***** I'll try to make the matches detailed, with about 5,000 words or so for major matches like this. I feel more than that makes it tiring to read, and I don't want you guys to skim over it due to size .
Or maybe break them down to 2 chapters, and upload twice a day(Gonna need to see them votes for that xD). This one is already over 6000 words, my biggest chaper ever written till now. I'm stocking up on some extra chapters on off days.
Enjoy! *****
The first rays of daylight spilled gently through the half-open blinds, casting pale lines across the hardwood floor and the edge of the bed. Adriano stirred under the sheets, muscles aching in that familiar, earned way.
The past few weeks had been a blur of conditioning drills, resistance circuits, weight sessions, and endless repetition on the training pitch. After his video tiltle # Playing with the future stars went viraland received adoration from many fans, Adriano focused solely on his training the next weeks. No media appearances. No distractions.
Just sweat, soreness, and the single-minded push to get stronger—not just lean and fast, but Premier League strong. English football demanded more than flair; it demanded grit, power, and endurance.
He sat up slowly, rolling his shoulders. His back cracked slightly as he stretched, arms behind his head. The early morning air was cool, clean, and quiet except for the soft humming coming from the kitchen.
Kate.
She was already up, wearing an oversized City hoodie that hung just past her thighs, hair loosely tied back. She stood at the stove, humming some soft tune under her breath as the scent of toasted sourdough and black coffee filled the apartment. A bowl of fresh berries sat on the counter, next to two plates—eggs, avocado, and grilled tomato.
"Morning, superstar," she said over her shoulder, smiling as she flipped an egg onto a plate. "You slept through two alarms."
"I think my legs forgot how to move," Adriano said, rubbing his face before rising. He padded into the kitchen barefoot, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes still half-closed. "Grealish had me doing box jumps like I owed him money."
Kate chuckled. "You were grunting like a gorilla in your sleep."
He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Dreaming about deadlifts."
"Sure you weren't dreaming about me?" she teased, handing him his plate.
"Always," he replied, sitting across from her. "You and squats. In that order."
They ate in a comfortable rhythm, the quiet only broken by the occasional sip of coffee or scrape of fork on plate. Adriano took his time—he had learned to. Breakfast wasn't just a meal anymore; it was fuel. Every gram of protein, every carb, every bit of hydration was calculated now.
His personal performance coach had set a strict plan: protein-heavy meals to build muscle mass, clean carbs for energy, and mobility work to prevent burnout.
He'd been in the gym six days a week for the past month—early mornings of sled pushes, kettlebell swings, and explosive power training.
Afternoons were reserved for ball work and tactical sessions. He'd stayed after most team practices, often dragging Hummels or Silva along for extra passing drills and half-pitch simulations.
Evenings were for recovery—ice baths, stretching, and sometimes Kate kneading the knots out of his calves while he grumbled through the pain.
After Fifa shoot, Mendes contacted and congratulated him. He informed that the EA willing to sign him till 2018 in a 4 year contract, for €25 milllion euros. He will also receive a percentage of image rights which could add up to €30 million euros.
Nike had also reached out, willing to offer a new contract. He would be making another €30 million euros over the next 4 years. Adriano confirmed the details and let Mendes finish the paperwork. Adriano's new assistant Raul managed the additional stuff.
"You've changed," Kate said softly, watching him as she nibbled on a strawberry.
He looked up, brow raised. "Yeah?"
"You're… sharper. More focused. Not to mention more sturdy looking. You said you used to get a bit nervous before matches. Now it's like you're already playing them in your head before you even lace up."
He nodded slowly. "Because there's no room for nerves anymore. Not here. Not now."
She reached across the table and placed her hand over his. "You're ready, honey."
He exhaled through his nose, not quite smiling but not tense either. "Premier League debut. Manchester derby. Could've started with something quiet like Luton Town."
Kate smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"
He finished his coffee and stood up, stretching again, joints popping. "I'll be on the bench to start. Coach Pellegrini's playing it smart. Let the adrenaline build. Let United get comfortable."
"And then you walk on and change everything," she said matter-of-factly.
He looked at her and finally cracked a small grin. "Something like that."
He grabbed his duffel bag from near the door. Inside were his boots, his hydration packs, and a folded-up note from Pellegrini that simply read: Do what only you can do my boy.
Kate walked over and kissed him softly, holding his gaze. " Don't worry, you'll conquer Manchester."
Adriano rested his forehead lightly against hers. "If Manchester's ready for me."
The apartment door closed quietly behind him. The match day for the Premier League was appraoching.
***
The Manchester derby was always a heated affair, but this year it carried a sharper edge. United were defending champions after edging out Chelsea and Arsenal the previous season, their final title under Sir Alex Ferguson. Manchester United were coming off a title-winning season from 2013-14 season, while Manchester City barely placed 4th to qualify for Champions League. But now, with Ferguson retired, the reins had passed to David Moyes—a manager under immense pressure to keep the empire intact.
Manchester City were in a transition. A disappointing fourth-place finish last season had triggered sweeping changes. Key veterans were moved on. Fresh blood was brought in. And at the heart of it all stood Adriano Riveiro—one of the most expensive signings in Football history, and the face of City's new era.
**Match Day Morning**
In the quiet of their kitchen, Adriano dug into his breakfast while Kate read from her tablet with exaggerated flair.
"'Adriano Riveiro: City's Crown Jewel or Golden Gamble?'" she scoffed. "Honestly, what does that even mean?"
Adriano didn't look up, sipping his coffee. "It means someone needed to fill column space."
She grinned. "You're taking this whole superstar pressure thing well."
He shrugged. "Pressure's nothing new. It's just louder here."
By mid-morning, Adriano rolled into the CFA—City's training ground—in his matte grey Lamborghini Veneno Roadstar, music low, his mood focused. A small crowd of journalists and fans were already gathering near the gates, snapping photos as the car crept through security.
Inside, the atmosphere was tense but focused. Matchday staff moved briskly. Trainers checked gear. Coaches reviewed set-piece sequences on tablets. The players trickled in one by one, exchanging nods and quiet jokes, but the energy in the air was wired. It wasn't just a derby—it was a statement about their new beginning.
Adriano headed straight to the physio room, where Michael, the head physiotherapist, greeted him with a firm nod.
"Morning, Adriano," he said, gesturing to the monitor. "Let's run the scans real quick."
Adriano sat while sensors were applied to his quads and hamstrings, the machine analyzing his muscle recovery and hydration levels. The data confirmed what both men already suspected—his conditioning was nearing peak.
"You've done well," Michael said, scrolling through the readings. "183 cm, 178 pounds, lean mass up by more than four percent since pre-season. Recovery time's down, stiffness curve's flattened. That mobility work paid off."
Adriano rotated his shoulder and stretched his calves. "Feels cleaner. Less tension after sessions. I'm bouncing back quicker."
"You'll need that," Michael replied. "Premier League pace isn't like La Liga . It's a different animal—physical, relentless. But you're adapting faster than expected."
He nodded, stood up, and headed to the locker room, where the rest of the squad had started gathering. Shirts hung crisp on their pegs. Boots lined the floor. Yaya Touré sat lacing his cleats. David Silva leaned back, eyes closed, listening to music. Joe Hart joked with the kit man while De Bruyne went over match notes on his phone. Everyone had their routine. Everyone knew what this meant.
Pellegrini entered a few minutes later, clipboard in hand, and called the room to attention with a quiet clap.
"Alright, listen up."
The room hushed.
"This is more than a derby. This is our reset. What happened last season doesn't matter now. We've changed—on purpose. Every player in this room was chosen for what we're building. Today is about showing that."
He flipped the clipboard and revealed the lineup.
Joe Hart in goal. Zabaleta, Hummels, Kompany, and Kolarov at the back. Casemiro and Yaya anchoring midfield, with De Bruyne in the ten. Sterling and Navas out wide. Agüero up top.
Adriano wasn't listed.
No surprise. He's the one fixed spot in the lineup unless he can't play.
He nodded quietly as Pellegrini continued. The manager had spoken to him earlier in the week—his decision wasn't about ability, but rhythm. The Premier League had a pace and physicality unmatched in Europe. Starting cold in a derby was unnecessary risk.
Casemiro, newly signed from Sao Paolo, offered defensive stability alongside Yaya. De Bruyne, Silva, and Agüero were already familiar with the system.
The plan was clear: keep shape early, win the midfield battle, contain United's transitions.
Adriano would come on in the second half, once the tempo settled and space began to open. His job would be to unlock the game.
Moyes's strategy, on the other side, would likely hinge on experience and compactness. He still had veterans like Rooney, Carrick, and Evra in the XI, likely supported by Valencia and the newly signed Juan Mata. United's strength was cohesion. They'd play a 4-2-3-1, focus on limiting City's width, and try to force turnovers in central areas to launch counters through Rooney, Di Maria, and Mata.
Adriano knew what that meant for him. He'd be coming in against tired legs but disciplined lines. He'd need to find the half-spaces behind Carrick, drift between the center-backs, and draw defenders out of shape. The kind of work that doesn't show up in highlight reels—but breaks games open.
Back in the locker room, the players began dressing. Tape wrapped around wrists. Boots tied. City-blue shirts pulled on. Pellegrini stepped back, his voice even.
"Trust the work. Trust each other. Go out there and set the tone."
Adriano stayed quiet, watching. His time would come.
He was ready.
As the squad filed out of the training facility and toward the coach waiting to take them to the Etihad, the mood was a quiet mix of focus and anticipation. Adriano walked alongside De Bruyne and Silva, boots slung over his shoulder, matchday bag in hand.
"Second half, huh?" De Bruyne said, glancing sideways with a half-smirk. "You'd better come on and score at least two. Don't leave us doing all the work."
Adriano smirked. "Just two? Might as well warm up properly while I'm at it."
"Save the hat-trick for someone else," Silva said without looking up, adjusting the collar of his jacket. "Like Arsenal. At least they pretend to defend."
De Bruyne laughed. "Or Spurs. I think Lloris is still recovering from last season."
The conversation faded as they climbed aboard the coach. Inside, the seats were arranged in quiet rows of habit. Zabaleta claimed his usual spot by the window, headphones half-on as he tapped his fingers to an invisible beat. Kompany had his legs stretched out, flipping through a binder filled with match notes and set-piece diagrams. Harry Kane sat two rows ahead, chewing gum fast, one leg bouncing restlessly. He was new to derbies of this intensity, and it showed.
Aguero was already zoned out, hood up, eyes closed, music playing. Even without looking, everyone knew what kind of focus that was. He didn't talk much on matchdays. He didn't need to.
Adriano sank into a seat near the back and pulled out his phone, quickly typing a message.
On the way to the stadium. Don't forget to cheer loud. Or at least louder than the United lot.
The reply came within seconds.
Already in the box. Wearing your jersey. Feels borderline criminal how good I look in it.
He exhaled a quiet laugh, pocketing the phone.
Silva glanced over. "Kate?"
Adriano nodded. "Front row, already talking trash."
Silva raised an eyebrow. "Hope she's not next to any United fans."
Adriano grinned. "She'll convert them by halftime."
Outside, the city blurred past the windows—streets thick with traffic, flashes of blue and red jerseys scattered among the crowd. The closer they got to the Etihad, the more fans gathered near barriers, some waving scarves, others already chanting. The stadium loomed in the distance like a coliseum waiting for blood.
No more jokes. No more noise.
Kickoff was coming.
***
Once they arrived at the Etihad, the atmosphere inside the stadium was a quiet storm building pressure. The moment the players stepped off the bus, everything moved with controlled urgency—security guiding them through private entrances, kit managers handing out neatly arranged uniforms, physios checking tape and boots, coaches running through last-minute adjustments.
But amid the buzz, Adriano found moments of stillness—moments where tension eased, and words mattered more than instructions.
He spotted Harry Kane in a corner of the changing room, crouched down, repeatedly adjusting his shin pads, pulling them off and putting them back on like they'd never feel quite right. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the floor.
Adriano walked over, leaned against the locker beside him. "First derby jeeters?"
Kane glanced up. "Yeah. Watched every one since I was a kid. Rooney, Tevez, Kompany... Now I'm actually walking out there."
Adriano nodded. "It doesn't hit until you hear the whistle. After that, it's just football."
"Feels bigger than that."
"It is. But not for the reasons the cameras think. The crowd noise, the banners—that's for them. But what happens out there? That's for us. Just play the game. Trust your feet."
Kane let out a quiet breath. "Right."
"And when I come on," Adriano added with a smirk, "try not to mess up my assist."
Kane laughed, tension breaking for a second. "Deal."
A few lockers down, Mohamed Salah was seated alone, tying his boots slowly, almost methodically. His eyes were on his laces, but his mind was clearly elsewhere.
Adriano dropped onto the bench beside him. "How's your family doing?"
Salah looked up, surprised for a moment, then nodded. "They're okay. Still settling in. My wife misses Cairo. The weather, her parents, our food. It's... different here."
"It always is at first. Took Kate a week just to figure out what proper tea was." Adriano paused. "You've got a quiet presence, Mo. But don't mistake quiet for small. You've got something that can move a stadium."
Salah looked at him, expression steadying. "You think so?"
"I know so. Just remember, you belong here."
Salah nodded, the edge of his mouth twitching into a small smile. "Thanks."
Back in the locker room, the energy shifted. Boots were on. Warm-up jackets zipped. The routine was almost over.
Kompany stood in the middle of the room. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
"Don't play for the crowd," he said, voice low and clear. "Play for the ones next to you. For the badge. For every hour we've put in to be here. Derby or not—it's our pitch."
No one applauded. They just nodded, one after another, the message landing.
Pellegrini stepped forward, calm as ever, flipping through a clipboard.
"Adriano," he said, turning. "You won't start—but watch the first half carefully. Look at how they press. Look at how Rooney drops deep, how Herrera and Carrick handle transitions."
Adriano listened, focused.
"When you come on, I want you to be the link. Between the lines. You find space, you connect play, you disrupt their shape."
"And if I see a lane—"
"You take the shot," Pellegrini finished.
Adriano nodded. "Understood."
The bell rang down the hallway, signaling time to line up. No more talking. Just the game.
The tunnel was narrow, the air thick with anticipation and sweat. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a harsh glow on two teams lined shoulder to shoulder. Manchester City in sky blue. Manchester United in crimson red. Between them stood decades of history, bitter rivalries, and the weight of expectation.
The roar from the Etihad bled through the walls like a storm pressing in. You couldn't hear individuals—only the mass. City fans chanted in unison, drums pounding behind the South Stand. United supporters fired back from their corner, defiant and loud. Every shout, every jeer, reverberated off the concrete, building like pressure in a sealed room.
Adriano stood just behind the starting eleven, zipped up in his City tracksuit. His boots were on, laced tight. He wasn't in the lineup, not yet, but his time was coming. Next to him, an assistant coach handed him a tablet.
"They've come out in a 4-2-3-1, same as ours " the coach said, pointing. "Rooney's deeper than expected. Looks like they'll try to overload the left with Januzaj and Shaw. Di Maria is also starting"
Adriano nodded, eyes flicking across the screen. Carrick and Herrera sat tight in midfield. It was classic Moyes—compact, cautious, built on stability. But it was the noise, not the data, that kept pulling at his attention.
He looked past the tunnel entrance, to the open view of the pitch. The grass was perfectly trimmed, the white lines so sharp they looked etched into glass. Above it all, the stadium lights flooded the field, bright and cold. Players cast long shadows. It didn't feel like the start of a season. It felt like the opening act of a war.
High above the dugouts, he spotted the private box. Behind the glass, Kate was already there. She wore his jersey—City blue, the number 10 across her back, the crown stitched above the "i" like a seal of intent. She caught his gaze, smiled, and lifted her hands, forming a small heart. No words. Just the look that reminded him why he was here.
Adriano let out a slow breath. Everything up to this point—every sprint, every late-night gym session, every tactical meeting—had led to now.
After the coin toss and Handshakes , teams took position. The referee raised the whistle to his lips. A sharp, piercing sound cut through the chaos.
The Premier League had officially begun for them.
***
[Commentary: Martin Tyler & Alan Smith]
Martin Tyler: "The stage is set, the crowd is roaring, and the Premier League returns with a bang! We are live from the Etihad Stadium for the 2014-15 season opener, and what a way to kick things off. It's the Manchester Derby: Manchester City versus the reigning champions, Manchester United!"
Alan Smith: "Two giants, Martin. Both have spent big, both have big expectations, and both are looking to make a statement. United have brought in Di Maria, Herrera, Shaw, and Rojo. City countered with Hazard, De Bruyne, Hummels, and of course, the most talked-about man in football right now, Adriano."
Martin Tyler: "Adriano starts on the bench today, but all eyes will be on him if he comes on. For now, it's Aguero leading the line for City, with Hazard on the left and Salah on the right, and De Bruyne down the middle. United go with Van Persie up front, supported by Di Maria and Mata."
The referee's whistle pierced through the roar of the Etihad, and the game was on. The stadium felt alive—blue shirts swaying, chants rising from every stand. On the other side, a solid block of red filled the away corner, their voices defiant and loud, echoing through enemy territory. The Premier League was back, and this was more than just an opener—it was a battle for Manchester.
In the opening few minutes, both sides played carefully. No wild risks. The midfield was crowded, tackles sharp but controlled. City tried to impose themselves with early possession, pressing high and looking for gaps. United stayed compact, content to sit back and wait for the mistake.
4 minutes in, Juan Mata received a pass in space near the halfway line. As he turned to break forward, Yaya Touré stepped in, strong and deliberate, bringing him down with a firm challenge. The referee immediately blew for the foul.
Di Maria stepped up to take the free kick, curling it into the area from thirty-five yards. It looked dangerous for a moment, but Kompany rose high above everyone else and cleared it cleanly. The home crowd applauded loudly, chanting Kompany's name as he jogged back into position.
In the 9th minute, Eden Hazard and De Bruyne combined sharply down the left. A clever one-two between them split the defense, and Hazard burst into the box. He cut a pass across the six-yard line, looking for Aguero, but Phil Jones slid in with perfect timing.
He got just enough of the ball, and then Hazard's legs, sending both crashing to the ground. City fans shouted for a penalty, arms raised across the stands, but the referee quickly waved it off and motioned for play to continue.
In the 12th minute, City nearly made the first breakthrough. De Bruyne, dropping deep to collect the ball, slipped past Carrick with ease.
Spotting Aguero's run, he threaded a perfect pass between Smalling and Jones. Aguero took a touch and fired low to De Gea's left. The United keeper was sharp, diving quickly and turning the shot away with his right glove.
Martin Tyler (commentary): "What a ball from De Bruyne! Aguero was nearly off the mark early, but that's why De Gea is one of the best in the world! Man City is slowly coming together, with De Bruyne taking the charge in midfield."
United responded a few minutes later. Di Maria picked up a loose ball on the right, faked past Kolarov and sprinted to the byline before cutting it back for Mata.
The Spaniard hit it first time, aiming for the far corner, but Hart had it covered and held on comfortably. Still, it was a warning. United weren't here just to defend.
Things got tense around the 18th minute when Casemiro caught Ander Herrera late in a midfield tussle. The challenge was firm—studs into the shin—but the referee chose to calm it with a verbal warning rather than a card. Both benches stood, shouting across the fourth official, but play resumed quickly.
In the 20th minute, City had scored the opener. A sweeping diagonal ball from Casemiro found Hazard sprinting behind Rafael. He took it in stride, cut inside onto his right foot, and curled the ball into the far corner of the net.
The Etihad erupted—only for the celebration to be cut short. The assistant's flag was raised. Offside.
Alan Smith (commentary): "The flag's up, the goal doesn't count. Hazard just went a half step too early. Still, City are finding the spaces now. United need to watch that left side. Great start from the Belgium star who is playing his first match for Man City."
City's attacking shape grew more confident as the minutes passed. They kept pressing, and United looked stretched.
Around the 27th minute, Kompany intercepted a loose pass and charged into midfield. He found De Bruyne, who slipped it into Aguero inside the box. Aguero turned onto his left foot and shot low through Smalling's legs.
De Gea, once again, reacted perfectly, dropping down to smother the shot. City fans were back on their feet, urging the team on louder with every chance.
But then came the turning point.
In the 30th minute, United struck blood. Di Maria picked up the ball just past the halfway line. He took off at pace, gliding past Fernandinho and accelerating into space.
A quick one-two with Mata opened up the right channel. Without hesitating, Di Maria whipped in a cross toward the far post. Van Persie, unmarked, timed his leap perfectly, rising above Hummels and powering a header into the far corner. Hart stretched—fingertips on the ball—but couldn't stop it.
Goooooaaaallllllll ! Manchester United lead 1-0 at Etihad! What a goal by Robin Van Persie!
Martin Tyler (commentary): "Van Persie with the amazing header! United strike first! And it had to be Di Maria with the assist! The red half of Manchester erupts in celebration."
Red flares burst in the away end as flags waved and fans jumped, shouting Van Persie's name. The City end fell quiet, stunned. Pellegrini stood motionless on the touchline. Hummels threw his arms up in frustration. They'd been caught out.
Alan Smith (commentary): "City were caught ball-watching there. Hummels should've tracked Van Persie better. That's a proper forward's goal—brilliant movement and finish."
City tried to hit back quickly. Within minutes, De Bruyne had another go from the edge of the area, after Salah teed him up. This time it flew well over. Pellegrini paced his technical area, giving clear instructions, but the frustration was visible.
3 minutes later, City had their best chance yet. Hazard drew a foul just outside the box. Rafael had grabbed at his shirt, and the referee finally blew for it.
De Bruyne took the free kick. His curling shot dipped just over the wall, heading for the top corner, but De Gea reacted again, tipping it over the bar. The Etihad crowd groaned. So close.
From the resulting corner, Kompany jumped highest, meeting De Bruyne's delivery, but his header went wide under heavy pressure from Phil Jones.
As the 40th minute approached, United pushed again. Mata collected a loose ball near midfield, skipped past Touré, and found Herrera making a clever diagonal run. The pass split the defense, and Herrera fired low to Hart's right. Hart stretched out full, fingertips just brushing the ball wide of the post.
Martin Tyler (commentary): "Oh, that was close! A world-class save from Hart keeps City alive. United are carving them open on the break."
A few minutes later, another set-piece chance for City. Aguero was brought down just outside the box, and he stood over the ball with De Bruyne. Kevin tapped it sideways, and Aguero blasted it through the wall. The shot deflected off Smalling, taking all the sting out of it, and De Gea caught it easily.
In the final moments before halftime, Fernandinho brought down Di Maria with a late challenge just inside the City half. This time the referee reached for his pocket. A yellow card. No complaints. City were struggling to contain Di Maria's runs, and the frustration was beginning to show.
With just a minute added on, United slowed the pace. Carrick and Herrera passed between themselves, drawing City forward, taking the sting out of the half.
The whistle blew, and boos mixed with applause from the home end. United's away fans were singing loud, voices echoing down from the upper corner. The red flares still lingered in the air.
Near the dugout, Adriano stood watching, arms folded. He'd seen the rhythm, the mismatched timing, the open spaces. Pellegrini turned to him and gave a short nod.
His time was coming.
And when it did, the momentum would shift.
HALF-TIME: Manchester City 0-1 Manchester United
Inside the City locker room, tension hung in the air like smoke. The players sat quietly, sweat cooling on their brows, eyes fixed on the floor or glancing toward the whiteboard. Pellegrini stood calmly before them—not shouting, not panicking.
"We're not out of this," he said, voice even, measured. "We're close. Inches off. But they're giving us space—space in the channels, between their lines. We use that space better, we take control."
He turned to Kevin De Bruyne. "Kevin, I want you dropping deeper in the buildup. Link the play—pull Carrick and Herrera out."
Then he looked to Adriano, standing at the ready, stretching his shoulders in silence.
"Adriano," Pellegrini said, pausing just long enough for the team to look up. "You're coming on for Yaya in a few minutes. Play smart. Find the pockets, pull defenders with you. Make them chase shadows. And protect yourself."
Adriano gave a single nod.
As the teams returned to the pitch, the stadium buzzed loudly with cheers. Then a figure appeared at the touchline, peeling off his jacket, stepping up to the fourth official.
Martin Tyler (Commentator):"Well, here we go again—welcome back, folks! The second half of the Premier League's grand opener: Manchester City versus Manchester United.
The Red Devils lead 1-0 after a Van Persie header in the 30th minute. But now, all eyes are on the touchline... because this is the moment City fans have been waiting for. Even I have been looking forward to this Alan. I want to see the Adriano magic in person."
Alan Smith (Co-commentator):"That's right, Martin. Look at the noise and the chants! Adriano, the €150 million record signing, the World Cup Golden Ball winner, and the man who led his nation to lift the world cup for the first time from the front- and he is Just 18! Even Pele himself called him "Heir to his legacy!"
He's probably gonna be replacing Yaya Touré, and I have to say, Pellegrini's not hesitating. City need a spark, and Adriano—well, he's built for a goddamn wildfire! "
50th minute. The board went up—Touré off, Adriano on.
The Etihad roared. A wave of blue flags and banners surged around the stadium as Adriano jogged onto the pitch, clapping toward the fans. Phones lit up instantly across the stands. Kate stood in the VIP box above the City dugout, hands clasped at her chest, pride written all over her face.
He shared a quick hug with Yaya, who whispered something into his ear—likely a half-joking challenge to "earn the crown." Adriano chuckled and nodded .
The chants were deafening: "ADRIANO!" and "OUR KING!"
Martin Tyler (commentary): "Here he comes! The man of the hour, the most expensive footballer in the world, Adriano Riveiro, is his Premier League debut. A standing wild ovation at the Etihad. Is the beginning of a new era?"
Alan Smith: "You can feel the buzz, Martin. They're calling him the King already—and he hasn't touched the ball yet! Pellegrini's hoping he'll be the spark they need. And as we've seen in both La Liga, and the world cup time and time again. If anyone can do it, he can."
Kate stood in the VIP section, hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted with unbridled pride. He gave her a brief wave, then turned his attention to the game. His eyes hardened. The roar faded in his mind.
He was locked in now.
The crowd was deafening .
Fans were chanting loudly:"The King is finally here! The King is finally here!"
Adriano took his position in the heart of midfield, stationed just behind Aguero. De Bruyne dropped back with a smirk. The tempo shifted almost immediately. United dropped deeper, sensing the shift in energy, while City's passes sharpened, their pressing more urgent.
Martin Tyler:"And already we can see a shift in City's tempo. The players have a new level of confidence now judging from their posture. Adriano is pulling defenders out of position. He's drifting between the lines, and that's dangerous for United.".
Just two minutes after coming on, Adriano got his first chance.
De Bruyne, collecting the ball from Casemiro, spotted him in space and zipped a low pass forward. Adriano cushioned it with one touch, turning smoothly. Carrick stepped up to close him down, but Adriano feinted left and took off to the right—gliding past Luke Shaw in a blur.
Adriano pulled the ball forward, carrying it past Shaw with a silky feint. Rojo stepped up to challenge him, but Adriano calmly angled his body and readied a pass into the box—Aguero making a darting run.
The stadium gasped in unison.
Space opened. Aguero darted between Smalling and Jones, ready to receive. Adriano adjusted his footing to slide the through ball…
But before he could release it, Ashley Young came flying in from the blindside.Shoulder first, barely grazing the ball with his feet.
Adriano was sent sprawling to the turf, thudding into the ground just past the edge of the box.
Martin Tyler: "Ooh! That's a rough welcome to the Premier League! Ashley Young takes Adriano down with a reckless charge!"
Boos erupted across the Etihad, thousands rising to their feet, arms thrown in the air. Kate gasped in the stands, her hands covering her mouth. Pellegrini spun toward the fourth official, pointing furiously.
The referee sprinted over and stood between Adriano and Young after he blew the whistle for foul. He issued a sharp verbal warning—but no card. The City bench exploded in protest.
Alan Smith: "He's lucky not to see yellow. That wasn't a tackle, that was a message. No attempt to play the ball—just a hit job."
Adriano sat up slowly, brushing the turf off his arms, chest heaving with silent anger. Young loomed above him, smirking.
"Welcome to the Premier League, kid," he muttered, voice low and smug. "This is how we play here. Your fancy moves won't work here. "
Adriano met his eyes calmly. "So that's how players with no talent play. Figured as much."
He stood up without waiting for a hand, dusted himself off, and walked away—expression unreadable, boots clicking against the turf. Ahsley Young turned away, jaw clenched and fuming.
Hazard passed by him and asked, " You alright there man?" Adriano nodded and replied, "Looks like I have to show them I'm prepared for their dirty play."
The game had changed. So had the mood.
And Adriano hadn't even started cooking yet.
As the referee placed the ball and backed away, Sergio Aguero walked up to Adriano, who stood quietly over the spot, hands on hips.
Aguero handed him the ball with a small grin. "Make it count, buddy."
Adriano nodded, his expression calm, unreadable. No nerves, no hesitation. Just purpose.
He placed the ball gently, stepped back, and stood still for a moment. The noise faded in his ears. His eyes scanned the wall, then the goal. De Gea stood poised, alert, already anticipating something clever.
Adriano exhaled deeply. His shoulders loosened.
Then—two light steps forward.
His right foot came down with thunderous force.
The ball launched like a missile, rocketing over the wall. It looked destined for the top-right corner—De Gea read the angle, leaped to his left with cat-like reflexes…
But the ball moved as if it was alive.
Midair, it bent violently—unnaturally—on a perfect 180-degree curve, slicing through the air with venom, bending across the face of goal.
De Gea twisted in mid-flight, but he was already beaten.
The ball smashed into the top-left corner—bar down. The net bulged.
A moment of stunned silence swept over the Etihad.
Then the eruption of cheers came.
Roars. Screams. Chanting. Pure chaos.
Fans were jumping, hugging strangers, fists in the air. Flares lit in the far stands. The goal wasn't just beautiful—it was absurd. Kate jumped up in joy and cheered loudly, as she watxhed Adriano looked toward her direction and wink subtlely.
Even Khaldoon Al Mubarak was on his feet in the executive box, applauding with wide eyes and a huge grin. Sheikh Mansour beside him clapped with a huge smile but it didn't diminish his excitemt as he punched the air in joy.
Goooooaaaallll ! Adriano makes it 1-1 for Manchester City! A Debut goal from the Superstar as he shows the critics why he is the most expensive footballer in the world!
Adriano sprinted toward the sideline, arms outstretched. As he neared the corner flag, he slowed, turned, and raised both hands to his ears, as if trying to listen to something.
The crowd responded as one, the chant shaking the stadium to its foundations.
"THE KING IS HERE! THE KING IS HERE!"
Martin Tyler: "Oh my word! That's… that's outrageous! A beautiful free kick that reminded me of Ronaldinho and Roberto Carlos! Adriano Riveiro—remember the name! What a goal, what a moment! Adriano arrives in Premier League with Style. Look at the celebrations!"
Alan Smith: "Is that the fastest debut goal ever? I mean—he's just stepped onto the pitch! First set piece, first shot, and he's already lit the Premier League on fire! He is showing why he is the most expensive player on the world ! Look at the City fans cheering. Well that's a goal worth a million euros, he just needs a 100 more."
On the City bench, players were still shaking their heads in disbelief. Pellegrini allowed himself a rare smile.
Back on the pitch, Adriano stood tall at midfield, high-fiving Hazard and De Bruyne, while United players looked around in stunned silence.
One goal. One moment.
The king had arrived. And he wasn't here to fit in.
He was here to reign.