The hours that followed the final whistle were a blur of pure, unadulterated joy. The dressing room at the Olympiastadion was a chaotic symphony of celebration. Champagne was sprayed, songs were sung, and the Bundesliga trophy, the Meisterschale, was passed from player to player, each one kissing it, holding it aloft, savoring the weight of their achievement.
Mateo, his heart still pounding from the drama of the match, was at the center of it all. His teammates, his brothers, treated him like the hero he was, lifting him onto their shoulders, chanting his name, their faces filled with a mixture of awe and affection. He had been the one to deliver the final, decisive blow, the one to turn their dream into a reality. And they would never forget it.
