After the official trophy presentation concluded, the Atlético Madrid squad lingered on the pitch for nearly an hour.
Every single player, coach, and staff member took turns posing for individual photos with the massive silver cup.
Considering how catastrophically disastrous the first half of their season had been, lifting this trophy wasn't just a victory; it was an absolute redemption.
Later that night, the team boarded a chartered flight back to the Spanish capital.
Atlético's front office had hurriedly organized a massive homecoming reception.
Despite it being the middle of the night, thousands of hardcore fans had flooded the streets of Madrid, while a massive contingent of local dignitaries, VIPs, and media personnel waited on the tarmac at Barajas Airport.
When the cabin door finally opened and club captain Gabi stepped out holding the Europa League trophy high above his head, the tarmac erupted.
The deafening roar of the gathered fans mixed with the rapid-fire clicking and flashing strobes of hundreds of paparazzi cameras.
Naturally, the bitter cross-town rivals couldn't resist ruining the mood. Across Spanish social media, Real Madrid fans immediately began mocking the spectacle.
"Look at them celebrating a second-tier cup like they just conquered the world. Tin-pot club mentality. We wouldn't even bother waking up for the Europa League."
But their arrogant mockery meant absolutely nothing to the Colchoneros.
On the tarmac, the entire first team, coaching staff, and club executives gathered for a massive group photo with the trophy placed proudly in the center.
Afterward, the players boarded a custom-wrapped, open-top double-decker bus.
Their destination: the Plaza de Cánovas del Castillo.
More commonly known as the Fuente de Neptuno (The Fountain of Neptune).
Madrid is a city deeply steeped in history, and its footballing culture is physically carved into its architecture. The two massive clubs that divide the city have strictly designated, sacred grounds for their trophy celebrations.
When Real Madrid wins a title, they march to the Plaza de Cibeles, tying their scarf around the statue of the Goddess of Nature.
When Atlético Madrid conquers Europe or Spain, they march to Neptuno.
The stunning marble statue of the Roman God of the Sea, standing triumphantly on a chariot pulled by seahorses and surrounded by dolphins, perfectly represents the power, speed, and working-class grit of the red-and-white half of the city.
As the open-top bus crawled down the main arteries of Madrid, tens of thousands of fans followed alongside it. Cars honked their horns in synchronized rhythms, and massive Atlético flags waved violently in the night air.
When the bus finally arrived at the Plaza, the square was already packed to absolute capacity.
A sea of humanity surged toward the barricades.
As the bus slowly pulled into the center of the plaza, Gabi hoisted the trophy over the railing. The roar that tore through the Madrid night sky was loud enough to wake the gods.
The players disembarked and were immediately greeted by Club President Enrique Cerezo and the Mayor of Madrid.
While Real Madrid undeniably possessed a terrifying global monopoly on fans and revenue, the actual physical city of Madrid was fiercely divided. Within the city limits, the sheer volume of Atlético supporters easily rivaled their wealthy neighbors.
In the realm of local politics, pandering to the Colchoneros was an absolute necessity. The Mayor making an appearance at Neptuno to shake hands and praise the team was a calculated, necessary move to secure the working-class vote.
Under the watchful eyes of tens of thousands of screaming fans, Gabi grabbed an Atlético Madrid scarf, climbed the platform, and securely tied it around the neck of the Neptune statue.
It was the ultimate, sacred tradition.
Following the ritual, the microphone was passed around.
The Club President, Diego Simeone, and Gabi all took turns addressing the crowd. Their speeches hit the expected notes: summarizing the miraculous turnaround of the season, thanking the fans for their undying loyalty, and looking forward to the future.
Technically, the 2011/2012 season wasn't completely over.
There was still one Matchweek remaining in La Liga—an away trip to El Madrigal to face Villarreal.
But the result of that match was entirely irrelevant.
For Atlético Madrid, the war was already won.
They had miraculously secured third place in the league, mathematically locking in a direct ticket to next season's UEFA Champions League.
And they had brought a major European trophy back to the capital.
Given that the team was genuinely flirting with the relegation zone back in December, finishing the campaign as the Champions of Europe and the "Third Force" in Spain was a fairytale ending. The fans were beyond satisfied.
Traditionally, after the captain's speech, the ceremony would conclude. The trophy would be transported to the Vicente Calderón, placed inside a reinforced glass display case in the club museum, and the fans would go home to sleep off the alcohol.
But tonight, the crowd refused to disperse.
A synchronized chant began to echo through the plaza, growing louder and more demanding with every passing second.
"CARTER! CARTER! CARTER!"
Gabi, standing on the podium with the microphone, grinned. He turned around and locked eyes with the American teenager.
"Shane! Get up here and say a few words to your people!" Gabi yelled over the noise, extending the mic.
Carter was slightly surprised, but he didn't shy away from the moment.
He stepped up to the edge of the podium, looked out over the endless sea of red and white flares, and grabbed the microphone.
He didn't give a long, PR-scripted speech.
He raised his free hand and pointed to the massive silver trophy gleaming under the floodlights.
"Do you guys like this trophy?!" Carter yelled into the mic, his voice echoing across the plaza.
"YES!!!" tens of thousands of fans screamed back in absolute unison.
Carter grinned, his eyes gleaming fiercely under the stadium lights.
"Good. Because next season... we're going to win even bigger ones."
The sheer audacity of the promise acted like a lit match dropped into a powder keg.
The plaza completely detonated. The cheers were deafening, pure, unadulterated madness.
Standing on the podium, staring out at the conquered city, the eighteen-year-old's eyes burned with a terrifying, unquenchable ambition.
Read ahead with 70+ chapters now with daily updates!
Get 40% OFF for limited time only.
@patreon.com/Authorizz