The hotel was a battlefield of exhaustion and adrenaline.
By the time the Spanish players arrived, it was well past 3 AM, but nobody was in a rush to sleep.
The trophy had been passed around like a sacred artifact, everyone taking turns posing with it, kissing it, or just staring at it in disbelief.
The entire hotel lobby had turned into an impromptu afterparty.
Izan sat back on one of the plush couches, still feeling the weight of the night settle in.
His wet hair clung to his forehead from the champagne showers, his body ached from the sheer intensity of the final, but his mind? It was buzzing.
Next to him, Nico Williams stretched his legs onto the table with the comfort of a man who had just conquered the world.
"You know what, bro?" he said, staring at the ceiling. "I ain't even tired."
Lamine sprawled across another couch and groaned. "Don't say that, man. My legs are gone."
