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***
When the teams stepped out of the tunnel, the Allianz Arena was seething with noise. The home crowd, animated by a mix of anxiety and defiance, waved red and white flags furiously. Bayern Munich trailed 2–1, but their pride—and their manager's expectations—demanded a response.
Manchester City emerged behind them, calm but alert. Pellegrini, arms folded and stone-faced, watched from the edge of his technical area as the players jogged back into position.
On the pitch, Joe Hart clapped his gloves together and shouted downfield, "Keep talking! Eyes up—everyone!"
Vincent Kompany barked orders to Zabaleta, "Watch Ribéry cutting inside. Kolarov—stay tight to Robben! Don't let him turn!"
Adriano, meanwhile, stood near the halfway line, stretching his calves with deliberate calm. His shirt clung to his back from the earlier effort, and his golden boots were now dusted with turf.
Kevin De Bruyne jogged past and murmured, "They're coming. You ready?"
Adriano smirked. "Let them."
Bayern kicked off, and immediately their intent was clear. Schweinsteiger and Alonso pushed higher, exchanging passes quickly with short, tight triangles. Robben and Ribéry, fluid as ever, switched sides with a glance, looking to isolate defenders and drag City's shape out of balance.
Martin Tyler's voice echoed over the broadcast:
"You can see Guardiola's fingerprints all over this. High tempo, maximum width. They're going to try to pull City apart, piece by piece."
Alan Smith added, "Exactly, Martin. And when they stretch the pitch, watch for Lewandowski or Müller—always sniffing for the gap."
City's response was pragmatic. Pellegrini gestured sharply from the touchline, calling for the midfield to compress. Casemiro, still warming up, jogged toward the bench. Silva and De Bruyne tightened their lines in front of the back four, forming a box with Kompany and Hummels. Adriano, once again, became the focal point for Bayern's defensive line—Boateng and Alaba doubled up every time he touched the ball.
"Getting a bit crowded in here," Adriano muttered to Hazard, after shrugging off Alaba near the halfway line.
Hazard chuckled. "Yeah, but they forgot about us."
And they had. With Adriano boxed in, Salah and Hazard began darting into space behind the full-backs. Twice, De Bruyne spotted Salah's run, threading passes in between the lines—both times Neuer rushed off his line to snuff out the danger.
In the 52nd minute, Bayern carved open their first big chance of the half. Ribéry cut inside from the left, slipping past Zabaleta with a feint and unleashing a curling strike from 20 yards. Joe Hart flung himself to his right, fingertips grazing the ball to push it wide.
"Great hand!" Kompany shouted, clapping his gloves. Hart gave a thumbs-up, already barking at Kolarov, "Close him down faster next time! He's too quick for space!"
Moments later, Lewandowski nearly found the equalizer. A heavy touch from Kompany near the edge of the box gifted the Polish striker half a yard. He pounced—only for Hummels to slide in with perfect timing, poking the ball away before a shot could be fired.
"Oi, Vinny," Hummels grinned on the way back up. "You owe me a coffee."
"I'll buy you the whole café," Kompany replied, exhaling.
By the hour mark, Bayern had taken a stranglehold on territory. Alaba and Lahm now played more like inverted midfielders, squeezing in alongside Alonso to flood the center. City dropped into a compact block, letting Bayern have the flanks but guarding the middle fiercely. Zabaleta, visibly tiring, took a hard knock from Robben's cut inside, resulting in a yellow card for Kolarov moments later as he arrived late to cover.
The resulting free-kick was dangerous. Alonso stood over it, twenty-five yards out. He curled the ball low into the wall—it deflected, looped up, and for a split second looked like it might wrong-foot Hart, but the keeper punched it clear under pressure from Müller.
Back on the sideline, Guardiola was already acting. At minute 67, he clapped his hands and waved for changes. Thiago Alcântara replaced Schweinsteiger to inject some tempo and one-touch vertical passing through midfield. Simultaneously, Benatia came on for Dante to reinforce the backline and keep tabs on Adriano's runs.
In response, Pellegrini gestured calmly to the bench.
"Casemiro—on for Silva. Harry—warm up. You're on for Kun."
David Silva jogged off to applause from the City bench. He patted Casemiro on the shoulder. "They're getting twitchy. Plug the middle."
"Got it," Casemiro nodded, pulling his shirt over his head. "Let's not let this slip."
Sergio Aguero, sweat glistening on his brow, slapped hands with Harry Kane as they swapped. "They're heavy at the back now.
Time your runs, and go wide if they pinch in."
Kane grinned. "I'll pull 'em around. Let Adriano breathe."
Martin Tyler picked up the narrative again:
"With 23 minutes left, it's now a tactical chess match. Guardiola's going for fluid movement and quick release through Thiago. Pellegrini, meanwhile, is stiffening his midfield and giving Adriano another runner to work off."
The next phase would define the night—but the tension was already climbing. Every pass Bayern played in the final third brought gasps. Every counter from City felt like it could break the game open.
And in the middle of it all, Adriano stood poised, boots scuffed, jersey damp, yet alert—ready to turn the match again if the moment came.
The second half surged into its final phase with intensity ratcheting up by the minute. City had found defensive stability after the substitutions, with Casemiro locking down central spaces and Harry Kane adding physicality up top. But Bayern's movement remained elegant and dangerous, like a piano piece played at double tempo—intricate, fast, and unrelenting.
In the 73rd minute, the pressure nearly paid off.
Thomas Müller, floating between the lines, slipped a clever one-two with Franck Ribéry just outside the box. With a single flick of his heel, Müller spun away from Casemiro's trailing leg and freed Ribéry down the left.
Alan Smith called it immediately.
"Brilliant from Müller—he draws defenders just by breathing. Ribéry's in!"
The Frenchman surged into the box, Kolarov lunging but missing by inches. Ribéry squared a low cross across the face of goal. Lewandowski lunged at full stretch—inches away—but the ball skidded just past his boot and rolled harmlessly wide.
Joe Hart exhaled.
"Jesus…" he muttered to himself, then shouted: "Talk to each other! Too easy!"
Kompany spun and pointed. "Franck's drifting inside! Aleks, you've got to feel that run earlier!"
Kolarov, winded, nodded back. "I know! He disappeared for a second—I'll fix it."
The warning signs were blinking in red, and within five minutes, Bayern broke through.
Minute 78. Müller again. Calm, poised, deadly.
The German attacker picked up the ball near the right edge of the box. Casemiro approached cautiously, not wanting to overcommit. Müller hesitated—just for a beat—before sliding a deceptively soft pass just inside the channel.
Robben didn't sprint into it—he glided. He took the ball in stride, let it roll across his body, then touched it onto his favored left foot, brushing past Kolarov like he wasn't even there.
Alan Smith, sharp again.
"You know what's coming—but you still can't stop it."
Robben didn't blast it. He shaped it. A curling, venomous strike bent toward the far corner. Joe Hart dove full-stretchand managed to parry it, fingertips brushing the ball and knocking it downward.
But the rebound didn't go far.
Lewandowski was already crashing in.
He met the loose ball with a hammer of a right foot. The shot was vicious—thump—and exploded into the netting past Hart before he could react.
GOAL ANNOUNCER, ecstatic:
"ROBERT LEWANDOWSKI EQUALIZES FOR BAYERN! TWO-TWO! GAME ON IN MUNICH!"
The Allianz Arena detonated. Thousands of Bayern fans leapt to their feet as red smoke flared in the stands. Flags whipped in the breeze. Robben ran toward the corner flag, fist raised. Müller caught up and leapt onto his back.
"That's it!" Müller yelled. "We open them up, they break! Told you, Arjen!"
Lewandowski sprinted toward the dugout, sliding on his knees, pumping both fists. Guardiola, for once, showed raw emotion—arms wide, yelling: "Vamos!"
Martin Tyler's voice rang through the broadcast.
"They've been knocking at the door for over half an hour. Finally—Bayern kick it in."
City's players regrouped quickly. Adriano jogged to midfield, clapping his hands hard. "Forget it! Forget it!" he shouted. "It's still ours. We go again."
Salah, adjusting his socks, leaned over to Hazard and whispered, "They're wide open after they score. Let's take 'em quick."
Hazard nodded. "Let them run. We hit them when they breathe."
Kompany gathered the backline, his tone urgent but measured. "Reset. Stick to the plan. Don't panic. Casemiro, tighter on Müller. He's running the show."
Pellegrini, ever the calm in the storm, stepped up to the edge of his technical area and pointed at De Bruyne. "Kevin, higher! Get alongside Adriano—we need two up there now!"
De Bruyne, sweat dripping from his brow, gave a tired thumbs-up. "Got it!"
Adriano turned and grinned at him. "Let's win it ugly, then."
On the touchline, Raul leaned over to another assistant coach and muttered, "This is going to the wire. But if we nick one more…"
City restarted play with purpose, and you could sense the shift in mood. Bayern had drawn level, but the game hadn't tilted fully in their favor. Not yet.
The stage was set. One more moment, one more strike, could decide it all.
And Adriano was still on the pitch.
City's answer came swiftly — and ruthlessly just 6 minutes later.
84th Minute , The Allianz Arena was still buzzing from Lewandowski's equalizer when Eden Hazard, weaving between Alaba and Benatia, saw a brief window and let fly from 20 yards. The shot clipped Boateng's shin and spun wide for a corner.
Adriano jogged over, hands on hips, scanning the box. His eyes locked with Harry Kane, then with Kompany at the far post. With a subtle point of his left hand, he signaled the target zone. His right hand lifted — calm, composed, precise.
Martin Tyler, voice tight with anticipation:
"This delivery will need to be inch-perfect. Adriano's got the weight of a city on his boot."
The corner came in — whipped, venomous, and full of intent. It curled away from Neuer and dropped into the chaos at the six-yard line. Kane surged above Benatia, using the full extension of his frame to flick a powerful header toward the top-right corner.
Neuer, at full stretch, reacted with pure instinct. A punch, midair — wrist to leather — and the ball flew clear, but not far.
It skidded out to the top of the box.
Waiting there, poised like a predator, was Mohamed Salah.
He didn't hesitate.
One bounce — then bang. Left foot. Half-volley.
The strike was pure. Clean. Ruthless. It hissed low through the legs of the retreating Boateng and skipped off the turf like a stone on water — slamming into the bottom corner past Neuer before he could fully reset.
GOAL ANNOUNCER, roaring over the Munich crowd:
"MOHAMED SALAH! CITY BACK IN FRONT! THREE—TWO! AND THEY MIGHT JUST HAVE STOLEN IT!"
The City bench erupted. Pellegrini stood motionless for a second, fists clenched at his sides — then raised both arms in a rare display of emotion. Sabella shouted something in Spanish and nearly spilled his clipboard.
On the pitch, Salah tore away toward the corner flag, face lit with relief and defiance. He slid to his knees, arms out wide, before being mobbed by Hazard, De Bruyne, and Casemiro.
"That's what I'm talking about!" Hazard yelled, smacking the back of Salah's head playfully. "About time you showed up!"
Salah, laughing through heavy breaths, muttered: "I was saving it for the big moment."
Adriano jogged over late, grinning, and pointed a finger at Salah with mock sternness. "Finally, man! I was starting to think those gold boots were cursed."
Salah grinned back. "You can talk. I saw that corner. You put spin on that like it was table tennis."
Kompany, breathing heavily, pulled the group together near the sideline. "Now listen — three in, we close this out. No space. Stay sharp on second balls."
Joe Hart, from the other end, screamed: "Tight lines! Don't give 'em five yards!"
Alan Smith, watching the celebration, added:
"He's been quiet for most of the match, but that's what world-class players do. One clean chance — one perfect strike. Salah's just turned the game on its head again."
The Bayern players stood stunned, heads tilted back in frustration. Boateng slammed the turf with his palm. Alaba kicked at a loose patch of grass. Neuer, hands on hips, looked up at the scoreboard in disbelief.
Pep Guardiola, motionless on the touchline, rubbed his temples. He turned to his bench and whispered, "We've got six minutes. We have to go now."
Meanwhile, the City fans in the away section were bouncing. Blue smoke drifted upward as chants of "City! City!" echoed through the stadium, defiant and proud.
And at the center of it all, Adriano stood over the ball at kickoff, already scanning. Salah was still catching his breath. But the game wasn't over — not yet.
City had taken the lead again. Now came the hardest part.
Protecting it.
Bayern, rattled but defiant, refused to roll over.
The roar of the Allianz was still simmering after Salah's goal, and Guardiola was on the edge of his technical area, barking orders with urgency.
Minute 87. Thiago, light on his feet and full of purpose, drifted into the right half-space. One glance, then a delicate left-footed ball floated into the penalty area.
Müller ghosted between Kompany and Zabaleta, timing his leap perfectly. The contact was clean—textbook downward header, aimed at the far post.
But Joe Hart, poised like a coiled spring, took two quick steps across his line and rose with both arms extended. Thud.The ball smacked into his gloves and stuck.
"YES, JOE!" yelled Kompany, clapping. "Hold it! Hold it!"
Hart, unfazed, slowed the game down, waving teammates forward as he prepared the punt. "Keep calm, lads. They've thrown everyone up."
Minute 90. Bayern, now stretched, pressed high up the pitch—but De Bruyne, feisty even in the dying minutes, turned brilliantly in midfield. He darted forward, only to be clipped by Xabi Alonso, who stuck out a cynical leg.
The whistle blew. Free kick, 24 yards out, slightly to the right of center. Dangerous territory.
Martin Tyler, voice rising:
"And this… this is prime Adriano territory."
Adriano stepped forward, placing the ball carefully. He didn't rush. He bent down, adjusted his socks, eyes never leaving the ball. Neuer was crouched, barking at his wall, which stood four men tall—Alaba, Boateng, Benatia, Lahm.
Kane leaned in toward Hazard near the edge of the box.
"You think he's going top corner?"
Hazard shrugged, grinning. "I don't even know if he knows. Just watch."
The whistle blew.
Adriano took three steps back, eyes laser-focused. His run-up was smooth—fluid—and at the last second, he sold the strike. His body screamed power.
The wall jumped. Neuer shifted left.
But it was all a ruse.
With perfect control, Adriano rolled his foot over the ball and clipped it low—like a magician slipping a card under the deck.
The ball skidded under the airborne defenders, just brushing the studs of Benatia's boots—and kissed the inside of the near post before settling in the net.
Silence. Then eruption.
GOAL ANNOUNCER, almost breathless:
"HAT TRICK—ADRIANO! THAT'S FOUR FOR CITY, TWO FOR THE HISTORY BOOKS!"
Adriano wheeled away, and ran towards the sidelines with the teammates following behind.
He ran toward the away end, then stopped dead at the touchline.
With arms outstretched and chin lifted, he slowly turned to face the crowd, hands cupped to his ears.
The away end exploded with a unified roar , " The King is Here!"
Blue and white flags whipped through the air. Fans screamed his name. Shirts were flung skyward. Someone held up a sign that read: "AR10 = King of Europe."
Kompany ran over and grabbed him in a bear hug. "That's a damn mural waiting to happen!"
Hazard and De Bruyne arrived next, tapping his head and shouting over each other.
"Teach me!"
"No way you meant to do that!"
"Tell us how! Now!"
Salah, still catching his breath, smiled from behind. "He's not human."
Pellegrini, behind the bench, just nodded—arms folded, lips curved in quiet satisfaction. "That's the crown talking," he muttered .
Raul, Adriano's assistant was already texting Mendes again from the gallery : "Hat trick. Free kick. Just send the highlight reel to the Vatican."
Meanwhile, on the Bayern bench, Guardiola was frozen. Mouth open, blinking at the scoreboard. After a beat, he turned away, running a hand through his hair and muttering under his breath in Catalan. He sat down heavily, shaking his head.
Alan Smith, in the booth, was solemn but awed:
"You don't stop Adriano. You just try to slow him down. And tonight? Even that didn't work. That's a world-class performance in the temple of European football."
The clock ticked on. There were still a few minutes left. But the air had changed. City's players could feel it — and so could Bayern.
Adriano stood near midfield again, surrounded by teammates, breathing deeply. The gold crown on his boot wasn't just a brand anymore. It was prophecy.
The fourth official's board went up: +3.
Three minutes left. Bayern weren't done. The home crowd, though quieter now, still held onto hope for a miracle. The players surged forward again with mechanical precision—Alaba on the overlap, darting past Casemiro.
He whipped in a devilish ball across the six-yard box. Kompany, throwing his body in the way, lunged and headed clear.
But it wasn't over.
Lewandowski, stationed near the edge of the box, watched the ball hang in the air and turned his back to goal. He leapt, legs scissoring midair in one last act of audacity—a bicycle kick from 18 yards.
Gasps from the crowd.
Martin Tyler:
"He's gone for it—Lewandowski with the acrobatics!"
But the strike was wild—just over the bar. The ball crashed into the advertising boards.
Joe Hart, with a calm exhale, placed the ball for the goal kick and looked up at the clock. "Let's finish this, lads."
Seconds ticked.
And then—the whistle.
Full time.
BAYERN MUNICH 2 – 4 MANCHESTER CITY
Adriano sank to his knees at the edge of the centre circle, not from exhaustion, but from the overwhelming noise of his teammates charging at him.
Kane got there first, tackling him in a playful bear hug from behind.
"Had to make sure you were real," Kane laughed. "You're not normal."
Salah sprinted over, grinning ear to ear. He reached down, lifted one of Adriano's boots, and held it like a trophy.
"These things are magic!" he shouted, looking at the golden detailing on the black Nike AR10s. "We need to ban them for fairness."
Hazard arrived next, arms outstretched.
"I can't keep up with your celebrations, bro. Save something for the knockouts!"
De Bruyne, smiling but shaking his head, simply said, "That last free kick—cold-blooded."
Zabaleta, always the elder statesman, clapped Adriano on the back.
"You just made history. And we all saw it up close."
Even Hart jogged forward from goal, applauding. "They'll talk about this night forever, mate."
As the players embraced, a strange thing happened. Pockets of Bayern fans—those behind Neuer's goal—stood and applauded. There was no sarcasm, no mockery. Just quiet recognition. They had seen something exceptional: a masterclass from a player at the height of his power.
The camera panned to Guardiola, who stood arms folded, eyes narrowed as he watched the City players celebrate. No outburst, no fury—just a slow, respectful nod. He turned to his staff and muttered, "He's better than we thought."
In the BT Sport post-match breakdown, Martin Tyler's voice carried the weight of something historic.
"Six matches. Fifteen goals. Five assists. Adriano hasn't just led Manchester City through this group. He's redefined what individual brilliance looks like in a team sport. And he's done it here, at the Allianz Arena."
Alan Smith chimed in, his tone reverent.
"You can't write this. You just sit back and admire it. This wasn't just a win—it was a performance that'll echo in Champions League memory for years."
Back in the dressing room, as shirts were swapped and boots unlaced, the atmosphere was electric. Raul, grinning, pointed at his phone.
"Sky Sports just called it the greatest away performance in City's Champions League history."
Adriano, toweling off sweat, smiled faintly. He looked at the boots in his locker—mud-caked, gold shining through.
Casemiro, sitting beside him, leaned over.
"What now, King?"
Adriano didn't answer. He just smirked and nodded at the Champions League logo on the wall.
City had topped Group E. Adriano had shattered the group stage record for goal contributions.
And Munich—proud, defiant Munich—had been silenced.
Not with brute force.
But with poise, intelligence, and a right foot that bent time itself.
***
The press room at the Allianz Arena was buzzing. Reporters filed in quickly, most still half-processing what they'd just witnessed under the cold Munich night. Bottles of water were untouched, laptops open, camera lights warming up. The name on everyone's lips wasn't Neuer, Müller, or Robben. It was Adriano.
Manuel Pellegrini was the first to arrive. Calm as ever, his grey suit pristine despite the storm of emotions behind the result. He took a seat, eyes scanning the room.
First question, Sky Sports:
"Manuel, you've just beaten Bayern 4–2 in their own stadium and topped the group. How do you explain a performance like that, especially from Adriano?"
Pellegrini (nodding):
"It's not about explaining, really. Sometimes football gives you something extraordinary. Adriano—he's not just a striker, he's an orchestra. When he's in rhythm, the whole team plays with him. But the whole squad worked. We stayed compact, used the spaces, and punished their risks."
BT Sport:
"What did you say at halftime to keep the players focused? Especially after that outrageous first half?"
Pellegrini:
"I told them Bayern would come out angry—and they did. But I reminded the team we were winning, and they had to chase. The more they committed, the more we could exploit."
German outlet, Sport1:
"City have finished with 16 points, Adriano has 15 goals and 5 assists in just six matches. That breaks several Champions League records. Did you expect this level from him so soon?"
Pellegrini (smiling slightly):
"He sets his own level. We try to support it. He's not chasing records. He's chasing moments. The records just follow."
Moments later, Pep Guardiola entered. He didn't sit back in the chair. He leaned forward, clasping his hands, forehead tense. There was respect in his voice, but it was layered with frustration.
German reporter:
"Pep, what went wrong tonight?"
Guardiola:
"We played well. Very well for long spells. But we didn't manage transitions. We knew they'd be dangerous when we lost the ball. Adriano punished us. Not just with goals—but how he moved, how he drew players. Sometimes, you lose to genius."
L'Équipe:
"You're known for detailed preparation. Did Adriano surprise you tonight?"
Guardiola:
"I watched ten hours of footage this week. I still didn't see that first goal coming. That was… street football in the Champions League. You can't plan for that."
Finally, Adriano arrived to a wall of flashes and a flurry of hands.
He sat down in a black hoodie with the gold crown stitched on the chest, his AR10 boots sitting on the table next to him—scuffed, grass-stained, now legendary.
BBC Sport:
"Adriano, fifteen goals and five assists in six group matches. That's never been done before. What's going through your mind right now?"
Adriano (grinning):
"I'm tired. My legs are burning. But… it's the Champions League. You dream of these nights as a kid. I didn't plan for fifteen goals. I just went out and played."
ESPN:
"The first goal was outrageous. The rainbow flick, the finish… is that instinct? Or something you work on?"
Adriano:
"Bit of both. I grew up doing stuff like that in cages back home. I just saw the space and thought, 'Why not?' If I'd messed it up, the internet would've roasted me. But it worked."
The Guardian:
"You've topped the group ahead of Bayern. Do you believe City can win the Champions League now?"
Adriano (looking directly at the reporter):
"If we play like this? Yeah. But winning it isn't about one player. It's about handling every round, every opponent. Tonight was a step. A big one. But just a step."
***
BACK IN THE LOCKER ROOMThe press conference ended. Adriano walked back down the corridor and into the City dressing room, where the mood was electric. Boots were off, shirts were swapped, and the speaker was blasting Drake. The players were half-celebrating, half-recovering—until the man of the night walked in.
Kane grinned and tackled him into a half-hug from the side.
"Hat trick AND a troll free kick? You're sick in the head."
Adriano (laughing):
"You liked that? I was waiting for Alonso to jump."
De Bruyne:
"You better frame that boot. Neuer's still looking for the ball."
Salah, grinning, tossed one of Adriano's gold boots across the room.
"These things are magic. What's inside—jet fuel?"
Casemiro, sitting on the bench with a towel around his shoulders, just shook his head.
"You embarrassed their whole back line twice. My kids are gonna ask about this night."
Kompany raised a bottle of water and tapped it against his shinpad.
"To Adriano. The crown's not hype—it's reality now."
Adriano, still grinning, took a moment. Then he looked around and said,
"Nah… not just me. It's all of us. One round done. Big ones still to come."
Hazard, stretching by the physio table, added:
"Yeah, yeah. But tonight—you were him, brother. That was art."
The room exploded into claps and shouts. Adriano sat down, finally pulling his socks off, and exhaled. A full night, a full heart, and a bootful of headlines.
***
That night, football didn't just buzz—it ignited.
By midnight, Adriano's name was trending in 48 countries. The phrase "AR10" overtook World Cup hashtags. Instagram reels looped his rainbow flick endlessly, with captions ranging from "unreal" to "criminal behavior". TikTok was worse—every other post had the Bayern defenders' reactions slowed down, zoomed in, freeze-framed like a courtroom crime scene.
@FabrizioRomano
"Adriano. Special player, special mentality. World-class. A historic night in Munich."
@GaryLineker
"15 goals. 5 assists. This isn't a breakout—this is a takeover. Adriano has arrived."
@RioFerdy5
"That was disrespectful. And I loved every second. Hat trick away at Bayern? He's built different."
Jamie Carragher (CBS):
"He embarrassed two of Europe's best defenders TWICE. That rainbow flick should be illegal. And then the cheek of that free kick? Come on…"
Thierry Henry (Amazon Prime Sport):
"Tonight, he didn't just play. He danced. Bayern were chasing shadows. Reminds me of... well, let's not compare. Let him be Adriano."
Gary Neville (ITV):
"One of the best away performances I've ever seen. Not just from a City player—from anyone."
In the streets of Munich, chants echoed long into the night. Hundreds of City fans gathered outside the Allianz Arena waving flags, scarves, and makeshift cardboard crowns.
"WHO'S GOT THE CROWN?"
"AR10! AR10!"
A group of lads from Manchester posed next to the team bus, each wearing one gold boot replica and shouting, "These boots? These boots are certified weapons!"
On Twitter:
@BlueMoonBois:
"Adriano is no longer a player. He's a religion."
@UCLBible:
"Messi had Rome. Ronaldo had Turin. Adriano has Munich."
@FanSince98:
"We used to pray for strikers like this."
@CrownWitness:
"I came for football. I left a follower of the Church of Adriano."
A 12-second clip of Adriano's free kick under the wall, slowed down and set to opera music, hit 4.6 million views by sunrise.
MORNING HEADLINES :
Daily Mail:
"ADRIANO DESTROYS BAYERN — AND HISTORY"
Marca (Spain):
"15.5.6 — THE NEW HOLY NUMBERS"
The Athletic:
"MUNICH MAESTRO: ADRIANO'S MASTERCLASS IN GERMANY"
L'Équipe (France):
"HEIR TO THE CROWN? NO—HE'S THE KING ALREADY"
Bild (Germany):
"GESCHICHTE GEGEN UNS: ADRIANO'S MACHT IN MÜNCHEN"
("History against us: Adriano's power in Munich")
Gazzetta dello Sport (Italy):
"IL PRINCIPE È RE: LA CORONA È SUA"
("The prince is the king now. The crown is his.")
***
The chartered flight from Munich touched down in Manchester just after noon, slicing through the grey winter skies of England with the same precision City had displayed in Germany. The players disembarked in thick coats and beanies, but there was a lightness to their movements. Jokes flew freely, slaps on the back echoed, and the sting of Munich's cold was softened by the warmth of victory.
In the arrival lounge, a small group of reporters waited behind barriers, but the City staff kept things moving. Inside the team bus, Pellegrini leaned forward, clipboard in hand.
"Two days' rest," he said, voice even. "Light work tomorrow, then focus turns to the weekend. But keep one eye on Monday. Champions League draw."
Adriano, seated next to Hazard near the front, was already thumbing through his phone. Notifications in the thousands, mentions flooded with fan edits, crown emojis, and praise from legends. He tucked it away and leaned his head back, eyes closed.
Behind him, Harry Kane was still buzzing. "Mate," he said to Salah, "you see the way Neuer just gave up on that free kick?"
Salah grinned. "I saw the wall jump like they were dodging a firework. Guy just rolled it in like it was FIFA on amateur."
Laughter rippled down the aisle.
By the time they reached the City Football Academy, the tone was already shifting. Staffers were waiting with printed scouting packets, physios booked in warm-down schedules, and analysts prepping clips for review. The Champions League Round of 16 was a week away, and though the group stage had made headlines, the real war was just beginning.
***
The mansion was quiet. Adriano sat in his living room, legs stretched out on the sofa, his laptop perched on his knees. The screen showed Kate's familiar face, a cup of coffee in her hand.
"I saw the match babe," she said. "You basically ended Guardiola's career at Bayern. Oof."
He smiled. "Everyone keeps saying that like I've beaten Goliath as David. It's just Bayern ."
Kate raised a brow. "You say that now. Wait till you're on the ground with three men trying to saw your legs off."
He laughed. "Yeah. I've got Kane for the bruises. I just do the finishing."
She sipped her coffee. "That free kick… it's all over . A few guys in the crew tried to recreate it. Ball went through a window."
Adriano grinned. "Tell them to keep trying. The crown's open for applicants."
"You still wear it well," she said quietly.
There was a pause.
"Miss you," he said.
Kate looked down for a moment, then smiled. "One more game and you'll have the break for a week, right?"
"Yeah. Just one more."
" Good. Let's follow our plans and give your parents a surprise visit before Christmas. Thankfully you don't have any important game during Christmas. "
Adriano chuckled, " Why do you think coach agreed to give me the week off ? If we had a big game, he'd beat my ass for asking for a vacation. "
Kate laughed, " He's a big softie when it comes to you. Anyway, see you soon babe. Love you."
Adriano smiled, " Love you too babe. Finish everything and come soon. "
***
Two Days Later – Etihad Campus
It was just before noon in Manchester when the players gathered in the Etihad Campus media room. Light snow flurried outside, the sky a thick overcast grey, but inside the room the atmosphere buzzed with anticipation. UEFA's official Champions League anthem was already playing from the big screen, piped in live from the House of European Football in Nyon, Switzerland.
The players lounged in padded seats, some with coffee cups in hand, others scrolling through their phones, but all eyes lifted when the camera panned to UEFA's General Secretary at the podium. Pellegrini stood near the side wall, arms behind his back, his navy tracksuit pressed and crisp. Behind him, several staff members stood around a laptop, making notes, ready to brief their analysts the moment the pairings were confirmed.
Adriano leaned back in his chair, legs casually crossed. When he saw Málaga CF pop up on screen as one of the seeded group winners, a subtle smile touched his lips.
"Look at that," he murmured. "Málaga topped their group."
"Means we can't draw them," said Hazard beside him.
Adriano nodded. "Good. I don't want to face them. Not yet."
Truth be told, he was proud. Málaga had helped raise him. Seeing them among Europe's elite felt personal.
"Here we go," De Bruyne said, arms folded as the lights dimmed slightly in the room. A stage curtain pulled back on the live stream to reveal the iconic, rotating glass pots, each filled with pristine white balls carrying the fate of Europe's top clubs.
The presenter began.
"Let's begin with the group winners…"
First pairing drawn:
Borussia Dortmund vs Bayer Leverkusen
Laughter erupted from a few players.
"All-German showdown," Silva chuckled. "That'll be a scrap."
Next draw:
Chelsea vs Schalke 04
Casemiro raised an eyebrow. "That's a easy one."
Kompany leaned in, murmuring, "Conte vs his old club, too. Drama written all over it."
Third draw:
Málaga vs Basel
Adriano tapped the table with satisfaction. "They'll take that."
Fourth draw:
Barcelona vs Arsenal
"Poor Arsenal," De Bruyne winced. "Again?"
"Messi has a loyalty card at the Emirates," Salah muttered.
Fifth draw:
AS Monaco vs Porto
"Well matched," said Pellegrini quietly. "That one's up in the air."
Sixth draw:
Real Madrid vs Paris Saint-Germain
Gasps filled the room.
"Oooh boy," Hazard grinned. "Galácticos vs the oil barons."
Seventh draw:
Atlético Madrid vs Bayern Munich
"Now that's war," Kompany said, shaking his head. "Simeone and Guardiola? The pitch might crack in half."
Only two teams remained. The room held its breath.
Final draw:
Manchester City vs Juventus
A beat of silence. Then Kane sighed in relief.
"We'll take that, could've been worse." he said.
"Careful," Adriano warned, still calm. " Italian teams don't die easy. Juventus has a decent squad."
"They don't die," Salah quipped, "but they do cry."
Laughter again, though Pellegrini raised a hand gently to bring the room back.
"We treat every opponent with the same respect," he said. "Start reviewing their system today. I want preliminary analysis by tonight."
Casemiro, sitting at the back, gave a slow nod. "Well. That'll be intense."
Kompany muttered, "They'll press us to death. Massimiliano Allegri doesn't believe in peace."
Adriano remained quiet, staring at the matchup on screen. He didn't need anyone to explain what Juventus brought: solid defensive structure, and a counter attacking lineup. But there was also space behind their wing-backs if City played it right.
"Let's not make it bigger than it is," Pellegrini said, walking to the front. "We've just taken six points off Bayern and walked out of Munich with four goals. Juventus is a new problem, but not one we can't solve."
Hazard nudged Adriano. "You ready to dance past another back four and make Buffon retire?"
"Not if they play six," Adriano said dryly, and they both laughed.
As the players filed out, some chatting about the other matchups, Adriano hung back. He stared at the screen one last time, where the official bracket was now frozen.
Round of 16 Fixtures:
Borussia Dortmund vs Bayer Leverkusen
Chelsea vs Schalke 04
Málaga vs Basel
Barcelona vs Arsenal
AS Monaco vs Porto
Real Madrid vs Paris Saint-Germain
Atlético Madrid vs Bayern Munich
Manchester City vs Juventus
He took a photo with his phone and posted on his social media account : "Group stage done, Onto the next steps towards the crown."
Then he turned and headed down the corridor, ready to work.
***
Current Stats of Adriano
Premier League
Matches: 12
Goals: 15
Assists: 10
Current top scorer of Premier League and top Assists list.
Champions League
Matches: 6
Goals: 15
Assists: 5
Current top scorer, 2nd in Assists