FWEEE!
The final whistle pierced through the thick Milanese night like the cry of a divine decree. The game… was over.
Silence, brief, solemn silence.
The FC Barcelona players could not believe it, they had done it; 0-1 at the San Siro, 4-3 on aggregate.
They had done it. They had beaten Real Madrid in the Copa del Rey final, played Inter Milan right after in the first leg, and now ended it with a victory in enemy turf, at the San Siro.
In that instant, the tension that had gripped the visitors' hearts for ninety minutes shattered into unfiltered, uncontainable euphoria.
The Barcelona bench erupted; coaches, players, and staff spilling onto the pitch like a tidal wave of blue and garnet. Hansi Flick leapt into the arms of his assistants, fists raised, eyes gleaming with vindication.
The joy of the German coach could not be contained.
Sam fell to his knees, arms spread to the heavens, a quiet prayer lost in the roar. Even he could not believe it.
