Silence blanketed the room except for the hum of the fluorescent lights.
Mourinho leaned forward, resting his fists on the table, voice dropping to a dangerous calm.
"Either you walk out there for the second half and show Istanbul you have pride…
or you walk out there and confirm what every critic says about you.
You choose."
No one spoke.
Boots squeaked faintly as players shifted under the weight of his glare.
The players emerged from the tunnel to a thunderous wall of noise that defied the scoreboard.
Despite the two–goal deficit, the Fenerbahçe faithful were unyielding, scarves whipping in the evening air as chants rolled from the steep stands like waves crashing against stone.
The yellow-and-navy flags shimmered beneath the floodlights, and every beat of the drum seemed to demand a response from the men in blue.
Lukas trotted out with his Eintracht teammates, eyes scanning the vast bowl of sound.
