The Spanish national team plane soared above Europe, cutting through a bed of soft clouds as it made its way toward Munich, Germany.
The squad was in high spirits.
Inside the aircraft, the atmosphere was relaxed but buzzing with anticipation. Some players rested with their headphones on, lost in their own worlds.
Others were glued to their phones, scrolling through social media or replying to family messages.
But at the center of it all, the youngsters of the squad were causing chaos.
"Lamine, tell me you packed a suit this time," Nico Williams called out, turning in his seat.
Yamal, slouched against his chair with his hood up, groaned. "Man, leave me alone."
Izan smirked. "He definitely forgot."
Pedri, sitting across the aisle, shook his head dramatically. "Bro, we told you—this is the Euros.
Press conferences, team events, the works. You can't be out here dressing like you're pulling up to a PlayStation party."
"I packed fine!" Yamal protested. "I swear—"
