I sorta finished this story on Patreon already(although cut off about 100 planned chapters), So figured might as well finish it here as well. Just copy pasting from Patreon so no real work.
It's also a test run to see if I should reconsider posting here again.
As for other stories, who knows. I'm currently talking about visual novel adaptation regarding one of them, so let's see.
******
The arrivals hall at Manchester Airport was packed long before the flight from Barcelona even touched down. It was early morning, but that didn't matter. Sky blue shirts, scarves, and homemade banners filled the terminal like a home match atmosphere.
Grown men, wide-eyed kids, and lifelong fans waited behind barriers with chants ready, phones in hand, and hopes to catch a glimpse of the heroes who had made history.
City weren't just returning from a match—they were returning from the match. A 7–0 demolition of FC Barcelona at the Camp Nou wasn't just a victory, it was a cultural moment.
The first-ever trip to the Champions League semi-finals. The night Adriano Riveiro carved his name into European football folklore. The night City didn't just compete—they conquered.
As soon as the players began to emerge into view, the cheer rolled through the terminal like a wave.
"CHAMPIONS OF CATALONIA!" someone shouted, and the whole crowd burst into laughter and applause.
Adriano stepped out wearing a plain hoodie and sunglasses, but there was no hiding him. He was swarmed instantly—phones flashing, people cheering, a few even trying to hand him empanadas someone clearly thought he missed from Spain.
With his trademark calm grin, he signed shirts, took selfies, and exchanged a few fist bumps with fans shouting, "We love you, AR10!"
Nearby, Eden Hazard was joking with a little kid holding a sign that read, "Hazard made Barca cry!" He signed it with a wink and said, "Only a little."
De Bruyne, more reserved but no less friendly, took time with fans, nodding and shaking hands. One supporter jokingly asked, "Kev, when you passing me the milk like you passed to Salah?"
David Silva shared a quick laugh with a group of Spanish-speaking supporters who'd come just to see him. Kane was mobbed near baggage claim, joking, "I didn't even score and I'm getting mobbed? Love this place!"
Even the defenders got love—Hummels and Kimmich posed for group shots, and someone handed Casemiro a City scarf with "MIDFIELD MONSTER" stitched across it. He laughed and accepted it like a trophy.
But despite the fanfare, security gently reminded the squad they needed to rest and recover. The squad gave waves, final photos, and disappeared through the private exit.
****
The taxi pulled away from the curb as Adriano and Kate stepped inside their quiet Manchester home. The city had been electric with noise, flooded with headlines and fan videos celebrating the 7–0 demolition of Barcelona. But here, behind the closed door, everything softened. The lights were low, the air calm.
They dropped their bags by the hallway, kicked off their shoes without a word, and headed into the kitchen. They moved through their evening with a rhythm that came from knowing each other well.
Adriano called takeout and ordered dinner. Kate grabbed plates and reheated everything while humming under her breath. It wasn't glamorous, but it was real. Comfortable.
They shared a light dinner—simple pasta and salad—talking about small, everyday things. Grocery deliveries. A new show Kate had half-watched on the flight back. Adriano mentioned the neighbour's cat sneaking into the garden again. No mention of football. No replays. Just the quiet normalcy they both needed.
They sat down at the small kitchen table, the late-night silence wrapping around them.
"You didn't even touch dessert last night," Kate said, nudging his plate.
Adriano grinned faintly. "Well, I had you."
Kate smacked him on the shoulder, " Down boy! I'm still tried from the flight and celebrations. Flattery won't get you anywhere tonight."
She then added."You just destroyed Barcelona seven-nil, but still looked a little tense. Don't tell me nerves are still a thing."
He looked at her. "It's not nerves. It's... processing."
Kate sipped her water, studying him. "You didn't even mention the match on the way home."
"Everyone else is talking about it already," he said. "Thought it'd be nice if you didn't have to."
Kate gave a small smile. "I don't mind hearing it from you."
Before he could respond, his phone buzzed. A glance at the screen made him smile. "It's my parents. One sec."
He answered and leaned back, putting them on speaker. Rosa's voice burst out instantly.
"Meu Filho! You were unbelievable! Barcelona! Three goals, and those passes! You made them look like schoolboys!"
"Mamá..." Adriano chuckled. "Calm down."
"No, no! Julio, tell him!" she insisted.
Julio's voice came through, steady and amused. "She nearly knocked over the TV when the third one went in."
Adriano laughed. "I told her not to watch it live."
"She watches everything," Julio said. "Don't believe her."
Rosa was still breathless. "Everyone in the neighbourhood's talking. Even Mrs. Diaz said she cried. And she's a Barcelona fan!"
Julio cut in again, more serious now. "You made them regret it. All those people who said you weren't going to make it after La Masia… They saw tonight. If Barcelona had any sense back then, they'd have looked after you. Like they did with Messi."
Adriano's smile faded just slightly. "Maybe. But that's the past."
"And now?" Julio asked.
"Now… I'm coming home after the final. Like I promised."
They chatted for a few more minutes—about his sister's university application, his father's new obsession with sourdough, and how the dog had chewed through another cushion—before saying goodnight. Rosa made him promise again to visit as soon as the season ended.
He hung up, still smiling faintly.
Across the table, Kate was on her own call. Her voice was low and measured.
"I know, Alex. I know the schedule. But listen—can you push the tour just a little?" She paused. "Yeah, I've seen the new calendar. I just need until after the Champions League final."
A moment passed, and Adriano could faintly hear Alex's voice on the other end.
Kate leaned against the counter. "No, it's not press stuff. It's personal." Her voice softened. "I'm not missing the final, Alex. I've been here through it all. He deserves that moment, and I want to be there."
Another pause, then a quiet laugh. "Yes, I'll promote the hell out of the movie. Just… after."
She ended the call, turned, and saw Adriano watching her.
"All good?" he asked.
"Yeah." She walked over and took a seat next to him. "He said he'll try to delay things a week or two."
"You didn't have to do that," Adriano said.
Kate looked at him plainly. "Of course I did."
He reached for her hand. "Thank you."
Kate leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder. "I told you before, I'm staying to watch you lift that trophy."
He wrapped an arm around her, warm and steady. "Now I've got one more reason to win."
She didn't say anything for a moment, just sat there in the quiet, letting the warmth of his words settle. Then she whispered, half-joking, "And you better not screw it up. I've postponed RDJ and Scarlett for this."
Adriano laughed, shaking his head. "Now that's some pressure."
They stayed like that—no noise, no expectations. Just the soft hum of the fridge and the glow of the kitchen lights. The storm of attention outside didn't matter here. Not in this quiet corner of their world.
For tonight, it was just them. And tomorrow, the dream continued.
****
By the next morning, the atmosphere at the City Football Academy shifted from euphoric to professional. The players had been given a full day of rest post-arrival, with massages, cryotherapy, and mandatory sleep schedules. On Day Two, light tactical training resumed.
Pellegrini, during a short talk before the session, kept it balanced.
"We made history. But we haven't won anything yet. Eyes forward. Leicester. Then Burnley. Then we finish what we started against Barcelona."
The players nodded, focused. No speeches were needed now. The belief was in their body language.
On the pitch, Hazard, Salah, and Adriano did light sprints and rondos with Silva and De Bruyne, all wearing GPS vests to monitor workload.
Hummels and Kimmich worked with the defensive unit, reviewing positioning drills and pressing triggers.
Casemiro trained solo on a reduced load, having covered over 8km in one half against Barça.
Zabaleta returned to full training, jogging with energy and sliding into tackles like he never left.
The medical team reported "positive progression" for Kompany and Aguero, both now in light ball work.
Assistant coach Rubén Cousillas told the staff quietly,
"Kompany might even be ready for the second leg. Just in time to face Messi."
Pellegrini nodded.
"That would be poetic."
The Foxes were next—bottom of the table, scrappy, unpredictable. But with a hectic schedule and the return leg against Barcelona looming, rotation was inevitable.
Pellegrini met with his staff in his office that evening.
"Rest Casemiro. Rotate Silva. Start Kane, maybe give Adriano just the first half or bench him completely ."
They agreed. Fitness over flair. Leicester were fighting relegation, but City couldn't afford fatigue.
Team morale? High.
In the dining area, Kane teased Adriano.
"Mate, how does it feel being too famous to go to Tesco?"
Adriano smirked.
"I don't go to Tesco. Tesco comes to me."
Hazard laughed from across the table.
"Careful, bro. You're sounding like Zlatan now."
Even Pellegrini smiled when he overheard. The team was balanced—focused but enjoying the moment.
In the locker room, a whiteboard had been updated:
Upcoming Fixtures:
vs Leicester City (H) – Mar 10
vs Burnley (A) – Mar 14
vs Barcelona (H) – Mar 20
vs West Brom (A) - Mar 24
vs Crystal Palace (A) - Mar 30
A circle had been drawn around the Barca game in red marker.
Above it, someone had written in bold letters:"FINISH THE JOB."
But before that… Leicester. One game at a time.
The City train wasn't slowing down. It was only picking up steam.
****
Matchday 28, Premier League
Manchester City vs Leicester City
Venue: Etihad Stadium
The air around the Etihad Stadium was thick with electricity—not the tense, cautious kind that precedes a title run-in, but the jubilant, chest-thumping kind only a 7–0 win at the Camp Nou could generate. The city of Manchester had been partying for days, and now, with Leicester City the visitors, the Etihad crowd came roaring not just for the match, but for a celebration.
Hours before kickoff, the East Stand was alive. Fans gathered in clusters, flags flapping in the cold March wind. Scarves bearing Adriano's face and the words "CROWN HIM" were everywhere. Songs written overnight had somehow already become terrace anthems. A group of kids passed a homemade banner between them, "KING OF EUROPE – ADR10," while adults posed next to it, arms raised.
The club shop had sold out of Adriano kits before lunch. Inside, the concourses were buzzing—fans shouting down cups of tea and pie, replaying the Barcelona goals on phones and matchday programs. The stadium DJs knew their audience: "Blue Moon" blared alongside Queen's "We Are the Champions," even if it wasn't official—yet.
As the players emerged for warm-ups, the noise swelled like a wave. Pablo Zabaleta, back from injury, received a raucous welcome. Adriano jogged out last, and the crowd erupted. He offered a small wave and a quick thumbs-up. Then, as if on cue, chants broke out:
"Ohhh Adriano! He tore Barça apart, he'll tear you apart too!"
In the gantry, Martin Tyler and Alan Smith leaned over their notes, their voices already live on air.
Martin Tyler :"Welcome back to the Premier League, and welcome to the Etihad, where you can feel the energy still crackling from Wednesday night's unbelievable performance in Barcelona. 7–0. We'll be talking about it for years. But today, it's domestic duties for Manchester City, who host a stubborn Leicester side looking to survive."
Alan Smith :"That's right, Martin. And credit to Pellegrini—he's made changes, but he's not taking this one lightly. The spine of the team remains, but he's rotated cleverly to manage fatigue without compromising control."
Martin:"Let's take a look at that City setup. Joe Hart starts in goal. Zabaleta returns from injury at right-back, Kolarov holds the left, and it's Mangala and Boyata at centre-back. A bit of youth and rotation there."
Alan:"Casemiro just ahead of them as the single pivot. He was monstrous in Spain—seven ball recoveries in one half—and he'll have to be sharp again. Yaya Touré and David Silva ahead of him, giving control and creativity."
Martin:"And then there's the twist—Milner on the right, Scott Sinclair on the left, and Adriano... not as a conventional striker today, but in a false nine role."
Alan:"It's clever. Adriano drops deep, pulling Leicester's centre-backs out of shape. That opens space for the wingers to make diagonal runs, or for Silva and Touré to surge through the middle. It's positional manipulation—City want to unbalance Leicester before they've even touched the ball."
Martin:"And Leicester? Flat 4-5-1. It's what you'd expect. Deep block, try to hit on the break through Jamie Vardy."
Alan:"They'll want to frustrate. Maybe nick something. But this City side? With this crowd behind them? Good luck."
Kick-off approached.
The announcer's voice boomed as the teams lined up in the tunnel:
"Welcome back your Manchester City—fresh from their historic victory in Europe! Now let's bring that same fire to the Premier League!"
The players emerged into a wall of sound. Light blue flares in the South Stand tinted the air.
Adriano led the line—not as a striker, but as an orchestrator. He looked calm, chewing gum, chatting to Silva beside him. Zabaleta, ever the fighter, thumped his chest and pointed skyward before kickoff. Kolarov slapped Mangala on the back and shouted something in Serbian.
In the away dugout, Nigel Pearson stood arms folded, chewing gum furiously. Leicester's players looked up into a stadium that felt more like a coliseum today. Vardy bounced on his heels, focused. But they all knew—they weren't just facing City.
They were facing a team that had just humiliated the greatest club in Europe.
Martin (as players took position):"Here we go then. Matchday 28. Leicester City, desperate for points. Manchester City, riding the crest of the wave. Adriano false nine. Zabaleta back. Silva pulling strings. And the Etihad… full of belief."
Alan:"It's the sort of day, Martin, where anything can happen. But if Leicester thought City would come down off their Barca high, they might be in for a rude awakening."
Martin:"And if the roar around this stadium is anything to go by… City aren't done yet."
The referee blew the whistle. The ball rolled.
And the Etihad sang louder still.
****
The match began under the shadows of two contrasting intentions. Leicester City, as expected, retreated into a low, compact block—tight lines of four and five packed inside their own half. Manchester City, still basking in the afterglow of their Camp Nou heroics, circulated possession with purpose, but not recklessness. The ball moved left to right, right to left, probing, searching, testing Leicester's patience and shape.
Adriano operated differently today—dropping well into midfield, sometimes even behind Silva, dragging both Wes Morgan and Marcin Wasilewski out of their comfort zones. "Let them chase shadows," Pellegrini had said before kickoff, and the young forward was doing just that—gliding between lines, linking play, orchestrating the rhythm with deceptive ease.
Martin Tyler :"Fifteen minutes gone here at the Etihad. Still goalless, but City are in full control of the tempo. Adriano's movement, Alan—it's subtle but disruptive."
Alan Smith :"Very much so, Martin. Leicester are struggling to decide—do the centre-backs follow him into midfield? Or hold the line and risk Silva or Touré bursting through? Either way, gaps are starting to appear."
A minute later, Adriano nearly threaded one through to Sinclair with the outside of his boot, only for Robert Huth—on for Wasilewski early due to a knock—to stretch and deflect it just enough. The Etihad collectively gasped.
Martin:"Oh, that was nearly magical from Adriano. Such vision—he saw the run before Sinclair even started it."
Then came a moment of panic at the other end. In the 20th minute, a long hoof upfield bounced awkwardly for Boyata. Vardy pounced, shrugging off the centre-back and darting toward goal. Hart rushed out, forcing Vardy to take a touch wide. The angle tightened, and the shot blazed into the side netting.
Alan:"Let off for City there. Vardy sniffed that chance out of nowhere. That's what he does—relentless."
Back on the touchline, Pellegrini clapped firmly. "Concentrate, Dedryck! Don't let it bounce!" he barked, waving at Boyata, who nodded, sheepishly.
Then came the breakthrough. The 28th minute. Calm build-up, then sudden incision.
Yaya Touré, stationed in the left half-space, received a pass from Casemiro with Drinkwater tight on his back. With one shrug of the shoulder, Touré rolled him aside and sprayed a laser-guided pass wide to Sinclair. The winger didn't hesitate.
"Watch the overlap!" Zabaleta shouted from the opposite flank, but Sinclair had other ideas. One stepover, two, then a shift inside—leaving Danny Simpson scrambling. He cut in on his right and curled a teasing cross toward the near post.
Adriano had already started his run the moment Sinclair shifted the ball inside. Morgan was caught flat-footed. Huth couldn't close in time. And there, six yards out, the Brazilian met it with a downward header—a picture of precision.
Schmeichel launched himself to his right, but the ball kissed the turf and nestled inside the near post.
MT:"GOOOOOAAAAAAALLLL!! Adriano! The King is at it again! One-nil Manchester City!"
AS:"What a move. Touré to Sinclair, and then Adriano—ghosting in like a seasoned predator. It's the timing, Martin. He knows exactly when to appear between the defenders. Twenty-four goals this season—what a debut campaign he's having."
The Etihad erupted.
Sinclair raced over to the corner flag, but Adriano didn't follow. Instead, he stopped just outside the box, pointed at Sinclair, applauding him before forming a crown above his head with his hands. The South Stand responded instantly with a chant that shook the ground:
"THE KING IS HERE! THE KING IS HERE!"
On the bench, Zabaleta grinned. "That's our lad. Kid's got it all."
Joe Hart jogged forward from his goal and shouted, "Let's keep the intensity! Don't stop now!" while clapping toward the stands.
The game resumed, and City smelled blood.
In the 30th minute, Milner nearly made it two. Touré slipped a ball into the right channel, and Milner, surging inside the fullback, unleashed a rocket toward the near post. Schmeichel parried brilliantly. The rebound fell to Adriano, but he was flagged marginally offside. He slapped the ball in frustration, nodded at the assistant, and jogged back with a thumbs-up to Milner.
Martin:"City are piling on the pressure now. Leicester hanging on. But look at Adriano—so hungry, so involved. Even the offside runs are dangerous."
The next ten minutes were stop-start. Drinkwater picked up a yellow in the 36th for hauling down Silva as the Spaniard weaved past him.
"Come on ref, that's cynical!" Touré barked, as Silva grimaced on the ground, rubbing his ankle.
Moments later, Casemiro crunched Mahrez with a textbook slide tackle, winning ball and body in one motion.
Alan:"Casemiro—such a smart addition. Does the dirty work so cleanly. That's his third crucial interception."
In the 33rd minute, City had another glorious chance.
Kolarov curled a diagonal from deep toward Sinclair, who took it down with a delicate touch, cut inside, and laid it off for Adriano. The Brazilian dummied, letting it run to Silva, who struck it low—but Schmeichel once again got down in time.
The crowd stood to applaud the move. Silva looked skyward in disbelief.
Adriano jogged over to him, patted his back."That was yours, David. Next one goes in, I promise."
Martin:"What a performance from Manchester City. One goal to show for it, but it could have been three. The Etihad fans are loving every minute."
Alan:"Adriano the architect and the finisher. Sinclair resurgent. Touré back to his best. It's a confident, controlled, and clever display so far."
Martin:"And the King has spoken again, Alan. 1–0 for now, but this City side looks like it has much more to say.
Leicester City's response was immediate, almost instinctive. The roar of the Etihad after Adriano's goal still lingered in the air when Jamie Vardy sniffed out an opportunity.
In the 36th minute, Dedryck Boyata misjudged a routine clearance under pressure from Leonardo Ulloa. The ball skidded awkwardly into space. Vardy pounced like a hawk—one touch to steady, the next to sprint away, his boots slicing the turf as he drove toward goal.
Joe Hart was quick off his line, narrowing the angle as the stadium gasped. Vardy struck low and firm with his right foot, but Hart stood strong—his chest taking the full impact of the shot before the ball spun away for a corner.
Martin Tyler: "And a let-off there for Manchester City! Jamie Vardy with the burst, and Dedryck Boyata caught flat-footed. Leicester's best chance so far."
Alan Smith: "That's what Vardy does—he turns half-chances into full-blown panic. Credit to Joe Hart. Stood tall, didn't commit early. But City have been warned."
At the back, Casemiro clapped twice, then gestured sharply with both arms, reorganising the defensive line with purposeful strides. "Eyes on runners!" he barked. Eliaquim Mangala gave Boyata a firm slap on the back and muttered something sharp—more encouragement than scolding.
"Come on, focus. We go again," Adriano called out, already dropping into position.
The resulting corner was cleared well by Mangala, rising above Wasilewski. City regained shape, with Pablo Zabaleta barking encouragement down the flank to James Milner. Despite the brief scare, City's midfield trio—Yaya Touré, Casemiro, and David Silva—controlled the rhythm. Silva glided across the surface with ghost-like elegance, keeping the ball moving with short, clipped passes. Adriano, now in full flow, repeatedly peeled off the back of Wes Morgan, forcing the defenders to track into uncomfortable areas.
A few moments later, in the 40th minute, Sinclair nearly doubled the lead. The move began with Touré, who bullied his way through a half-hearted challenge from Matty James and slipped the ball left to Sinclair in stride.
The winger dropped his shoulder, shifted onto his right, and curled one toward the far corner. It beat Kasper Schmeichel—but not the post. The ball smacked the woodwork and bounced out as groans echoed across the East Stand.
Martin Tyler: "Oh, that would've been a goal to savour! Scott Sinclair—so unlucky. The bend was perfect, but the post has denied him."
Alan Smith: "He's been lively. Took Simpson on again there, and you can see his confidence rising. That right foot isn't just for show."
On the touchline, Manuel Pellegrini remained calm, arms folded, occasionally pointing for adjustments. He turned to his bench and exchanged a few words with Harry Kane, who was resting today. "Warm up second half," Pellegrini said simply.
The last few minutes of the half saw more City pressure. Aleksandar Kolarov swung in two dangerous crosses from the left—both begging to be attacked—but with no true target man in the box, they went untouched. Adriano nodded his appreciation to Kolarov, mouthing, "Next time," and thumping his chest.
In the 44th minute, there was a moment of controversy. Milner played a quick one-two with Silva and darted into the box. He collided with Danny Drinkwater, going down just inside the line. The Etihad rose in appeal.
Martin Tyler: "Was there contact? That's the question!"
Alan Smith: "It looked soft, but Drinkwater stuck a leg out. I've seen those given… but not today."
The referee waved play on, and Drinkwater took the opportunity to clear long. Vardy chased again, but Mangala shepherded the ball out calmly, drawing cheers from the home fans.
As the whistle blew for halftime, the scoreboard still read 1–0 to Manchester City. The players jogged off with a quiet confidence. Zabaleta, back in the side after weeks out, high-fived Silva and Milner as they walked down the tunnel.
"Solid, boys. Solid," Casemiro said, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"I should've had that one," Sinclair muttered as Adriano caught up with him.
Adriano grinned and clapped him on the back. "You hit the post, not the parking lot. It counts for something."
Leicester City's coaching staff were deep in conversation as they headed toward the dressing room. Nigel Pearson had seen enough. Changes were coming.
Indeed, as the teams returned for the second half, Riyad Mahrez was stripped and ready. Pearson brought him on for Dean Hammond, sliding Marc Albrighton into a more advanced role on the right and hoping Mahrez could unlock something with his trickery and passing. The crowd buzzed at the change—not with fear, but anticipation.
Martin Tyler: "And here comes Riyad Mahrez, Alan. This isn't going to be damage control from Nigel Pearson—they're going for it."
Alan Smith: "Smart move. Leicester need a bit more guile. Albrighton gets forward now, and Mahrez can create something from nothing. But they'll also risk more space behind. That plays right into City's hands if Adriano and Silva keep pulling strings."
Manuel Pellegrini made no changes. His instructions in the dressing room had been brief. Keep tempo. Stay compact. Exploit the flanks. And trust Adriano to do the rest.
The Etihad Stadium rumbled back to life as the second half kicked off. Manchester City led by one—but the game was far from over.
****
The second half began under grey skies, and the mood at the Etihad slowly shifted from festive to tense. Manchester City, still carrying the emotional and physical afterglow of their Champions League heroics, showed early signs of fatigue. The midfield, so sharp in the first half, began to lose its edge.
Casemiro's tackles were half a second late, Yaya Touré looked sluggish turning under pressure, and even David Silva, normally a conductor of poise, misread a pass meant for Adriano that trickled harmlessly out for a throw-in.
Around the 55th minute, Esteban Cambiasso went in hard on Silva, catching him late just after a pass. Silva winced, rolling once before staying down, clutching his ankle.
Martin Tyler: "That didn't look good for David Silva… Esteban Cambiasso came through him there."
Alan Smith: "He's up now, but he's moving gingerly. That's a concern for Manchester City—he's the heartbeat of their attack."
Silva signaled that he could continue, waving off the physios, but his movement lost its sharpness. Pellegrini stepped to the edge of the technical area, arms folded, watching closely but hesitated to change—perhaps mindful of preserving rhythm or testing the mettle of his second-string lineup.
Leicester sensed the drop. Riyad Mahrez, now operating with far more confidence on the right, began to demand the ball more. His movement was sharp, and twice in quick succession he skipped past Kolarov, sending dangerous low crosses into the box. One was cut out by Mangala. The other by Casemiro, who threw himself in the path of Ulloa's lurking boot.
In the 69th minute, Leicester's pressure paid off. Mahrez drifted centrally, collecting the ball just outside the box after Touré lost a challenge to Danny Drinkwater. Mahrez jinked past Boyata and took a shot that deflected off Casemiro's shin and looped over for a corner.
The Etihad murmured uneasily.
Mahrez jogged across to the right flag, lifting both arms to signal a near-post delivery. Leicester crowded the box—Wasilewski, Morgan, Ulloa, and Vardy all lurking.
The delivery came in fast and flat, curling toward the near post. City's zonal marking froze for half a second too long. Jamie Vardy darted forward, completely losing Kolarov and sneaking between Mangala's shoulder and Hart's glove. He met the ball with a deft flick of the head, angling it past Hart's near side.
Martin Tyler: "GOAL! Jamie Vardy levels it! 1–1! And just like that, Leicester are back in it!"
Alan Smith: "It's zonal marking again, Martin. You can see the gap—Vardy never should've been allowed that run. It's poor organisation, and Pellegrini won't like what he's seen."
Vardy pumped his fists and sprinted toward the corner, sliding on his knees in front of the traveling Leicester fans as Cambiasso and Albrighton mobbed him. Mahrez arrived late and slapped his back, grinning.
Casemiro stood with his hands on his hips, looking frustrated. "Whose man was that?" he snapped, turning toward Kolarov.
Kolarov shook his head. "I thought Mangala had him!"
"Zonal doesn't mean you just watch him fly by!" Casemiro muttered, dragging his palms down his face.
Adriano jogged back toward the center circle, clapping his hands slowly. "It's fine. We go again," he said calmly, gesturing for composure.
In the stands, a low groan gave way to nervous silence. A few fans began clapping to lift the mood. The blue banners were still waving, but the energy had dipped.
Pellegrini finally turned to his bench and called for Kevin De Bruyne and Hazard to warm up.
Martin Tyler: "The goal has changed the tone inside this stadium. Manchester City's lead, and their momentum, wiped out in one set piece."
Alan Smith: "They've still got time, but you sense Pellegrini needs fresh legs—and perhaps a bit more invention."
On the pitch, Silva limped away from another collision with Drinkwater. Adriano walked beside him.
"You good?" Adriano asked quietly.
Silva grimaced. "Give me a few minutes. Then get Kev."
Pellegrini stood just outside the technical area, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as he watched the fatigue creeping into his midfield. With Silva visibly hobbling and Sinclair fading, the Manchester City manager leaned toward his assistant and murmured instructions. On cue, Eden Hazard and Kevin De Bruyne began stretching along the touchline, preparing to come on in the 72nd minute.
But on the pitch, something shifted.
Adriano, who had dropped deeper and deeper over the past few minutes, suddenly gestured for the ball with authority. His hand sliced through the air. "Yaya, now!" he barked, voice sharp over the Etihad's rising murmur. He'd seen the gap, felt the moment. Yaya Touré didn't hesitate.
In the 76th minute, it began with Casemiro.
The Brazilian bulldozed through a half-hearted Leicester break, intercepting a pass from Danny Drinkwater meant for Marc Albrighton. Casemiro immediately stabbed it forward to Touré, who turned with that slow elegance of his—one big touch, then another, before lifting his head. Adriano had already peeled wide, dragging Wes Morgan with him.
Martin Tyler: "Here come Manchester City again, with intent now. Touré… into Adriano—what can the young man conjure this time?"
Adriano didn't even stop the ball. One touch with the inside of his boot to skip past Drinkwater, then a glance up and a laser-guided, grounded pass cutting diagonally into space just inside the area.
James Milner ghosted into the box from the right.
Two touches—one to settle, one to shoot—before curling the ball low across Kasper Schmeichel into the far corner of the net. It was clinical. Measured. And it brought the Etihad back to life.
Martin Tyler: "Goooooooaaaallll! James Milner! That could be the winner! 2–1 to Manchester City!"
Alan Smith: "That's all about awareness. Adriano's pass splits the defense—Milner still had work to do, but what a composed finish under pressure."
Milner wheeled away, arms wide, but his eyes went straight to Adriano. He pointed at him with both hands, mouthing "That's yours!" before sinking to one knee and punching the turf in celebration.
Adriano didn't chase him—he just nodded, lifting a single hand and pointing to his temple. The Etihad crowd roared.
Fans near the pitch leapt to their feet, scarves swinging above their heads. A banner in the South Stand reading "ALL HAIL THE KING" was raised high. The stadium trembled under the weight of joy and relief.
"Keep it smart now!" Casemiro shouted as the players regrouped. "Nothing stupid."
"Back in control. Talk to each other!" Yaya Touré barked as he pulled the group together briefly before the restart.
Pellegrini wasted no time. In the 78th minute, he signaled for the change. Adriano jogged slowly toward the fourth official, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily. The stadium gave him a standing ovation.
Martin Tyler: "And here comes the change. Adriano, exhausted after another commanding display, makes way. Listen to this…"
The Etihad stood as one. Flags waved, scarves swirled, and chants of "Ohhhh Adrianooo!" echoed around the ground. The young forward lifted both hands and applauded the crowd, then tapped the club crest as he stepped off. Harry Kane replaced him, slotting in as a traditional center forward for the final stretch.
The next few minutes were cagey. Leicester, refusing to die, pushed forward again.
In the 82nd minute, Riyad Mahrez nutmegged Kolarov on the right and whipped in a cross. Leonardo Ulloa met it with a looping header, but Joe Hart adjusted his feet quickly and gathered it with both hands.
Alan Smith: "They've still got a bit of bite in them, Leicester. Mahrez has looked lively since coming on."
Martin Tyler: "But it's Manchester City who look like they're managing this now. Yaya Touré and Casemiro dictating things."
Indeed, the midfield took control. Casemiro became a shield, sweeping up everything Leicester tried. Touré kept the ball ticking over. De Bruyne and Hazard, now on the pitch, provided fresh legs and clever angles.
In the 86th minute, De Bruyne came close to adding a third. Hazard, dancing past Simpson on the left, cut the ball back across the top of the box. De Bruyne met it first-time, a clean strike—but Schmeichel dove full stretch to his right to palm it away.
"Unlucky!" Kane called out, clapping toward De Bruyne. "Next one goes in."
City fans, sensing it might still swing, urged every pass on with louder claps and chants. "Come on City!" rang from every tier. Pellegrini made no more changes. He trusted this group to see it out.
Referee Mark Clattenburg glanced at his watch, then signaled four minutes of added time.
In the 92nd, Leicester had their final push. Marc Albrighton whipped a high cross from deep on the left—Boyata, rising with everything he had, beat Ulloa to it and thumped it clear.
"YESSS!" Casemiro shouted, pumping his fist as the ball cleared the danger.
Hazard chased it downfield, drawing a foul from Mahrez that let City breathe again.
Then came the final whistle.
Martin Tyler: "And that's it! Full time at the Etihad Stadium—Manchester City 2, Leicester City 1. Another narrow win, another vital three points, and another page in this incredible season's story."
Alan Smith: "They made it hard for themselves, Martin. But once again, Adriano delivers when it matters. That's what makes champions. They just find a way."
The scoreboard read :Manchester City 2 – 1 Leicester City
Goals: Adriano (28'), Milner (76') – Vardy (69')
As the players shook hands, the Etihad remained electric. Fans stayed long after full-time, waving scarves, singing Milner's name, chanting "Adriano" with that now-familiar rhythm. Pellegrini clapped the fans in all four corners before retreating down the tunnel.
City now sat on 75 points from 28 matches. Twenty-four wins, three draws, one loss. Eleven points clear of Chelsea. And with ten matches to go, it wasn't just about form anymore. It was destiny.
From Europe to England, Manchester City were a force rewriting the landscape of football.
And the fans—every last one of them—knew it.
****
Current Stats of Adriano:
Premier League
Matches: 21
Goals: 28
Assists: 20
Current top scorer of the Premier League, and top on the assists list.
*
Champions League
Matches: 9
Goals: 21
Assists: 8
Current top scorer and top on Assists list.
*
FA Cup
Matches: 1
Goals: 2
Assists: 2