The parade had reached its final stop, a vast open square that glowed red and white under the setting sun.
A massive stage stood at the far end, draped in Arsenal banners and LED screens looping highlights from the season.
Thousands had packed into the square, spilling out into nearby streets, their voices hoarse but unbroken.
The air smelled of smoke flares and summer heat.
When the open-top bus finally pulled up, the noise was deafening.
The players stepped down one by one, waving to the sea of fans as their names were announced.
The cheer for each was loud, but when they called "Izan Miura Hernández!", the ground itself seemed to tremble.
Arteta led the team onto the stage, his smile tired but full, the expression of a man whose faith had finally been rewarded.
The trophies gleamed behind them, four of them, lined in a row like an impossible dream made real.
The MC handed Arteta the mic first, who looked out at the crowd, pausing for a moment as if taking it all in.
