The floodlights blazed above the pitch like captured stars, their white-hot glow cutting through the São Paulo night. Confetti rained down in torrents of green and white, swirling in the air like a hurricane of celebration, each piece catching the light before settling on the grass. Smoke cannons erupted near the stands, great plumes of emerald and ivory billowing into the sky, while the stadium speakers thundered with a triumphant samba rhythm—though no one could hear it over the deafening roar of the Palmeiras faithful. Their voices shook the very foundations of the Neo Química Arena, a sound so immense it seemed to press against Thiago's chest as he stood there, breathing it all in.