The sound didn't hit all at once.
It built in layers—first the low, murmuring hum of anticipation, the kind that vibrated through concrete and settled in the bones. Then came the rhythmic stomping of feet against metal bleachers, the deep, guttural chants rising from the stands like battle cries. Finally, the deafening swell of thousands of voices merging into one earth-shaking roar, so loud it made Thiago's teeth rattle as he peeled off his training top and handed it to the waiting staff.
The stadium pulsed with energy, the vibration traveling up through his cleats, into his calves, up his spine until it thrummed at the base of his skull like a second heartbeat.
Klopp's massive hand landed on his shoulder, warm and heavy.
