*** Just created my discord server. Feel free to join there, although I haven't been active there much. I don't even know how to use it properly xD
It's on auto moderation until I get the hang of it lol, so you'll have to wait 5 minutes after joining before messaging. I'll need some of ya'lls help to maintain it later, cz I don't want to check every little thing. Check the link below , remove spaces
https:// discord.gg/ n5ADcKzX
I'll set up the Patreon next weekend, and then I'll be outta here. I know someone specific who will be happy and relieved about it lol .
My gramps used to say, "never plant a flower in shithole, It won't brighten the shithole, rather destroy the flower." Nice bit of wisdom I ignored before it bit me in the ass đź’€
***
The fluorescent lights of the Etihad Campus training ground buzzed overhead, casting a pale glow over the synthetic turf. The air inside the indoor pitch was cool, recycled, and dry. A few shouts echoed as passing drills were conducted. But the sharpness that usually followed a big win was missing.
Manchester City had demolished Stoke 4-0 just days earlier. The scoreline was dominant. The football, even more so. But the atmosphere now told a different story.
The tension was everywhere.
It was in the dressing room before training — in the way Milner kept to one corner, lacing his boots in silence, and in how Navas walked out before the others, headphones on, avoiding any glance in Adriano's direction.
The win had revealed fractures in the squad that had been forming for weeks. The old guard — players who had won the Premier League under Mancini and Pellegrini — now saw their places under threat.
And the threat had a name:Â Adriano Riveiro.
He had changed the dynamic of this team in less than a month. The way the game flowed when he was on the pitch, the way the younger players leaned into his movements, the way the tactics now revolved around his creativity — it had created a silent rift. Some adapted. Others resisted.
Pellegrini noticed it too. He tried to reach out to the players individually in hopes of reconciliation, but it was not working. During the warm-ups, he watched as Kane, Hazard, De Bruyne, and Salah worked in rhythm, flicking passes and switching with fluidity.
Meanwhile, Navas and Negredo's triangle lacked pace, lacking belief. The ball clung to feet longer. Instructions were mumbled rather than spoken with clarity.
After the first session, Pellegrini pulled Adriano aside.
"Walk with me."
They moved along the sideline, away from the pitch, their boots crunching against the gravel path that lined the training area.
"You've seen it," the manager said quietly.
Adriano didn't need to ask what he meant.
"Yeah. They're holding back. Not all of them — but some."
Pellegrini paused, hands in his jacket pockets. "They see what's coming. The system is shifting. It doesn't favor them anymore. I've tried to explain my strategies to them, to make them understand they will still get enough play time in domestic cups and league matches during busy schedules. But they don't want reconciliation"
"They've had their run, They need to accept they are growing older and their style doesn't fit our new strategy." Adriano said with a helpless shrug. "Boss, if we don't move forward, we fall behind. Arsenal and Chelsea won't wait for us to sort out our feelings."
Pellegrini glanced at him, eyes firm. "I'll handle it. You focus on the pitch. As long as you win, there will be no room for doubts."
Adriano nodded, but he already knew the conversation wasn't over.
***
That night, Adriano didn't review match film. He didn't work with the analysts or study Arsenal's weaknesses. He spent it with his parents.
They were flying back to Portugal the next morning, and it was their last full day together. He took them through Manchester's quiet streets — not to show off, but just to be present. They walked slowly through Piccadilly Gardens. His mother's hand wrapped around his. His father kept pace, a quiet presence, observant as always.
Lunch was simple. A small Portuguese cafe near the Northern Quarter. Chouriço sandwiches, black coffee, and pastéis de nata for dessert. No cameras. No fans. Just family.
His mother held his hand a little longer when they walked.
She asked simple questions about the club, the city, his health. She didn't know tactics or transfers — but she knew her son. She saw the heaviness on his face.
At the airport the next morning, the final words stayed with him.
His father stood tall, pulling Adriano into a firm embrace before stepping back. His voice was low and steady.
"You're doing well. But not everyone will be happy about it. Don't let your talent isolate you. And never forget — your roots matter more than the roar of a stadium or stacks of money."
His mother kissed him gently on the forehead. "Stay grounded, Adri. No matter how high you fly."
Adriano watched them disappear into the crowd. Only then did he let the weight settle — the quiet sense that everything was shifting.
***
Monday's session began with video work.
The team sat in a darkened room, clips playing on the projector. Arsenal's high press. Their tendencies in midfield. Wilshere drifting wide. Ramsey holding too deep. Adriano sat forward in his chair, focused.
At one moment, the analyst paused a clip — Arsenal playing out against Spurs. Mertesacker caught too far up the field.
"Pause," Pellegrini said.
The analyst froze the frame.
"This space," Pellegrini said, pointing at the pocket behind Wilshere and in front of the back line. "That's where we kill them. Kevin runs the inside channel. Adriano draw Ramsey and Wilshere . Kane drops in. Salah stays wide to stretch. Simple triangles, clean execution."
After the session, Kane approached Adriano.
"You're changing this place, man" Kane added.
"Not alone," Adriano replied. "But yeah. It needs some changing if we want to keep winning."
That afternoon, Pellegrini sat in his office with Ruben Cousillas and Xabier Mancisidor.
"We can't keep ignoring this," Pellegrini said. "Negredo. Navas. Even Milner — they're not on board."
"They've been here too long," Cousillas added. "They're used to being the center of everything. Now they're not. They are dividing the locker room and and it will only get worse."
"What do you want to do?" Mancisidor asked.
Pellegrini hesitated. Then he picked up his phone and called Khaldoon Al Mubarak.
"Chairman," Pellegrini said. "It's time we made a decision. I have tried to solve it, but it seems it's no use."
He explained the problem — the division in the squad, the players resisting the new direction, the growing influence of Adriano as the new core, and how the veterans resented it. There was no hesitation on the other end.
"Unload them in January," Al Mubarak said. "This is the future. Back Adriano's vision. We won't allow a few former stars to poison this locker room."
Pellegrini hung up. His face was calm. The message was clear. There was no chance for reconciliation.
Later that night, Adriano's phone buzzed.
A message from Pellegrini:Â "Send that list whenever you're ready. I have also selected a few options."
He was already working on it — players across Europe who fit the mold. Hungry, intelligent, unselfish. Names like Riyad Mahrez, Joshua Kimmich, Marco Asensio. Not to mention they had multiple players loaned to Malaga, they can choose to bring hack some of them after the season or winter break if things get urgent.
Not all were stars — not yet. But they would be. He wanted a team that would grow together. A group that didn't care about ego — just football.
***
3 Days Later – Emirates Stadium, North London
The Manchester City squad arrived in North London just after 11:00 a.m. The air was cold and damp, the sky covered in thick gray clouds. Inside the team bus, the mood was quiet but focused. The players were used to traveling into hostile territory, but this one had a different edge.
As the bus turned onto Hornsey Road, the Emirates Stadium came into full view. Towering over the surrounding buildings, it looked imposing—its steel red shell glinting faintly through the morning mist. Even at this hour, fans were already gathering around the stadium, voices echoing, flags waving.
Arsenal scarves swung over shoulders, some held tightly by fans gripping coffee cups and talking nervously about the match.
Inside the bus, the City players watched in silence. Adriano sat near the middle, his eyes fixed on the passing fans. His headphones were around his neck, but he wasn't playing any music. He was just watching. Thinking.
Next to him, Kevin De Bruyne leaned forward in his seat, scrolling through tactical notes on a tablet. Casemiro was across the aisle, arms crossed, head leaned back, going over his own responsibilities in his mind.
Hazard quietly muttered something to Salah—something about the pitch, the weather, maybe nothing at all. They laughed once. That was the only noise that broke through the thick tension.
As the bus pulled into the underground garage, the players started gathering their things—boots, match-day kits, custom water bottles. The equipment team moved quickly, unloading gear while the coaching staff readied for final briefings.
Pellegrini stood up at the front, waited for silence, and said only, "Let's get to work." The message didn't need more words.
The Man City players entered the Emirates through the tunnel, guided by stewards. On the way to the away dressing room, a few home supporters leaned over the railing, shouting down at them.
"Overrated money squad!"
"You'll never have our class!"
"Welcome to real football!"
Zabaleta didn't flinch. Joe Hart kept his eyes forward. Adriano didn't even acknowledge the noise.
Inside the away dressing room, the players went through their usual preparations. Jerseys were hung. Boots were laid out in rows. The physio staff moved between players, strapping ankles and massaging legs. Music played low from the corner, but it was background noise—just something to fill the silence.
Pellegrini waited until everyone was seated. Then he stepped to the front and began.
"We've started this season well. Results have been strong, chemistry is building—but this is a different kind of game."
He looked around the room. Adriano met his gaze. Hummels nodded slightly. De Bruyne sat upright.
"They haven't lost yet, but they're vulnerable. They scraped past Palace, then drew with Everton and Leicester. They haven't found their rhythm. The press is on their back. Wenger's under pressure. The fans are edgy."
Pellegrini walked slowly across the room as he spoke, voice calm but firm.
"This stadium is proud. But it's quiet when it doubts. They're waiting to turn. That's our opportunity. You give them a reason to doubt, and the crowd won't help them—they'll suffocate them."
He turned toward Casemiro.
"Carlos, you know what you have to do. They'll look to Wilshere and Arteta to set the tone early. Break up everything. Don't let them settle."
Casemiro nodded without hesitation.
Pellegrini then looked at Kevin.
"Kevin, link quick. Find Adriano early. The faster you move it, the harder it is for them to organize."
Finally, he turned to Adriano.
"You're going to be the center of their plan. Arteta and Mertesacker will stay tight. Wilshere will shadow you. They want to frustrate you. But you've got to dictate."
The room was silent.
"Keep moving. Drag them around. If you get space, you punish them. You've done it before. This is where you lead without shouting. You lead by control."
Adriano didn't say anything. He just gave a slight nod, then let out a breath. Controlled. Focused.
Pellegrini stepped back and picked up the tactics board. He gestured to the back four.
"With Vincent out, we adjust. Mats, Eliaquim—you two control the line. Talk constantly. Zaba, Kolarov—you'll have to cover wide against Alexis and Walcott. Be ready."
Salah and Hazard were tying their laces. Aguero was stretching. Hummels adjusted the tape on his wrist. No one was wasting energy. Everyone was locked in.
Pellegrini wrapped it up.
"They'll try to control the tempo early. Let them have the ball where it doesn't hurt us. But the moment we recover, we move—fast, sharp, direct."
He paused for a moment.
"This game isn't about flair. It's about pressure. You apply it from the first minute, and you don't let up."
The group walked toward the tunnel, boots clacking on concrete. The closer they got, the louder the stadium became. The sound of 60,000 fans. Arsenal supporters waving scarves, chanting, singing.
From their corner of the dressing room, a low chant from City's traveling fans could already be heard.
"Come on City! Come on City!"
Inside the Emirates, fans were split between belief and concern. Many were still unsettled by the previous draws. Some were murmuring about Ă–zil's form, others about Wenger's decisions. One supporter near the press box was overheard saying, "We lose today and this place turns."
Wenger's team talk in the opposite dressing room had likely carried its own urgency. But the sense outside was clear—Arsenal needed this win. Badly.
Up in the stands, commentators noted the atmosphere.
"Arsenal haven't exactly lit it up to start the season," said Martin Tyler. "But this is a huge test for City. The Emirates can be a tough place—if Arsenal get the fans behind them early."
"But that's the key," Alan Smith replied. "If City score first, this stadium gets very quiet, very quickly."
Starting Lineups:
ManchesterCity:
Goalkeeper: Joe Hart
Defenders: Pablo Zabaleta, Eliaquim Mangala, Mats Hummels, Aleksandar Kolarov
Midfielders: Kevin De Bruyne, Casemiro, Adriano (attacking mid)
Wingers: Eden Hazard, Mohamed Salah
Striker: Sergio Agüero​
Arsenal:
Goalkeeper: Wojciech Szczęsny
Defenders: HĂ©ctor BellerĂn, Per Mertesacker, Mikel Arteta, Kieran Gibbs
Midfielders: Jack Wilshere, Aaron Ramsey, Mesut Ă–zil
Wingers: Alexis Sánchez, Theo Walcott
Striker: Olivier Giroud
The stadium buzzed with anticipation. Arsenal fans, hopeful for a turnaround, filled the air with chants. City supporters, though fewer in number, made their presence felt.
Flags waved. Drums pounded. The chant of "Come on, you Gunners!" filled the air. Arsenal fans were desperate to see fire in their team's eyes.
Martin Tyler's voice greeted the millions tuning in.
"Welcome to the 4th round of Premier League. It's a big one here in North London. Manchester City, flying high, take on a wounded Arsenal side desperate to get their campaign on track."
Alan Smith added, "And with the talent on that pitch—Adriano, Aguero, Hazard, Sanchez—it's going to be a cracker, Martin. I'm predicting some goals today."
The whistle blew. The game was on.
***
From the first whistle, Manchester City set the tone. They pressed high up the pitch, with Casemiro acting as the engine at the heart of midfield. Arsenal tried to settle into a rhythm, but the intensity of City's press left them no space.
Every time the ball entered Arsenal's half, Casemiro was there—sliding in, intercepting, breaking up passing lanes.
In the early minutes, Arsenal looked surprised by City's aggression. Wilshere was forced to drop deep, and Ă–zil couldn't find any pockets of space between the lines. The home crowd, expecting a composed start, grew restless with each misplaced pass.
Then came the breakthrough in the 7th minute.
Zabaleta, tight on the touchline, received a ball from De Bruyne and quickly returned it. The Belgian peeled away, creating space. Zabaleta used that split-second to spot Salah darting down the right wing. The pass was crisp, threading the line perfectly.
Salah took one touch to control and then accelerated past Monreal, who struggled to turn. Without hesitation, Salah whipped in a low, curling cross into the six-yard box.
Hazard timed his run to perfection. He slipped between Chambers and Debuchy, just a yard ahead of either. The ball met his left foot in stride.
A soft tap.
The ball slid across Szczęsny and into the far corner.
Gooooaaalllll! 1-0 for Manchester City. It's Eden Hazard!
Martin Tyler (commentary):
"And it's Eden Hazard! A simple finish, but devastating execution! A textbook move from Manchester City—just seven minutes in, and they take the lead!"
Alan Smith:
"You have to say, Arsenal were caught flat-footed. Salah's ball was outstanding, and Hazard didn't need to break stride. That's clinical."
The away fans erupted. Packed into the corner of the Emirates, their blue and white scarves went up, their chants slicing through the stunned silence that had fallen over the rest of the stadium.
Arsenal restarted with urgency, but they looked rattled. Wilshere tried to get on the ball more, combining with Ă–zil in midfield. They moved the ball side to side, looking for gaps, but City's shape was compact.
Casemiro shadowed Wilshere, forcing him into lateral passes. De Bruyne tracked Ă–zil. Every Arsenal player who received the ball had a shadow within a second.
In the 17th minute, Arsenal had their first chance. A quick switch from Alexis Sanchez to Oxlade-Chamberlain gave the winger a rare yard of space. He drove down the right and whipped in a cross. Giroud met it with a strong header, but Joe Hart reacted well, diving low to his right to palm it away.
Martin Tyler:
"That's a fine save from Hart! Strong hands, and City survive their first real scare."
City responded with control. Adriano dropped deeper to pick up the ball, dragging Arteta with him. His touch was sharp, always looking to play forward. Hazard and Salah stretched the width, keeping Arsenal's fullbacks pinned.
In the 25th minute, Aguero nearly made it two. De Bruyne clipped a ball over the top. Aguero, onside, raced onto it. He chested it down and struck a volley first time, but it bounced just wide of the far post.
The Emirates groaned. Pellegrini clapped calmly from the technical area, but his message was clear: keep pushing.
Then came the 29th minute.
Arsenal tried to play out from the back. Mertesacker rolled it into midfield toward Ramsey, but Casemiro was alert. He stepped forward and poked the ball away cleanly.
Before the crowd could even react, Casemiro turned and fired a pass forward.
Adriano dribbled past Arteta, drifting into a soft gap between Gibbs and Wilshere. He let the pass run across his body, baiting Gibbs to commit.
Then, with a subtle stepover, he shifted direction—leaving him flat-footed. Mertesacker stepped across to cover, but he was too slow.
Adriano took two more touches into the box. Szczęsny rushed out.
Without hesitation, Adriano opened up his body and placed the ball low into the far corner.
Gooooaaalllll! 2-0 for Manchester City! Adriano continues his scoring streak !
Martin Tyler:
"Oh my word! Adrianoooo—brilliant, clinical, and composed! He's just carved Arsenal open with a moment of magic!"
Alan Smith:
"That's top-class from the young man. The awareness, the footwork, and then the finish—cool as you like. But Arsenal's midfield just disappeared. You can't give someone like Adriano that kind of space."
The away fans went into a frenzy. Chants of "Adriano! The King!" echoed across the stadium. Adriano didn't celebrate with much theatrics. He pointed towards the away fans, muttered 'Thank you' , and jogged back toward the center circle amidst the cheers from his teammates.
The home crowd began to murmur. Some booed. Others turned toward the dugout, already questioning Wenger. The Emirates was no longer tense—it was agitated.
Arsenal kicked off again, but their urgency turned to sloppiness. Wilshere was booked two minutes later for a late challenge on Casemiro—pure frustration. The referee, Michael Oliver, stepped in quickly to calm tempers.
In the 35th minute, Arsenal had their best chance of the half. A rare break saw Özil finally free on the left side. He spotted Giroud's near-post run and delivered a driven low cross. Giroud connected with a clever flick—but the ball skimmed just past the post.
Martin Tyler:
"It's just wide! A clever attempt from Giroud, but it's still not enough to beat this City wall."
Alan Smith:
"Arsenal are trying, but there's no control in midfield. Every time they look up, there's a blue shirt pressing. City are playing like a unit."
Pellegrini stayed on his feet, signaling for calm. He motioned to Casemiro and De Bruyne to stay compact. Hazard tracked back on Oxlade-Chamberlain. Salah, even with his pace, helped Zabaleta defensively.
In the 41st minute, City nearly added a third. A quick transition saw Adriano flick a pass into Aguero's path. The Argentine twisted past Koscielny and hit a powerful low shot toward the near post. Szczęsny got down well to block it.
The save drew brief applause from the home fans—but it didn't change the tone.
Alan Smith:
"That could've been game over, Martin. Arsenal are holding on here."
As the half neared its end, the crowd grew quieter. City continued to press, keeping Arsenal penned in their own half. Pellegrini shouted one final instruction before the break:
"Keep the tempo! Kill them before half-time!"
As the first half wore on, Manchester City maintained total control. Adriano, confident and assured, began to operate deeper between the lines.
Each time he dropped into midfield, he pulled Jack Wilshere and Mikel Arteta out of shape, dragging them away from their zones and creating gaps behind. City exploited those spaces repeatedly, switching play through De Bruyne and Hazard, pinning Arsenal back in their own half.
Then came the 42nd minute.
Adriano received the ball near the halfway line and turned sharply, accelerating forward. Wilshere and Arteta tried to close him down, but a quick shift in pace left both behind. Adriano glided past them and cut toward the left side of the pitch. Mertesacker stepped up to contain him, but Adriano didn't force the dribble. Instead, he paused, drew the defender in, and lifted a delicate chipped pass across the face of goal.
The pass hung perfectly in the air.
Aguero, already on the move, separated from Bellerin with a darting diagonal run. Without letting the ball touch the ground, he met it clean on the volley.
Right foot. Straight through Szczęsny.
The ball smashed Into the net.
Gooooaaalllll! 3-0 for Manchester City! Aguero joins in on the fun!
Martin Tyler:
"AGUEROOOO! That's 3–0! Aguero with a clinical finish. Arsenal are in pieces, and Manchester City are in complete control at the Emirates."
Alan Smith:
"That is top-level football. Adriano's decision-making under pressure is outstanding. And Aguero—he never stops moving. That connection, that understanding… it's too much for Arsenal's defense to handle."
The goal celebration was simple but powerful. Adriano jogged over to Aguero and bumped fists. Aguero smirked and said something into his teammate's ear.
"That one was a gift," he muttered.
Adriano nodded. "Keep running. I'll keep feeding."
The away fans were on their feet again, their voices rising louder with each pass. Chants of "City! City!" echoed across the stadium. Blue flags waved.
Arsenal fans, stunned and frustrated, started heading for the exits early. The camera panned to Arsène Wenger on the touchline—arms crossed, face expressionless, locked in silence.
But just before the half time, Arsenal finally found a spark.
In the 44th minute, Alexis Sanchez took matters into his own hands. He picked up the ball near the left touchline and drove forward with urgency. Zabaleta stepped in to challenge, but Sanchez pushed the ball past him and kept running. As he reached the edge of the penalty area, he whipped in a fast, curling cross.
Theo Walcott was already in motion.
He timed his run between Mangala and Kolarov, rose high, and met the cross with a clean header. The ball flew into the top corner, past Hart before he could react.
Gooooaaalllll! 3-1 . Arsenal have put one back, and Theo Walcott with the goal!
Martin Tyler:
"And that's something for the home crowd! Walcott pulls one back just before the interval! A glimmer of hope for the Gunners!"
Alan Smith:
"That's the response Wenger needed. Sanchez showed determination there, and Walcott did the rest. It won't erase the damage, but it changes the tone going into halftime. City's defense switched off for a moment, and they paid for it."
The goal didn't ignite the crowd, but it stopped the bleeding. A few Arsenal fans stood and applauded. Others murmured with guarded relief. There were no wild celebrations—just a flicker of encouragement.
Walcott pointed to the badge and shouted toward the bench. Sanchez clapped and barked instructions. It wasn't much, but it was something.
The whistle blew moments later.
Halftime – Emirates Stadium: Manchester City 3 - 1 Arsenal
***
The halftime whistle had barely left the referee's lips when the Emirates erupted—not in celebration, but in a mix of scattered boos, low murmurs, and disbelief. A few Arsenal fans were already heading toward the concourse, heads down, trying to process the collapse they'd just witnessed.
Others stood rooted in their seats, arms crossed, hoping for some sign of resilience after Theo Walcott's late goal had given them a sliver of hope.
The Manchester City supporters, packed into the northeast corner, stayed on their feet, scarves in the air. Their voices rose in unison as they chanted Adriano's name and roared approval for a first-half masterclass.
From the moment Eden Hazard scored in the seventh minute, City had been in complete control—fluid in possession, ruthless on the counter, and solid defensively.
In the commentary booth high above the pitch, Martin Tyler leaned back, taking a breath as the camera panned across both dugouts.
Martin Tyler:
"That first half was a statement from Manchester City. Three goals, three moments of precision, and one man—Adriano—who's been at the heart of everything. Arsenal looked rattled. There was some response from Sanchez and Walcott late on, but City were simply on another level."
Alan Smith:
"Absolutely, Martin. Pellegrini's side came in with a plan and executed it with discipline and sharpness. The midfield battle has been one-sided—Casemiro has dominated. And Adriano... his awareness and decision-making are unbelievable for someone so young. Arsenal have to change something drastically or this could get worse."
As the players left the pitch, the contrast was clear.
City's squad walked together—heads up, focused, a few of them exchanging quiet words. Adriano, flanked by Hazard and De Bruyne, looked straight ahead, face blank. There was no celebration, no sign of overconfidence. It was business.
Arsenal's players, in contrast, shuffled off in silence. Mertesacker barked at Chambers and Debuchy. Arteta rubbed his face with both hands. Wilshere was shaking his head as he walked beside Ă–zil. Sanchez, visibly frustrated, shouted something in Spanish to Koscielny. They all knew this wasn't just a match. It was a test of character, and so far, they were failing it.
Manchester City Dresssing room :
The door closed behind them, and the players filtered in, removing their shirts, grabbing water bottles, some staying on their feet to keep warm. There wasn't any wild celebration. Just deep breathing, focus, and quiet professionalism.
Pellegrini stood in front of the whiteboard, marker in hand. His voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp and deliberate.
"We are not done. You saw what that goal did to them," he began, gesturing to the tactical map. "They believe again. And belief is dangerous when we lose control."
He paused, letting that sink in before continuing.
"Do not retreat. Do not slow down. They will throw numbers forward now. We stay compact. We press in waves. And we counter with precision."
His eyes moved across the room. He pointed to Hazard and Salah.
"Wingers—when they push their fullbacks forward, you stay high. Make them think twice. Stretch the pitch."
Then he looked to Adriano and De Bruyne.
"You two control the rhythm. Don't let them dictate the tempo. If they press, we go over them. If they sit, we pass around them. Think. Always think."
Finally, he turned to the bench, specifically David Silva and Harry Kane, who had both been warming up during the first half.
"Be ready. You're coming in soon. Silva—find the pockets. Move them with your movement. Kane—press their back line. They're shaky. Desperate. And desperate teams make mistakes."
Silva nodded calmly. Kane cracked his knuckles and kept bouncing on his toes.
On the bench, Joe Hart sipped water, glancing at the match stats on the tablet screen. City had dominated possession, passed at over 90% accuracy, and won 70% of their midfield duels.
Adriano remained seated, wiping sweat from his brow. He hadn't spoken during Pellegrini's instructions. He was calm, but locked in. Focused. He took a sip of water, then looked up and found De Bruyne across the room, pulling up his socks.
"Let's finish this," Adriano said, his voice even.
Kevin nodded, without hesitation. "Yeah, Let's kill it early."
Meanwhile – Arsenal Dressing Room
In stark contrast, Arsenal's dressing room was quiet. Wenger stood at the front, arms folded. He stared at his players for a few seconds before speaking.
"You are better than this," he said. "But if you do not believe it, you will not show it."
He pointed to Sanchez. "He fought. Where is the rest of that fight?"
Wilshere, still catching his breath, responded. "They're closing everything. We can't get any space."
Wenger nodded. "Then make space. Move more. Stop waiting. React quicker."
To Ă–zil and Arteta, he added: "We must support the press with more bodies. If you can't win the ball, we won't get back into this."
He then looked around the room. "You scored once. Now fight to score again."
But it felt more like hope than conviction. The energy was thin.
***
he fourth official signaled for the players to return. City's players walked out first, calm and sharp. Arsenal followed a moment later. There was no roar—just a low hum of anticipation and tension from the stands.
The City end was loud again.
City Fans:
"3–1 and you still don't sing!"
"Adriano! Adriano!"
"Blue moon, you saw me standing alone..."
In the commentary booth, Martin Tyler looked over the pitch as the teams took their positions.
Martin Tyler:
"They've got 45 minutes to find a miracle, Alan."
Alan Smith:
"And if they don't score early, it could be curtains. City look like a machine out there. Calm, composed, efficient. Let's see how they respond now."
Down on the pitch, the referee blew his whistle. The second half had begun.