The air inside the Signal Iduna Park was not merely loud; it was a physical entity, a seismic wave of sound and emotion that pressed against the eardrums and vibrated through the very bones of the stadium. It was the sound of eighty thousand souls united in a single, desperate, glorious roar.
Mateo stood in the tunnel, the fluorescent lights of the interior casting a harsh, clinical glow on the faces of the players. The contrast between the sterile tunnel and the inferno waiting outside was jarring.
He was flanked by his teammates, a wall of yellow and black, their faces set in expressions of grim determination. Across from them, the men of Napoli, their dark blue kits a stark, intimidating presence, looked equally focused.
