*** Join my Patreon for Advance Chapters , I'll probably no longer post this story here based on the poor response I've seen in last few weeks. Honestly, not surprised, just disappointed. I thought good stuff will be recognized, but I was wrong lol
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I have noticed the there's basically a few people regularly voting to keep it alive. So I guess it's not worth reading anymore or something for most folks. It's no longer in rankings anymore.
If that's the case, I'll just focus all my time and energy in Patreon, and upload there for the loyal readers still supporting this. I have uploaded regularly there and will do so.
I originally planned to keep posting regularly here while advance chapters are on Patreon. But now, I'm no longer sure.
Take care and enjoy your life. It was good while it lasted
***
The Manchester City dressing room after the 3-0 win over Tottenham was quiet—but it was not hollow.It wasn't the wild, euphoric chaos that sometimes followed big wins or last-minute goals.There was no thumping bassline from someone's speaker, no players clowning around or soaking each other with water bottles.
Instead, the room pulsed with something more substantial: relief, quiet pride, and a recognition of something important having shifted.
Players sat at their lockers, some peeling off sweat-soaked shirts, others carefully stretching out tired muscles.The air smelled of damp turf and liniment, of a job completed the hard way.
Adriano sat slumped slightly in front of his open locker, unlacing his boots with methodical, almost mechanical motions.His shirt was off, his body still dripping with the residue of exertion, sweat trickling slowly down his spine.
Across the way, De Bruyne caught his eye and tossed him a towel with a flick of the wrist.
"You shut them up today," Kevin said, not with a shout, but with an understated, almost brotherly tone.
Adriano caught the towel, ran it over his face, then looked up with a tired smirk."Maybe," he said, voice low.
From a few lockers down, David Silva—always quietly perceptive—cut in without looking up from taping his ankles."No 'maybe' about it," Silva said. "You led from the front. They saw it. The fans saw it."
Adriano didn't reply immediately, but there was a flicker in his eyes—an acknowledgment that went deeper than words.
Vincent Kompany, the captain, made his way over, still half in his kit, sweat glistening on his shaved head.He didn't say much, but the gesture—a firm pat on the shoulder—spoke volumes.
"Things shifted tonight," Kompany said simply, his voice carrying a calm authority. "You'll feel it."
Adriano nodded, his expression unreadable.He appreciated it. He needed it, even if he didn't show it fully.
The past week had been a storm—between carrying the weight of expectation on the pitch and dealing with murmurings of discontent off it.The silence from certain senior players hadn't gone unnoticed. The press whispering about rifts.Even inside the walls of the club, there had been a feeling that Adriano was being tested, judged, measured.
Tonight, though—on the pitch, in the stands, even here in the dressing room—something had cracked, shifted.
Pellegrini stepped into the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back.His look was stern, but there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
"Good," he said simply, his Spanish accent thicker than usual. "That was good. Professional. Disciplined. Focused."
He let the words hang there.
"We move forward. Rest, recover, and we prepare for Bayern."
The players murmured their acknowledgment, a low rumble moving around the room.One by one, they began peeling off their kits, heading for showers, ice baths, and post-match routines.
***
Post-Match Press Conference
The media room was packed.Journalists crammed into tight rows of seats, the overhead lights buzzing slightly. Cameras whirred softly in the background.The smell of coffee and impatience lingered in the air.
Pellegrini arrived first, settling into the chair at the front with his usual stoic calmness.He adjusted the microphone slightly, waited for the nod from the club media officer, and then the questions began.
A reporter from The Guardian spoke first.
"Manuel, congratulations on the result. Were you pleased not just with the performance, but with how the players handled the... external noise this week?"
Pellegrini gave a small smile.
"I am always pleased when my team plays with intelligence and control," he said. "There was a lot of talk this week. Maybe too much. But tonight, we focused on football. That is where we must always focus."
Another hand shot up—this time from Sky Sports.
"There seemed to be a clear shift in the atmosphere around Adriano tonight. Was that important for him? For the team?"
Pellegrini leaned forward slightly, choosing his words with care.
"Adriano is a young man, but also a strong one. Pressure is part of playing at Manchester City. Criticism is part of playing here.But the team supports him. The club supports him. And tonight, the fans showed they support him too."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room.
A third question, from a local Manchester paper:
"Was there any special message to the team at halftime? Spurs looked like they collapsed into a defensive shell."
Pellegrini shook his head.
"No special message. Only patience. We knew Tottenham would be more defensive. We knew we would have the ball.The message was simple: keep the ball moving, wait for the space, take your chances when they come."
Another journalist piped up:
"How significant was tonight, emotionally, for the squad? After all the noise?"
Pellegrini smiled, a rare, almost weary smile.
"Every season has noise. Every team has moments where you must stand up and be counted.Tonight, we stood up."
With that, the manager nodded once, signaling the end of his part of the conference.
A few minutes later, Adriano was ushered into the media room, still in training gear, hair damp from the showers.He moved with the careful, guarded body language of a player learning how to navigate the public eye.
The questions came quickly.
From BBC Sport:
"Adriano, it seemed like the fans really got behind you tonight, especially when you came off. Did you feel that?"
Adriano shifted in his seat, adjusting the microphone.
"I heard it," he said quietly. "It meant a lot.I'm not... I'm not the kind of player who plays for applause. I play for the team.But tonight... yeah, it was special."
From The Times:
"Was it hard dealing with some of the criticism this week?"
Adriano thought about it for a second.
"You hear things. You read things. Even if you try not to.But I trust my teammates. I trust my manager. And I trust myself."
From ESPN:
"Do you feel like this was a turning point for you, personally?"
Adriano gave a small shrug, a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"I don't know. Maybe for some people.For me, it's just one match.The table doesn't lie. Our goals don't lie. Our work doesn't lie."
The media officer gave the final wrap-up signal.Adriano stood, gave a brief nod of thanks to the room, and walked out the same way he played:quietly, purposefully, letting his actions speak louder than any words.
***
Football was still buzzing in Adriano's mind as he pulled out of the Etihad's underground parking lot, but it wasn't the only thing weighing on him.
It was almost midnight by the time he reached his home on the outskirts of Manchester.The familiar driveway, the soft glow spilling from the front windows—he knew without needing to check that she was already there.She had a key. She always did.
He pushed the door open and barely had time to close it behind him before he felt arms wrap tightly around him from behind.Small, strong hands pressing against his chest. A familiar warmth against his back.
"Missed me?" Kate's voice was muffled slightly against him, but unmistakable.
Adriano smiled instinctively, a real one, the kind he hadn't worn in days.He closed his eyes, exhaling a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in.
"God, yes," he murmured.
He turned, catching her easily, lifting her clean off the floor in one motion.Kate laughed, clutching at his shoulders for balance as he spun her once, their bodies reconnecting as if no time had passed.
When he set her down, his hands cradled her face without hesitation, pulling her into a kiss—deep, steady, nothing rushed about it.Her arms slid around his neck, holding him there. The kiss wasn't desperate. It was grounding. It was home.
"I'm not letting you disappear for a month again," he whispered against her lips, refusing to let her go.
Kate smiled, a soft, teasing glint in her eyes."That's not how filming works, baby."
He laughed under his breath, that low rumble she loved. They stayed like that for a moment longer before, still tangled, they made their way to the living room.Neither bothered turning on more lights. They didn't need them.
They collapsed onto the couch, bodies tangling naturally, comfortably. Kate curled into him, her head resting against his chest, one hand tracing lazy, thoughtless patterns across his skin.
"You good?" she asked after a moment, her voice soft.
He kissed the top of her head. "Better now."
They lay there like that, wrapped up in each other, before he finally broke the silence.
"How was it? The premiere shoot? The set?" His voice was low, curious.
Kate smiled into his shirt.
"Chaotic," she said simply. "The new director's a nightmare in the best way. Everything's moving twice as fast. Long hours. Stupid early calls. But it's good. We're finding a rhythm."She tilted her head up slightly. "I missed this, though. You."
He hugged her a little tighter.
"Tell me everything," he said. "Don't leave anything out."
She laughed softly and indulged him, recounting stories about stubborn props, the diva antics of a co-star who kept losing their lines, how the catering truck served nothing but vegan chili for three days straight.She even told him about the Marvel fans sneaking around the lot, dressed as random background characters, hoping to catch a glimpse of spoilers.
For the first time in what felt like a week, Adriano found himself laughing.Real laughter, easy and unforced.The tension he carried from the training ground, the locker room, the pitch—it didn't vanish, but it loosened its grip.
The conversation slowed, settling into a comfortable quiet.Kate's fingers kept drawing aimless shapes against his chest, her body rising and falling with his breathing.
Eventually, she spoke again, her voice more careful.
"I saw the press stuff," she said."The booing. The rumors. The noise."
Adriano didn't answer right away.Instead, he dragged a hand gently through her hair, feeling her weight anchored against him.
"It got messy," he admitted finally."Some of the older guys weren't happy. Said I had too much pull. Too much influence. Maybe they're right.I just care too much sometimes. I just want to win."
Kate shifted slightly, resting her chin on his chest so she could look at him properly.
"And tonight?"
He stared up at the ceiling for a second before answering.
"The fans came around," he said."When I came off... they stood. They chanted. It wasn't fake. It… meant something."
Kate's hand moved to his jaw, brushing her thumb across his skin lightly.
"It's because they finally saw the truth," she said. "You're carrying this team. You've been carrying it.Anyone paying attention knows it."
He smiled, tired but honest.
"I don't care about the noise anymore," he said."You're here."
Kate's fingers lingered on his jawline, tracing it thoughtfully.
"I can only stay till next week," she said quietly."Shooting starts again. After October... I'm gone for a while."
Adriano's smile faltered slightly, just for a moment, but he didn't pull away.He just nodded, accepting it. Part of loving her meant accepting that sometimes she couldn't stay.
But Kate leaned in close, lowering her voice, a mischievous gleam sparking in her eyes.
"But," she whispered right into his ear, "I brought something back with me.A little piece of the set. A spare costume."
Adriano arched an eyebrow at her, catching the teasing tilt of her smile.
"What kind of costume?" he asked, voice dropping low.
Kate grinned, playing coy.
"Thought I'd show it off tonight."
Before she could say another word, Adriano moved—swift, sure, lifting her straight off the couch, carrying her with an easy strength down the hallway.
Kate squealed and laughed, clutching his shoulders for balance, her head tipping back in delighted surprise.
"I'm not waiting till later," he said, voice rough around the edges now.
Kate looped her arms around his neck, laughing breathlessly into his ear.
"Didn't think you would."
The bedroom door clicked closed behind them, shutting out the rest of the world.For the first time in what felt like forever, there were no reporters, no training schedules, no locker room politics.
Just them.
Laughter.Whispers.And the quiet, steady heartbeat of something real.
For one night, football could wait.
***
Adriano woke to the soft, muted light of morning leaking through the gaps in the curtains.The room was still, filled with a peaceful silence he hadn't known he needed.Beside him, Kate lay curled up against his side, one arm draped loosely across his chest, her breathing deep and steady.Her warmth was familiar, grounding.For the first time in weeks, he felt a different kind of rest—not just in his body, but somewhere deeper.
The tension of the past days—the matchday nerves, the backstage politics in the locker room, the divided crowd noise—it all felt like it had happened to someone else.Right now, with her here, all of it felt distant. Manageable.
Carefully, not wanting to wake her, Adriano reached toward the nightstand and fumbled for his phone.The screen lit up, casting a soft glow in the dim room. A handful of notifications blinked back at him:A message from the club media officer reminding players about media duties before the Bayern match.A short update from the fitness coach about optional recovery sessions.And a straightforward, no-frills text from Pellegrini:Stay sharp. Stay focused. Bayern will demand our best.
Adriano locked the phone without replying, placing it face down on the nightstand.
He shifted back toward Kate, propping himself on one elbow just to look at her for a moment.Hair tousled across the pillow. Lips slightly parted. Completely at peace.
Kate stirred lightly, her eyelashes fluttering as she blinked awake. Her voice was a sleepy whisper.
"Morning already?"
"Yeah," Adriano said, brushing a strand of hair away from her face with his fingertips."You slept through the alarm."
She yawned softly, a small smile curving her lips.
"Didn't set one," she murmured, nuzzling into his shoulder. "Wanted to see if you'd wake me."
He bent down, pressing a slow kiss against her forehead.
"Come on," he said after a moment. "Let's get some breakfast before training calls me back."
Downstairs, the house gradually filled with the comforting smells of coffee brewing and bread toasting.
Adriano moved around the kitchen easily, cracking eggs into a pan, while Kate busied herself at the counter—slicing strawberries, buttering toast, arranging fruit bowls with methodical care.They worked around each other silently at first, exchanging small glances, half-smiles, the easy rhythm of people who didn't need to fill every second with conversation.
Once everything was ready, they sat at the kitchen island, side by side, still a little sleepy.Forks clinked softly against plates. Coffee mugs steamed between them.
Kate was the first to break the silence, her voice still scratchy from sleep.
"So. Big night coming up."
"Bayern," Adriano nodded, scooping some scrambled eggs onto his toast."Probably the toughest in our group. Maybe the toughest we'll face until the knockouts."
"You ready?"
Adriano took a moment before answering, pushing his plate aside slightly.
"I'm more ready than I've ever been," he said quietly, but with certainty."This team... it's starting to click. Not just tactics. The energy. The trust."
Kate nodded thoughtfully, chewing a piece of toast.
"I watched the Tottenham replay," she said after a second. "Start to finish. You weren't just scoring—you were setting the rhythm.Everything good they did... it started with you."
Adriano smiled at that, a small, genuine thing."It's what I'm trying to do.If I can control the pace, the rest follows. Force them to play our tempo."
Kate leaned her elbow on the counter, studying him.
"You looked different out there," she said. "Not just playing better.You looked... settled. Like you knew they had to come to you now. Not the other way around."
Adriano sipped his coffee slowly, letting the words sink in."I think the fans felt that too," he said. "When I came off the pitch... it was different. They were with me.I don't know if it changes everything, but it changes enough."
Kate reached out across the counter and briefly squeezed his hand.
"That's all you need sometimes," she said simply. "Enough."
After breakfast, they decided to get out of the house for a little while.
Adriano drove them through the quieter parts of Manchester—away from the city center, toward the small parks and winding residential streets where life moved at a slower pace.He kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting lightly on Kate's knee.Kate sat back in the passenger seat, sunglasses perched lazily on her nose, head tilted against the window.
For a while, neither said much, just letting the city slip by.
Eventually, Kate spoke.
"Do people recognize you when you're out like this?"
"Sometimes," Adriano said, glancing sideways at her with a small smile."Usually they're polite. Manchester's like that. They'll come up, maybe ask for a photo, say something kind.But they give you space. They respect the line."
Kate adjusted her sunglasses slightly, considering that.
"That's rare," she said.
"It's why I like it here," he said simply. "Feels like home without feeling like a spotlight."
They drove a little longer, stopping once at a small corner café for takeaway coffees. No one bothered them there. A couple of glances, a knowing smile or two, but nothing intrusive.
By mid-afternoon, they made their way back home.
Kate retreated to the cozy armchair in the sunlit living room, scripts spread out across her lap. Every now and then, she muttered lines to herself, scribbling quick notes in the margins.
Adriano slipped back into work mode upstairs.Video analysis from the technical staff. Tactical assignments for the Bayern match.He watched short clips over and over—pressing triggers, defensive transitions, Bayern's high line vulnerabilities.Made mental notes. Internalized them.
The day passed in quiet partnership—each of them working, occasionally crossing paths for a coffee refill, a small touch on the shoulder, a shared glance that said without words: I'm here.
Tomorrow, training would start again.Tomorrow, the focus would narrow.But for now, the world outside stayed quiet.
And inside their little world, Adriano felt something settle inside him—a certainty that hadn't been there before.Football would call again. Pressure would return.But when he stepped onto that pitch against Bayern, he knew now he wouldn't be stepping alone.
***
The two days leading up to the Bayern match felt different.
Pellegrini didn't waste time. Every session was a sprint against the clock.
The first morning back, they opened with defensive organization.Lines of four moving as one, stepping up, dropping back, rotating in tight spaces.The coaching staff barked instructions constantly—adjustments, demands for quicker reactions, reminders to talk, point, lead.
"Communication or collapse!" one assistant shouted as they ran another press-breaking drill.
Bayern weren't just any opponent.They suffocated mistakes. They punished teams who thought half-measures were enough.Everyone knew it. You could feel it in the way players carried themselves: more serious, fewer jokes between drills, fewer lazy passes.
Adriano moved between stations, head down, focused.
Small-sided games tested their press resistance—three-touch limits, quick shifts in tempo, immediate transitions when they won the ball.Every time the ball turned over, Pellegrini or one of his coaches shouted out a scenario:"Bayern counter!""Set up! Delay the attack!""Compact! Compact!"
On the second day, they shifted toward attacking strategy.
Pellegrini gathered the squad in the middle of the pitch, the whiteboard already drawn up with arrows and grids.
"They'll press you high," Pellegrini said, tapping on Bayern's setup."They'll try to suffocate the middle. We have to break that first line—quick diagonal balls into Adriano, quick switches.Once they're stretched, then we attack."
He pointed directly at Adriano, Silva, and De Bruyne.
"Tempo is your responsibility. They'll foul you if they can't catch you. Stay calm. Draw them in, make them chase, and then finish."
They spent the next hour drilling counterattacks from deep positions:Adriano dropping between Bayern's midfielders, Silva buzzing in the half-spaces, De Bruyne timing late runs.Aguero worked tirelessly on movement off the shoulder. Fernandinho covered miles cutting out Bayern's imagined counters.
Between the sweat and the shouts, Adriano carved out a few minutes to check his phone during recovery sessions.
Kate had texted—confirming her castmates were landing tomorrow night.He finalized the box reservations, made sure passes were arranged.
Chris Hemsworth's message arrived first:"We're in. You better light up the scoreboard, brother."
Then Chris Evans:"Don't make us fly up here for a boring 0-0. Expectations are high."
Finally Scarlett Johansson:"No pressure. But if you don't score, we're voting you off the Avengers group chat."
Adriano laughed, feeling the tension bleed out for a second.He texted back:"One goal minimum. Two if you bring popcorn."
Matchday came fast.
The morning was a blur—team meal, light stretching, tactical walkthroughs, tactical meetings one more time.
Adriano kept to himself most of the afternoon.Stretching. Reviewing set-pieces in his head. Short nap. Simple meal.He wore his headphones but didn't play any music—just needed the silence.
Late afternoon, he made a detour to the VIP entrance at the Etihad.
Kate was waiting there, in jeans, a City scarf wrapped twice around her neck, standing with the rest of the crew.Chris Evans was laughing with Scarlett about something. Hemsworth towered over everyone, sunglasses on even in Manchester's grey weather.
"You look sharp," Kate said, fixing the collar of his tracksuit with a small smile.
"Trying to impress your colleagues," Adriano murmured.
Chris Evans pointed mockingly at him."This guy better not fake a hamstring pull in the first ten minutes. We flew up here in the rain."
"You'll get your money's worth," Adriano promised.
Kate stepped in close, wrapping her arms lightly around him.
"You don't need to prove anything," she said quietly, just for him."Just play. You've already won."
He held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded.
Without another word, he turned and made his way toward the players' entrance.
Inside, the locker room was alive with the right kind of noise.
Boots thudding against the floor. Jerseys zipped up. Trainers barking final reminders.
Pellegrini stood at the center, clipboard in hand, voice steady.
"They're disciplined without the ball. Patient.We don't overcommit. We pick our moments."
He walked slowly around the players, looking each in the eye.
"When we win it back—direct.We press when we have numbers. We attack space when it's there.If it's not on, we recycle and wait.Stick to your zones. Trust each other."
Pellegrini's eyes landed briefly on Adriano.
"They'll come for you," he said calmly. "They always do. Don't rush. Make them pay when they overcommit."
"I won't," Adriano said.
Milner walked past, elbowing him playfully."Half of Hollywood's here for you tonight, mate. No pressure."
Joe Hart called across the room."Maybe he'll celebrate in slow motion for the cameras."
"Shut up," Adriano grinned, lacing up his boots."You're just mad none of them asked for a plus-one."
Laughter cut through the tension.The good kind—the one that said they were ready.
The team talks finished. Final checks were made.
In the tunnel, they stood shoulder to shoulder.City's blue tracksuits bright under the stadium lights.
The distant roar of the Etihad crowd rumbled through the concrete walls. Flags waved. Scarves rose high.
Ahead of them, Bayern waited—white kits pristine, lines perfect.
Adriano rolled his neck, loosening his shoulders.He glanced up instinctively toward the VIP box—couldn't see them from here, but he didn't need to.They were there.
The referee blew his whistle sharply.
City stepped out into the cauldron of noise.The mosaic above the stands read: WE BELIEVE.
Adriano closed his eyes briefly.Let it all wash over him—the nerves, the pressure, the noise.
When he opened them again, he was clear.
It was time.