In Bilbao, the Athletic Club locker room had been a scene of unfiltered celebration.
They had done their part—beating Rayo Vallecano 3-0 with a dominant performance.
Oihan Sancet had stolen the show with a brace, and the players basked in the glory of what they believed to be a season-defining moment.
"Champions League football, boys!" Iñaki Williams had shouted, his voice hoarse from shouting, his arms around his brother Nico.
The coaching staff, players, and even club officials had joined in, smiles, laughter, and backslaps all around.
Then, the news came.
It started as a murmur, a background noise from the television mounted in the corner of the locker room.
Some staff were still tracking live scores, but no one really paid attention—until the commentator's voice cut through the celebrations like a blade.
"Wait, wait, WAIT! STOP EVERYTHING! THIS CAN'T BE REAL!
VALENCIA HAVE SCORED AGAIN! OH. MY. WORD. THEY LEAD 4-3 AT MESTALLA!
