before.
Inside the bus, the players were quieter than usual—tired, satisfied, and not quite ready to process what they'd done in Eindhoven.
Some leaned back in their seats with headphones still in, others scrolled through their phones, watching clips of themselves that had already racked up millions of views.
Mikel Arteta stood near the front as the bus came to a stop, arms folded, his eyes calm but alert.
"Right," he began, voice cutting through the quiet like a warm blade, "I don't need to say much today. You already know what you've done. History doesn't need my commentary."
A few chuckles rippled down the aisle as he let the pause linger just long enough.
