The night had become a living thing inside Allianz Parque—a pulsing, heaving beast of noise and heat and desperation. The air itself seemed to vibrate with sixty thousand voices screaming in unison, the scent of burnt flares and spilled beer mixing with the earthy tang of freshly watered grass. Every blade of turf glistened under the stadium lights, each droplet reflecting the chaos unfolding above.
Thiago wiped his forearm across his brow, the sweat stinging his eyes as he jogged back into position. His lungs burned with each breath, his muscles screaming from the relentless pace, but his mind remained eerily calm—a still point in the hurricane. The scoreboard read 1-1, but the numbers lied. This wasn't equilibrium. This was the eye of the storm.
