João came last.
No handshake.
No words.
Just a grin—and then they bumped shoulders, laughing, the kind of silent exchange that said everything.
Ruben, of course, went straight for the trophies.
"Give me one!" he said immediately, eyes locked on the silverware in Lukas' hands.
Lukas laughed. "Relax, you'll drop it."
"I won't!" Ruben insisted, already reaching.
Around them, the pitch had become something else entirely—players walking with family, photos being taken, children running across the grass, staff trying—and failing—to keep any kind of structure to the moment.
"Come," Joanna said, tugging lightly at Lukas' arm. "Let's take a picture."
They moved toward the side of the pitch, near the advertising boards, where there was just enough space to gather without being swallowed by the rest of the celebrations. Someone from the club staff stepped forward with a camera, already understanding what was about to happen.
"Everyone together," he said, gesturing.
