Around the same time Manchester City's dressing room was filling with laughter and noise, the Etihad stands were slowly beginning to empty.
The celebrations had lasted long after the final whistle. Home supporters had stayed behind to applaud the players, to sing through the post-match lap, to watch Lukas lift the match ball above his head while his teammates pushed him toward the front of the group. But now, little by little, the blue shirts began filing toward the exits, scarves still raised, voices still carrying the songs of a derby victory that would be discussed across Manchester for weeks.
In the hospitality section near the upper tier, Joanna finally stood up beside Javi.
She had clapped until her palms hurt.
Her cheeks still ached from smiling.
Even now, as the players disappeared down the tunnel and the stadium screens continued showing the scoreline, she kept glancing toward the pitch as if part of her expected Lukas to come back out again.
