The streets around Wrocław Stadium pulsed like a living organism. Blue and green clashed in song, banners, and endless waves of humanity. Police lines held fans apart, but the chants crossed barriers, words flying like arrows.
"¡Betis, Betis!"
"Chelsea! Chelsea!"
Inside the Chelsea bus, the tension was thick enough to choke on. The players sat in silence, each locked in his own battle. The world outside was loud, but within, it was strangely quiet.
Cole Palmer leaned his head against the window, watching Polish fans wave scarves. His headphones hummed with faint beats, but his mind was louder—replays of every goal, every miss, every training session. His stomach twisted, but beneath the nerves was fire.
Jackson, a few rows back, mouthed silent prayers, fists clenched. He had dreamt of this moment as a boy in Dakar, but never like this—never with the weight of a club's redemption on his shoulders.
Reece James stood, turning to face his teammates. "Look at me," he said firmly. "Don't hide from this. Embrace it. Feel the noise, the pressure—it means we're alive. It means we're here."
The players lifted their heads, one by one. A ripple of energy spread.
As they stepped off the bus, the roar of Chelsea's traveling fans hit them like a tidal wave. Blue flags whipped in the night air. Their chants were desperate, defiant, but unwavering. For a moment, the players felt ten feet tall.
---
The dressing room under the stadium smelled of fresh paint and tension. Jerseys hung crisp, boots lined in neat rows, everything sterile—except the emotions in the air.
Maresca gathered them. His voice was calm, but his eyes burned.
"You are not here by accident. Every step of this road, you earned. Every bruise, every flight, every doubt—you endured it. Tonight, ninety minutes decide everything. Betis believe this is their time. Good. Let them believe. Because when we walk out there, they will face not a fallen Chelsea, not a broken Chelsea, but a Chelsea reborn."
He looked each man in the eye. "Play for each other. Play for the badge. Play like lions."
The players roared in unison, fists pounding lockers.
---
The tunnel was chaos—flashes of cameras, the smell of pyrotechnics drifting in from the stands. Palmer stood at the front, next to Betis captain Guido Rodríguez. The Spaniard smirked slightly, but Palmer didn't blink.
Reece James placed a hand on Palmer's shoulder. "Ready?"
Palmer's jaw tightened. "Always."
The anthem blared. The players stepped into the cauldron of light and sound.
And the final began.