The Neo Química Arena was a cauldron at full boil, a roaring beast of noise and fury. From the steep, packed stands came the deafening roar of forty thousand Corinthians fans, their voices merging into a tidal wave of sound, as if they had waited a decade just to drown Palmeiras in sheer, unrelenting noise. Flares erupted behind the home goal, their crimson glow cutting through the night, casting the air in thick, swirling red smoke. The stadium pulsed with movement—flags waved like sabers, their edges flickering under the floodlights, while the deep, menacing rhythm of drums thundered through the concrete, a second heartbeat syncing with the frantic energy of the crowd.
Thiago stepped onto the pitch and felt it immediately.
The venom in the air.
The weight of the moment.
This wasn't just any final.
This was Corinthians.
And this was their home.
The second leg of the Campeonato Paulista final had begun, and Palmeiras were stepping into the lion's den.
