The tunnel at the Reale Arena was a pressure cooker. The air was thick with tension, the distant hum of the crowd vibrating through the concrete walls. The supposed third final moment had arrived.
Valencia players stood shoulder to shoulder, adjusting their socks, rolling their shoulders, trading last-minute words of encouragement.
José Gayà, the captain, ran a hand through his hair before turning to the team. "This is ours. We fight for every ball, every inch. They won't hand us anything."
Beside him, Javi Guerra bounced on the balls of his feet, his fingers drumming against his thighs. Behind, Hugo Guillamón exhaled slowly, his mind already processing passing lanes and defensive cover.
Soda who had formed a midfield trio with Guerra and Guillamon stood behind the latter, his face showing some slight signs of nervousness
Wanting to get rid of that, Sosa nudged Fran Pérez causing the latter to turn towards him."You ready?"
