The morning sunlight filtered gently through the gauzy curtains of the master bedroom, casting long, golden stripes across the hardwood floor and up onto the edge of the bed. The room was quiet except for the soft, steady rhythm of two people breathing in sync beneath the thick duvet.
Adriano stirred first. His eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the light that filled the space in a warm glow. His arm was draped over Kate's waist, fingers resting just above her hip. He shifted slightly, wincing faintly as his back met the cool part of the sheets.
Kate let out a soft hum against his chest, eyes still closed. "That party went way longer than I thought it would," she murmured, voice muffled slightly as she pressed her cheek against his skin.
Adriano let out a quiet chuckle, his voice still raspy from sleep. "You mean the part where you and your partners-in-chaos took over the couch at two in the morning?"
Kate opened one eye, giving him a lazy look. "You're acting like you weren't butchering every 2000s pop song with Hart and Hazard like it was a World Cup final."
"I was warming up the room," he said, feigning seriousness. "Karaoke is a responsibility."
She rolled onto her side to face him properly, the duvet slipping a little off her shoulder. Her hair was tangled, strands falling over her face, and there were faint smudges of mascara beneath her eyes—but none of it mattered to Adriano. In that moment, she looked absolutely perfect.
He reached up, brushing her hair back gently, then kissed her forehead. "Best birthday I've ever had."
Kate smiled against the touch. "You say that now. Wait till you see the state of the kitchen."
He groaned. "I don't even want to think about it."
"Too late. We probably have at least two people attempting to cook bacon who shouldn't be allowed near fire."
Adriano let his head fall back on the pillow. "Please tell me Lucy isn't near the stove."
Kate chuckled. "That's a coin toss. Come on, birthday boy. Let's make sure the house is still standing."
With mutual reluctance, they peeled back the covers. Adriano moved carefully, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. His left ankle was still tender, and as he put weight on it, he felt a subtle tug of discomfort—not pain exactly, but a warning.
Kate noticed immediately. She pointed at him like a teacher catching a student trying to cheat.
"Don't even think about pushing through that. You sit the second it starts acting up."
He turned toward her and gave a dramatic mock salute. "Understood, captain."
"I'm serious," she said, grabbing her robe and tying it around her waist. "We're not spending your birthday in urgent care."
Adriano smirked as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants. "You're very commanding in the morning."
"I've been around footballers long enough to know how stubborn you all are."
They freshened up quickly—Adriano throwing water on his face in the sink, Kate tying her damp hair up into a messy bun—and made their way down the staircase. The air was thick with the scent of leftover cake, faintly mingled with coffee and something unmistakably burnt.
The living room was still wearing the aftermath of the party. Streamers dangled half-torn from curtain rods, a few stray balloons drifted lazily across the floor, and the corner table had a leaning tower of used cups and plates. Somewhere under the couch, someone's glittery shoe had gone missing.
But what broke through the clutter was the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. Warm, genuine, and overlapping in a way that made the mess feel like a memory being made rather than a chore waiting to be fixed.
Kate nudged him as they stepped into the hall. "Told you. Chaos."
"I don't mind it," Adriano said, his voice softer now. "Feels...normal."
The kitchen was full. Henry Cavill stood at the stove wearing an apron someone had clearly forced on him. He was flipping pancakes with exaggerated flair while Lucy sat at the counter, hair wrapped in a towel, sipping orange juice like it was the only thing keeping her alive. Sophia was perched on a stool beside her, holding back laughter as she tried to explain how Henry had nearly used flour instead of sugar.
"Morning, lovebirds!" Lucy greeted, standing by the kitchen island in one of Kate's oversized sweatshirts and holding a steaming mug of coffee.
Sophia was sitting on the counter, legs swinging as she chatted with Henry Cavill, who was helping De Bruyne fry up eggs and bacon on the stovetop. Harry Kane was at the table already, wolfing down a plate of toast with jam.
"You guys are up!" Henry said, glancing over his shoulder. "Don't worry—we've almost figured out breakfast."
"I'm terrified," Kate muttered under her breath.
Lucy perked up when she saw them. "Happy actual birthday again, golden boy."
Adriano raised an eyebrow. "Feeling better?"
"Marginally," she said, holding up her glass. "This is orange juice. I'm being responsible now."
"Define 'now,'" Sophia said, laughing.
Adriano blinked. "Is this… a proper breakfast club?"
Henry looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Told you I wasn't leaving without a full English."
Kate rolled her eyes and walked over to hug Lucy and Sophia. "You girls sleep okay?"
Lucy gave her a sly smile. "Slept like a rock. Your guest bedroom is bigger than my entire flat."
Adriano walked over and gave Kane a fist bump. "Still alive?"
"Barely," Kane muttered between bites. "Who gave De Bruyne the tequila bottle?"
De Bruyne raised a hand innocently. "I was celebrating the King's birthday!"
"King of Chaos, maybe," Henry added with a smirk.
Adriano leaned against the wall, folding his arms, watching them. "You all didn't have to cook. We could've ordered something."
"Too late," Henry replied, sliding a plate onto the counter. "We're committed. Also—your espresso machine is a spaceship."
Kate walked over and peered into the pan. "These don't look half bad."
"See?" Henry said proudly.
Adriano chuckled and limped over to the kettle. "Just don't burn my kitchen."
"No promises," Henry replied.
As Kate moved beside him and rested a hand on his lower back, Adriano glanced around the room. Tired faces, messy hair, the faint sound of the news playing softly from the living room TV—this wasn't just the aftermath of a party.
It was what the morning after something meaningful looked like.
Kate stood at the kitchen counter, moving methodically through the remains of the party buffet. Her hair was still slightly damp, tied into a loose knot, and she looked relaxed in one of Adriano's oversized shirts. She picked up a clean plate and began assembling a breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, a few slices of avocado, and a little fruit on the side. As she reached for a fork, Adriano came up beside her, two mugs of coffee in hand.
"Black, no sugar," he said, handing one to her.
"You're learning," she replied with a small smile, brushing her fingers against his as she took the mug.
They walked over to the long wooden dining table together and sat side by side. Around them, the kitchen was full of quiet movement—cutlery clinking, drawers opening and closing, the occasional scrape of a chair. Everyone looked a little tired, but no one seemed in a rush to leave.
Sophia, sitting across from them in a hoodie two sizes too big, took a long sip of orange juice before setting her glass down. "So, Adriano," she said, fixing him with a half-curious, half-amused look. "Nineteen today, and the entire football world basically waiting for your next move. How's that feel?"
Adriano took a bite of toast and chewed slowly, thinking it over. "Honestly?" he said, after swallowing. "It feels weird sometimes. Like I've already lived three careers instead of just one. But last night—" he paused, glancing around the table, "—it reminded me what really matters. Not the headlines. This. Friends, people you can laugh with, trust. That's what keeps things real."
Kate reached across and touched his hand gently, her thumb brushing over his knuckles. "That's what makes you different," she said softly. "It's why people look up to you."
Kevin, halfway through buttering a piece of toast, raised an eyebrow. "Alright, let's hold off on the tears until after we finish eating. Someone pass the butter before I have to cry into dry bread."
Laughter followed. Kate leaned back slightly as Sophia leaned over toward her, lowering her voice just enough to pretend it was private. "So, be honest. How serious is this guy?"
Kate didn't answer immediately. She glanced sideways at Adriano, who was taking a sip of his coffee, then smiled in that quiet, knowing way that didn't need much explanation. "Serious enough that I crossed an ocean to make sure he wasn't walking on a bad ankle."
Adriano raised his mug in her direction. "To sprained ankles. Unlikely heroes of romance."
Everyone laughed and clinked whatever glass or mug was in their hand. At the end of the table, Harry Kane leaned back in his chair, wiping crumbs off his shirt with a napkin.
"So," he said casually, "when's the engagement party mate?"
Adriano nearly choked on his coffee. He set the mug down a little too fast. "What?"
Kate blinked, caught off guard, then gave Harry a look. "That escalated quickly."
Harry shrugged, grinning. "What? I've seen less committed couples get married and have kids. You two act like you've been together ten years."
Henry, stirring his tea, nodded slowly. "I'm going to say six months."
"I bet Five months," Sophia chimed in without missing a beat.
Lucy nodded sagely, " With the wisdom of Yoda, I can sense there might be a disturbance in the force in about 4 months."
Kate turned to Adriano, mock-horrified. "They're making bets on timelines now. This is what we get for being too happy in public."
Adriano shook his head, smiling despite himself. He reached for her hand again and kissed the back of it, his thumb lingering there. "Let them bet. I'm not in a hurry. I already have what matters."
The table grew quieter for a moment, then everyone burst into laughter. Sophia nudged Henry, " The look on his face was priceless. I wish I had taken a photo."
Henry chuckled, " Hey now, don't bully my mate. Let him enjoy his birthday for now."
Everyone seemed to settle into it—the warmth, the comfort, the ease of being surrounded by the right people. Sunlight streamed through the windows in soft shafts, and outside, birdsong filtered faintly through the half-opened back door.
Lucy, who'd been quietly finishing her breakfast, set her fork down and looked around. Her voice was softer than usual. "You know, with everything you've got going on—media, pressure, matches—it's easy to assume your life is... I don't know, distant. But this place doesn't feel like that. It feels like a real home."
Adriano looked over at her and nodded. "Because she's here now."
Kate leaned her head gently against his shoulder, closing her eyes for a second. "Okay. Now you're pushing it. Someone turn on the TV before I start getting emotional again."
Harry stood up and stretched with a theatrical groan. "Alright, enough deep talks. Next topic: who's cleaning this battlefield?"
Everyone groaned at once.
Kevin raised his hand without looking up. "Not it."
Henry smirked. "I cooked. That's my contribution."
Lucy shot her hand up. "I brought drinks."
Adriano leaned back, sipping the last of his coffee. "Birthday immunity. Sorry, it's the law."
Kate narrowed her eyes at him. "You're not getting out of this. You're limping, not dying."
He grinned, stood up slowly, and grabbed a dishrag from the counter. "Fine. But only if we do it together."
She gave him a small smile, already rolling up her sleeves. "Like always."
One by one, the rest followed. Plates were stacked, leftovers boxed, and counters wiped clean. Kevin started rinsing while Henry loaded the dishwasher. Kate took the bin out while Sophia swept near the table. It wasn't coordinated or fast—but there was rhythm to it, shaped by laughter, teasing, and the easy closeness that only comes when everyone knows they're exactly where they're supposed to be.
And by the time the kitchen was back in order, it didn't feel like a party had ended. It felt like something was still going. Something better. Something that didn't need cameras, trophies, or headlines. Just people, and a place that felt like home.
As midday sunlight filtered through the living room curtains, the energy in the house began to shift. The steady hum of conversation faded, replaced by quieter goodbyes. The guests began gathering their things—jackets, phones, leftover slices of cake wrapped in napkins.
By the front door, Henry adjusted his backpack and glanced at Adriano. "Ready for tomorrow evening? We'll pick up where we left on Warcraft."
Adriano nodded, leaning on the wall near the hallway. "Yeah, just give me a couple hours to pretend I'm not exhausted. And don't betray me and gang up with the enemies this time!"
Henry grinned. "Cool, but no promises. I'll send you a text. Sophia and Lucy invited me to show them around, I'll head home around evening."
Adriano looked around then whispered, " So... what's up with you and Sophia? You two looked awfully sweet while cleaning."
Henry chuckled sheepishly, " We just talked a bit, she's quite fun to hang around."
Adriano wiggled his brows, " Huh, Superman seems shy, like he's meeting Lois Lane."
Henry smacked his shoulder, " Alright, I'll leave before you make us a thing ."
Adriano laughed, " Have fun mate."
Kevin De Bruyne and Harry Kane were next. Both looked like they hadn't fully woken up despite the coffee. Kane rubbed his eyes, stifling a yawn. "We've got morning drills tomorrow, and I'm not about to get chewed out by the coaching staff again."
Kevin buttoned his coat, giving a small nod. "Thanks for the invite, man. It was nice. Haven't laughed like that in a while."
Adriano clapped his shoulder. "Glad you came. Get some sleep."
As they stepped out into the hallway, Sophia and Lucy lingered near the staircase, deep in discussion about their plans. Sophia adjusted the strap of her tote bag. "We're thinking Northern Quarter, maybe walk through Castlefield. Hit the museums if we've got time."
"You two are machines," Kate said, standing beside Adriano with a blanket still wrapped around her shoulders.
Lucy smiled. "Come with us. A bit of walking might even be good for your ankle."
Adriano raised an eyebrow. "That's not what the physio says."
Kate leaned slightly into him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. "We're wiped, honestly. Rain check?"
"Rain check," Sophia agreed with a wink. "But next time we're dragging you both out whether you like it or not."
Adriano smirked, " For now, be happy with dragging Henry around."
There was a round of hugs—tight and genuine. Kevin gave Kate a polite nod before heading out. Harry slapped Adriano lightly on the back and muttered something about not eating all the recovery snacks. Lucy promised to send a list of books she mentioned during breakfast. Then, the door clicked shut behind the final guest.
The house felt still for the first time all day.
Adriano turned toward the living room and exhaled slowly. "Peaceful and quiet.."
He let himself collapse onto the couch with a soft thump, one hand resting on the cushion beside him. Kate followed, curling up beside him and tucking her feet underneath his legs. Her head rested lightly on his shoulder, the blanket now draped over both of them.
"So," she murmured, shifting slightly to look at him. "Good birthday?"
He turned his face and kissed her hair, just above her temple. "Best one ever."
The silence that followed was comfortable—earned. After a night of music, party, food, and people, the absence of noise was its own kind of music.
The dishes had already been cleared by Raul's staff before they left. The remnants of the celebration—some scattered balloons, a ribbon stuck in a corner, a half-burned candle—were the only signs of the night.
The television played softly in the background, a muted sports channel looping highlights from yesterday's matches. Adriano shifted, laying his head across Kate's lap. She began absentmindedly stroking his hair, her fingers moving in a slow, steady rhythm.
His phone buzzed against the coffee table.
He reached for it, swiped the screen, and smiled. "It's my parents."
He answered the video call, and Rosa's face immediately filled the screen, eyes bright and beaming. Julio appeared beside her, still in his kitchen clothes.
"Feliz aniversário, meu filho!" Rosa said, her voice as warm as ever. The background showed their kitchen in Lisbon, the wooden cabinets familiar, a plate of bolo rei half-eaten on the table behind them.
"Obrigado, mãe," Adriano replied. "Oi, pai."
Kate leaned forward, waving toward the screen. "Hi, Rosa! Hi, Julio!"
Julio chuckled. "You two look like you just ran a marathon."
Kate laughed. "He was the guest of honor. I was just the chaperone."
"I hope he didn't dance on that ankle," Rosa said quickly, her brow furrowing.
Adriano tilted the phone and gave an innocent look. "No dancing. Sat most of the night. Kate didn't let me move."
"She's good for you," Julio said, sipping from a mug. "She's probably the only reason you didn't end up crowd-surfing."
Adriano smirked. "Not wrong."
Kate rolled her eyes. "You're lucky I didn't strap that ankle to the chair."
They chatted for nearly twenty minutes, swapping stories from the party, describing the food and decorations. Julio teased Adriano about the glittery birthday balloons. Rosa demanded more pictures, and Kate promised to send a folder. Before hanging up, Rosa's voice softened.
"We're proud of you, Adriano. Not just for the football. For everything."
He swallowed and gave a small nod. "Love you both."
When the call ended, Adriano let the phone rest on his chest and stared up at the ceiling. Kate curled back beside him, laying her head where his shoulder met his neck.
"They really love you," she said quietly.
He turned his head. "They already love you too. Ever since you sent that strawberry cake video."
Kate smiled against his shirt. "Your mom reminds me of my aunt, you know? Same energy. You should meet her once we go for the Premier."
They stayed on the couch until their stomachs reminded them they hadn't eaten since breakfast. The kitchen was quiet again as they pulled out leftovers—cold pasta, salad, a bit of grilled chicken. Nothing fancy. They ate slowly, seated at the island, elbows resting on the marble counter.
"Training starts back tomorrow?" Kate asked, pushing her plate away.
Adriano nodded. "Light session, just movement and rehab. No full drills yet."
Kate studied his face. "Promise me you won't push it. I know what it's like—wanting to get back too fast. You've done so much already this season. Just… don't rush."
He didn't hesitate. He reached across the island and took her hand. "I won't. Physio said I'm healing faster than expected, but if I feel anything at all, I'll rest."
She exhaled, relieved. "Good. I trust you, I just... needed to hear it."
He leaned forward slightly, pressing his forehead to hers for a moment. No more words. Just that gesture.
Later, they napped upstairs. Curtains drawn, the wind outside making the windows hum faintly. Adriano's ankle ached in the dull, persistent way healing injuries do, but the warmth of Kate's body beside him kept everything in balance.
When they woke, it was dusk. The edges of the sky were tinted purple. Kate stirred first, mumbling something about tea. Adriano stretched, then winced slightly and sat up.
In the kitchen, they kept it simple—toast, scrambled eggs, slices of avocado, a small pot of chamomile tea between them. The conversation was quieter now, the kind of calm that settles in after a long but fulfilling day.
When dinner ended, the lights dimmed and candles flickered low. Adriano leaned back against the counter, swirling the last bit of wine in his glass.
Kate was watching him. There was a particular look in her eyes—soft but unreadable. Then she stood, crossed the room, and placed her hands lightly on his chest.
"Go upstairs," she said.
He tilted his head, curious. "Why?"
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. "Because I said so."
He smirked. "You're not going to tell me what's going on?"
"Nope. Just go."
He finished his wine, placed the glass down, and gave a low chuckle. "Alright. But if I trip on the stairs, you're explaining that to the physio."
Kate rolled her eyes. "Go."
He went—carefully, slowly. The ankle reminded him with every step to take it easy. But even with the stiffness, his mind was already drifting ahead, full of questions. And anticipation.
The bedroom was softly lit, the air cool and still. He sat on the edge of the bed, hands resting on his knees, and waited. The anticipation was a pleasant ache, the kind that made his pulse quicken. What is she up to? He didn't have to wait long.
The door creaked open softly, and there she was. Kate stood in the doorway, framed by the soft light from the hall. She wore a deep red satin robe that clung to her curves, the shimmering fabric catching the light with every slight movement.
Beneath it, just barely visible, was the delicate lace of something he couldn't quite make out. Her hair cascaded in loose waves over her shoulders, and atop her head sat a small, elegant crown—a nod to the Scarlet Witch, playful yet undeniably alluring.
"Wow," Adriano breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn't take his eyes off her.
Kate closed the door behind her with a soft click and walked toward him, her steps slow and deliberate. The robe swayed with her movements, the fabric brushing against her thighs. "Happy birthday, lover boy," she purred, stopping just in front of him. Her voice was low, teasing, and it sent a shiver down his spine. "Ready for your present?"
He reached for her, his hands settling on her hips as she climbed into his lap. Her weight settled against him, warm and familiar, and he let out a soft sigh as she leaned in. Their lips met in a kiss that was slow, deliberate, and full of promise. It wasn't rushed or desperate—it was the kind of kiss that spoke of history, of knowing each other's rhythms and boundaries. Her hands slid up his chest, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles through his shirt, while his own hands roamed the smooth satin of her back.
When they finally pulled apart, Kate's eyes were dark with mischief and something deeper, something that made his breath catch. "You look incredible," he murmured, his voice rough.
She grinned, her fingers toying with the collar of his shirt. "I thought you deserved something special tonight." She leaned in again, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. "You've been so patient with everything. With me." Her breath was warm against his skin, and he felt his grip tighten on her waist instinctively.
Adriano tilted his head, catching her lips again, this time with more urgency. His hands slipped beneath the robe, skimming over the lace that clung to her hips. She made a soft, approving sound against his mouth, and he felt her fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt, pushing it up and over his head.
Cool air brushed against his skin, but her hands quickly followed, warm and searching.
They shifted together, moving further onto the bed, never breaking contact. Kate's robe slipped open , revealing her body, and Adriano's eyes shined as he took her in. "You're killing me babe," he muttered, his voice thick with wanting.
She laughed softly, her fingers trailing down his chest. "Good." She kissed him again, slow and deep, her body pressing against his in a way that made his head spin. Her hands roamed lower, tracing the line of his waistband, and he groaned, his own hands tightening on her hips.
"Kate," he murmured against her lips, his voice strained. "You're—"
"Shh," she interrupted, her fingers brushing his jaw. "Let me give you this. Just us. No rush, no pressure. Just…" She trailed off, her lips finding his again in a kiss that was both tender and searing.
Kate's breath hitched as his lips found the curve of her neck, and her fingers tightened in his hair. "Adriano," she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly. "I love you."
He pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes soft but intense. "I love you too." His hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. "More than anything."
They lay back together, hands exploring, words whispered in between touches—silly, romantic, intimate. The rest of the night, only passionate moans, creaking of bed and lsughter was heard from Adriano's bedroom where the lovebirds lost themselves in passion and each other.
Later, Kate rested her head on his chest, her fingers tracing circles on his shoulder.
"I wanted tonight to be special," she murmured.
Adriano pressed his lips to her forehead. "You're here. That's all I needed."
They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, until sleep slowly crept over them again. No cameras, no fans, no pressure. Just a boy who loved football and a girl who loved him—finding peace in the quiet after celebration.
***
The morning air at Carrington was crisp, edged with a late-winter chill that clung to the training pitches. Adriano stepped out of the facility doors wearing his training jacket zipped up to the collar. The breeze brushed across his face, but it didn't bother him. It felt good to be back.
After several quiet days at home with Kate—days spent sleeping in, watching films, passionate nights, and walking carefully from room to room while she made sure he didn't so much as stub his toe—Adriano was finally cleared for training.
The physios had run him through a series of mobility checks the day before, testing his ankle's range of motion, responsiveness, and pain threshold. He passed everything. Still, Pellegrini and the medical team weren't taking any chances.
Inside the gym, Adriano found most of the squad finishing up their warm-ups. He exchanged a few nods before heading to the locker room. The atmosphere changed the moment he stepped in.
Kevin De Bruyne looked up from tying his boots and stood up. "Well, look who's decided to join us."
Adriano laughed and tossed his bag into the open cubby. "What, you thought I'd skip the entire week?"
Kevin crossed the room in two quick strides and gave him a firm slap between the shoulder blades. "The mood's been boring without you. Eden keeps trying to DJ and picks nothing but garage remixes."
"I heard that," Hazard called from the corridor.
Adriano grinned and started changing. Across from him, Harry Kane was pulling on his compression top.
"Juventus better have a plan now," Kane said, his tone casual but the smile on his face genuine. "We're back at full strength."
Adriano glanced down as he laced up his boots. "I wouldn't say full strength yet."
"You're running," Kane said simply. "You're moving without limping. That's enough to scare them mate."
From the far end of the locker room, Joe Hart walked in, towel over his shoulder. He wasn't one for small talk most mornings—usually all focus, businesslike—but even he paused as he passed Adriano.
"Glad to see you up and walking. Looks like I won't have to shout at the kids to finish anymore."
Adriano laughed quietly. "Give me one session before you start blaming me again."
Hart raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. That was the closest thing to a warm welcome he gave anyone.
Training that day was carefully managed. Pellegrini pulled Adriano aside before they began.
"We'll start you with low-intensity passing. You know the drill—don't overdo it. The second leg's not for another five days."
"I know," Adriano said, nodding. "I'm good with whatever pace you want."
The manager nodded once, approvingly, then walked off toward the assistant coaches.
The warm-up began with slow jogs and dynamic stretches. Adriano moved carefully at first, testing how much weight he could place on the ankle. It responded well—no pain, just a bit of stiffness.
Kevin jogged beside him, glancing over now and then. "You alright bro?"
"Yeah," Adriano replied. "Feels solid. Not perfect. But no pain."
"That's a win. Don't be a hero today."
"I won't."
Passing drills were next. Adriano slotted into a triangle with Silva and Kimmich. The tempo was light, touches deliberate, but the rhythm came back to him quickly. Ball in, ball out. Movement, reset. His footwork was still sharp, and he found his timing returning within minutes.
From the sideline, the physios watched closely, but no one interfered.
Later in the session, Pellegrini allowed him to join the shooting drills on the near side of the pitch. It wasn't full sprints or one-on-ones—just basic finishing work. The coaches fed him balls at a soft pace. Adriano took his time, focusing on balance, drive, and placement. His ankle held up. One low shot found the bottom corner, another curled in off the far post.
"See?" Kevin called from midfield. "That's what we've been missing."
Adriano jogged back into position. "Bet you didn't miss me blocking your shots, though."
Kane jogged past, tapping his shoulder. "If you score next week, I'm making you buy dinner for the whole team."
Adriano smirked. "Deal. But I pick the place. No more steakhouse nonsense."
"Fair enough," Kane said with a shrug.
They finished with a cool-down, the players dispersing into small groups as the intensity wound down. Adriano stayed a little longer on the pitch with the physio, working through some resistance band exercises and balance drills. Kate had insisted he take rehab seriously, and he hadn't forgotten.
Back in the locker room, the squad was in high spirits. Hart was half-drenched after someone sprayed him with a water bottle. Milner and Navas were arguing about who lost a passing game. Kevin sat beside Adriano, pulling off his boots and leaning back on the bench.
"You did well today," he said. "I can tell you're not forcing it. That's important."
Adriano nodded slowly. "Feels good to be back with everyone. Sitting at home… it makes you overthink things."
Kevin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "That second leg is going to be intense. But if you're fit—even just 80%—it changes everything."
Adriano didn't answer right away. He was staring at the floor, towel draped over his neck.
"I'm not going to lie to myself about fitness," he said after a moment. "If I can help the team, I will. If not, I won't fake it."
Kevin smiled. "That's why we trust you."
The players slowly filed out toward the showers. Adriano lingered for a moment, unwrapping the compression tape around his ankle and gently rotating the joint. Still stiff, but holding. It was progress.
As he stood and reached for his shirt, he felt his phone buzz in his locker. A message from Kate.
"How's the ankle? Still attached?"
He smiled to himself and typed back.
"Still there. Still handsome. Be home soon."
He hit send, grabbed his bag, and followed the rest of the squad toward the showers. It wasn't the full comeback yet. But it was the first real step.
***
Premier League, Matchday 25
Stoke City vs Manchester City
Venue: Britannia Stadium
The icy wind cut through Staffordshire as the players lined up under the floodlights of the Britannia. The Etihad faithful were out in force, their sky-blue scarves a blur of color and noise in the away end, their voices carrying through the stadium even before kickoff. But one name drew the loudest cheer—not on the pitch, but on the bench.
Martin Tyler: "And there's the name they've been waiting for—Adriano. Back in the squad, though Pellegrini's made it clear: only if absolutely necessary."
Alan Smith: "Even from the bench, Martin, he lifts the whole side. But this isn't a day for one man. City have to show they can grind out a result on a cold, unforgiving night like this."
The pitch looked heavy, the weather cruel. But the mission was simple: win, and keep Chelsea at arm's length in second. Pellegrini's side lined up in a compact yet fluid 4-2-3-1:
City XI:
Hart; Kimmich, Hummels, Mangala, Kolarov; Casemiro; De Bruyne, Silva; Salah, Hazard; Kane.
Stoke were as expected—solid, physical, and unyielding in a 4-1-4-1 formation. Shawcross and Muniesa patrolled the backline like sentinels, and in midfield, Whelan and Nzonzi braced for war.
***
The tone was set early as, in just the 2nd minute, Salah darted down the right flank with intent, only to be flattened near the touchline by Pieters. No booking followed, but referee Michael Oliver made his stance clear with a sharp warning.
Martin Tyler: "That's the message from Stoke: 'Welcome to the Britannia.'"
Alan Smith: "City can't be sucked into that kind of game. This has to be played on their terms—not in the trenches."
Casemiro immediately took the reins in midfield, barking instructions, shielding the back four, and calmly breaking up Stoke's first two hopeful long balls. After muscling Arnautović off the ball near the halfway line, he turned to Kimmich with a low voice: "Stay sharp. They'll go long every time."
By the 14th minute, City fashioned their first big chance. Silva, drifting centrally, spotted De Bruyne between the lines and slipped him the ball. In one motion, De Bruyne turned and played a perfect through ball into Kane's path. The England striker took it in stride, his first touch clean.
Martin Tyler: "Kane's in here… great first touch…!"
Kane struck low and hard, but Begović was quick off his line, blocking it with his legs. The rebound fell toward Hazard, who fired a left-footed snap-shot across goal, only to see it skip wide of the far post.
Alan Smith: "Sharp movement—Kane's finish wasn't bad, but credit to the keeper. And Hazard, well, he made something out of nothing there."
Kane exhaled, disappointed. "Closer."
Hazard jogged past and tapped his arm. "Next one. We're breaking through."
By the 18th minute, City were in control, controlling possession and pulling Stoke out of shape. De Bruyne switched with Silva again and found Salah wide on the right. Salah cut inside onto his left foot and curled a teasing cross toward Kane, who had peeled away from Shawcross. The striker rose well but misjudged the header, sending it wide.
Martin Tyler: "That's two good chances now. Kane finding those little channels, but still no breakthrough."
Moments later, Mangala and Hummels regained possession high up the pitch, exchanging a quick high-five. "That's how we keep the tempo," Mangala said. "One touch. Back out."
Then, in the 19th minute, Stoke made the fatal error of trying to play through the middle. Whelan's pass was too slow—Casemiro pounced, intercepting with a perfectly timed lunge and immediately surging forward.
"Go! Go!" he shouted, slipping a pass to Silva, who glided through midfield with those trademark soft touches before threading a ball out left to Hazard.
Hazard faced up Bardsley, dropped his shoulder to freeze him, then cut inside. Two defenders closed in—but he let fly with a curling right-footed shot toward the far post.
Martin Tyler: "Hazard… curling… oh that's wonderful! What a goal!"
Alan Smith: "Genius from Eden Hazard! He's done that so many times—cutting in and bending it like a postcard."
GOAL ANNOUNCER: "GOOOOOAAALLL! Manchester City take the lead—Eden Hazard, with an absolute beauty!"
Hazard peeled away toward the away fans, knee-sliding with both fists pumping. Silva chased him down and wrapped him in a hug.
"You show-off," Silva laughed.
Hazard winked. "Told you I'd get the next one."
Casemiro came over, patting them both. "One more and we kill it off."
Kane clapped Hazard's back. "About time one of us scored."
In the 23rd minute, Stoke responded the only way they knew—through force. Walters won a soft free kick from a questionable foul, and Charlie Adam stepped up. He whipped in a dangerous ball, and Hart had to punch it clear with Shawcross bearing down on him.
Moments later, Arnautović threw a sly elbow into Kimmich during a midfield tussle. The referee gave only a warning, but Pellegrini was on his feet, clearly frustrated.
Alan Smith: "City need to keep their composure. Stoke are turning this into a street fight."
In the 30th minute, City thought they had their second. Hazard again broke free on the left, left Bardsley for dead, and pulled it back toward the edge of the area for De Bruyne. Without hesitation, De Bruyne whipped in a first-time ball—Kane rose, met it with power, and the net rippled.
Celebrations erupted—until the assistant's flag went up.
Martin Tyler: "Offside! And that is incredibly tight."
The replay showed Kane's trailing foot just ahead of the last defender.
Kane threw his arms up in frustration. "Seriously?"
From the touchline, Salah called out, "Just hold it half a second next time!"
Hazard jogged over during the stoppage. "Don't worry. You'll get yours."
The rain had begun to fall gently by the 34th minute, coating the pitch in a sheen that made every touch and challenge more precarious. But Mohamed Salah didn't hesitate. Picking the ball up wide on the right after a quick switch from Silva, he squared up Muniesa, feinted left, then pushed inside onto his stronger foot.
Martin Tyler: "Here goes Salah… dancing inside… can he get the shot away?"
He did. A clean, whipped left-footed strike from the edge of the area that bent wickedly toward the far corner—only to graze the outside of the post with Begović rooted.
Alan Smith: "He had the keeper beaten, Martin. Inches from a stunner. Salah looks hungry tonight."
Salah threw his head back and slapped his hands together. "How close was that?" he muttered, turning to Silva jogging in support.
Silva grinned. "Ten more like that and you might actually score."
Salah smirked, already backtracking into position. "Keep watching."
City regained the ball seconds later through a Casemiro interception. Stoke's midfield, increasingly reckless, tried to press higher, but it left gaps—something Joshua Kimmich was quick to exploit.
In the 36th minute, the young German right-back charged up the flank and floated in a teasing cross to the near post. Kane, already one goal to his name, rose powerfully between Shawcross and Muniesa, meeting the delivery with a downward header.
Martin Tyler: "Kane! It's looping—oh, what a save! Begović gets just enough on it!"
Alan Smith: "That's outstanding goalkeeping. He was going the other way—just threw out a hand and saved it on reflex."
Kane landed hard and pounded the turf in frustration. "How's he saved that?"
Kimmich ran over, offering a hand. "Next one's yours."
Kane shook his head, half-smiling. "It better be."
Stoke tried to regain a foothold. Arnautović got away with a late lunge on Casemiro, who stayed down a few seconds before waving away medical staff.
Alan Smith: "That's a nasty one. Ref's letting a lot go tonight, Martin. Stoke are toeing the line."
Martin Tyler: "And Casemiro doesn't go down easy. That says a lot."
Pellegrini stepped to the edge of his technical area, raising a hand to the fourth official. "One more like that," he warned, "and someone's getting stretchered off."
City responded by tightening their grip on possession. De Bruyne dropped deeper, exchanging a sharp one-two with Kolarov near halfway, then surging forward as Stoke's lines opened up.
Kolarov sprinted ahead on the overlap. De Bruyne used him as a decoy, then paused, waited for Kane's diagonal movement between the centre-backs, and threaded the needle with a perfect pass through two defenders.
Martin Tyler: "This is brilliant… Kane's in behind… first touch—"
Kane didn't need a second invitation. One touch took the ball past the lunging Muniesa. The next was violent—hammered with his right foot across Begović and into the roof of the net from eight yards out.
Martin Tyler: "Harry Kane! That's majestic! A striker's goal through and through!"
Alan Smith: "First touch to kill it, second to bury it. You can't teach that kind of instinct, Martin. That run, the weight of the pass from De Bruyne—it's top-level football."
GOAL ANNOUNCER: "GOOOOOAAAAALLLL! Harry Kane! It's two for Manchester City!"
Kane peeled away with arms outstretched, sliding on the slick turf toward the away end. De Bruyne followed and caught him with a flying chest bump.
"Finally!" Kane laughed, out of breath.
De Bruyne chuckled. "Was it the pass or the finish?"
"Both. Couldn't miss that one."
Salah arrived next, grinning. "You're welcome for dragging Shawcross out."
Kolarov smacked Kane on the back of the head playfully. "You owe me dinner, I started that move."
Casemiro jogged up last, pointing to the scoreboard. "Two is not enough. Keep pushing."
Adriano shouted from the bench, " Good job boys! Now finish it up."
On the touchline, Pellegrini just nodded. No fist-pumps, no emotion. Only a quick glance at his assistants before muttering, "Well executed."
Stoke's frustration mounted. In the 43rd minute, Whelan scythed down Silva near the halfway line after being nutmegged. The crowd cheered, but Michael Oliver finally reached for his pocket and produced a yellow.
Martin Tyler: "That's about four fouls too late. Silva's had to wear a few already."
As halftime approached, City played with composure. Salah nearly found a third after latching onto another Kimmich ball, but his low finish was smothered at the near post by Begović. Hazard collected the rebound but was flagged offside before he could shoot.
One last push saw Silva try a delicate dink through to Hazard, but Bardsley intervened with a well-timed sliding tackle. The whistle blew moments later.
Martin Tyler: "An excellent first half from Manchester City. Control, composure, and two top-class goals to show for it."
Alan Smith: "Hazard's opener was magic, but that second goal? That's what makes title-winning sides. From back to front—just perfect football."
As the teams walked down the tunnel, Kane threw an arm over De Bruyne's shoulder. "You owe me another like that in the second."
De Bruyne replied, "Only if you keep that finish up."
Inside the tunnel, Pellegrini clapped once. "Good half. Keep your shape. They'll come out more aggressive—don't get pulled into their tempo. Let the ball do the work."
Adriano added , " If you boys keep this up, I won't even have to make an appearance," earning some chuckles.
Casemiro, arms folded, added, "First ten minutes—they'll throw everything. Stay tight."
Hazard, sipping from a water bottle, nodded. "And then we kill it off."
There was no bravado, no celebrations—just focus. City had done half the job. Now they had to finish it.
***
The second half began under the floodlights, with the cold Staffordshire air thick with moisture and anticipation. Stoke, desperate for a response, made a change—Jonathan Walters came on to add bite up front. His presence was instantly felt as he clattered into Mangala chasing a long ball.
Martin Tyler: "Well, that's one way to announce yourself. Walters isn't easing into the second half."
Alan Smith: "That's vintage Stoke—physical, direct, trying to force mistakes. But City have looked so composed."
The early exchanges were scrappy. Stoke tried to up the tempo, flying into challenges, with Adam catching Casemiro late near the centre circle. The referee gave a warning but kept the card in his pocket.
"Ref's letting a lot go today," Casemiro muttered, rubbing his shin.
Kane leaned in. "It's Stoke. They don't know any other way."
Casemiro shrugged, " We better finish it up so that Adriano doesn't have to come on. If he gets injured again, we're screwed next week."
Silva laughed from the side, " that's fair enough. Let's get it done amigos."
But despite the increased aggression, it didn't shake City's rhythm.
In the 54th minute, after a spell of tidy possession, City won a corner on the right. De Bruyne trotted over to take it short, playing a quick one-two with Silva. Stoke's defenders hesitated, expecting a cross—but instead, Silva played it along the edge of the box to Salah, who had drifted into a pocket of space.
Martin Tyler: "And now Salah… tight control… he's wriggled through—can he finish?!"
With two touches, Salah burst past Pieters, and from just inside the area, rifled a low left-footed strike at the near post. Begović didn't move. The net rippled.
GOAL ANNOUNCER: "MOHAMED SALAH! THREE–NIL TO MANCHESTER CITY!"
Alan Smith: "You could feel that one coming. He's been a menace all night. Quick feet, quick mind—and this time, perfect execution."
Salah turned toward the away fans and cupped his ears, then laughed and pointed at Silva. "Gracias, maestro."
Silva caught up to him, grinning. "Took you long enough."
De Bruyne joined them with a high five. "Was it the short corner or the finish?"
Salah shrugged with mock arrogance. "Bit of both."
In the away end, the supporters erupted in voice, banners and scarves held high. Some even began chanting "Adriano! Adriano!"—his name echoing despite the fact he hadn't played a minute.
Down on the bench, Adriano stood and clapped with a grin. Pellegrini, arms folded beside him, gave a rare smile. There was no need to bring him on now—not when the job was being done so professionally.
Stoke, deflated but still swinging, threw men forward in brief flurries.
In the 61st minute, Walters got on the end of a long diagonal and flicked it into the path of Arnautović, who tried a first-time shot from distance—Hart dived sharply to his right and pushed it wide.
Martin Tyler: "That's more like it from Stoke, but Hart stays alert. He hasn't had much to do tonight."
Alan Smith: "And that's testament to City's control. Casemiro and the centre-backs have given them nothing easy."
In the 68th, Hazard danced in from the left, cutting inside past Bardsley and Shawcross with a flash of close control. He shaped to curl one into the far corner—Begović anticipated it and got across with a strong hand to parry.
But the ball fell straight to Silva, unmarked inside the box.
Martin Tyler: "It's David Silva… no mistake! FOUR–NIL!"
GOAL ANNOUNCER: "DAVID SILVA! ABSOLUTE DOMINANCE FROM CITY! 4-0 at Britannia Stadium."
Alan Smith: "You leave David Silva with that much time inside the box, you're asking for trouble. He's been everywhere tonight—what a performance."
Silva raised his arms and turned back to Hazard, who stood hands on knees, grinning.
"That was yours," Silva said.
Hazard walked over and tousled his hair. "You're welcome. I do the art, you take the credit."
Salah jogged in to join them. "Tell you what, they can't live with us when we move like that."
The game, at this point, was over as a contest. Pellegrini began rotating—Silva received a standing ovation from the traveling fans as Milner came on in the 70th minute. Kolarov made way for the younger Andrew Robertson a few minutes later, fresh legs on a slick pitch.
Casemiro dropped deeper now, sitting just ahead of the back four and snapping into tackles with ruthless efficiency. Every time Stoke tried to build, he was there—intercepting, breaking up play, setting a calm tempo.
The 79th minute saw another opportunity for City—Kane spun off Shawcross and was found by De Bruyne with a floated ball over the top. He brought it down beautifully but dragged his shot wide from 16 yards out.
Martin Tyler: "Kane's been sharp tonight—he'll be disappointed not to bag a second."
Alan Smith: "He's done the hard bit—chest control was sublime, but just lost the balance on the shot."
At the other end, Stoke had a final gasp. Arnautović drifted inside and tested Hart with a curling effort from just outside the box. Hart, ever alert, flew across and palmed it away with both hands.
Adriano stood again, clapping from the sidelines. Kane turned to him, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Ready to take over next week?"
Adriano smirked. "You've softened them up for me."
The final whistle blew shortly after.
Martin Tyler: "Manchester City—ruthless, professional, and dominant. Four goals, clean sheet, and a statement ahead of that trip to Turin."
Alan Smith: "No Adriano, but no problem. Hazard, Silva, Salah, Kane—everyone stepped up. That's how you win titles."
The City players walked over to the away end, clapping in rhythm with the chants of "Blue Moon Galacticos" Scarves twirled in the air, the traveling faithful soaking in another top-tier performance.
Adriano lingered on the pitch after most had gone inside, walking slowly toward the centre circle. Joe Hart met him there, offering a quick nod.
"They're ready," Hart said.
Kane joined them, still catching his breath. "Now let's go and turn Turin blue."
Adriano looked up toward the distant stands, where a small group still chanted his name.
"We owe them," he said. "Next week—we remind Europe who we are."
And with that, the chapter in England closed. The lights of the Britannia faded behind them. All eyes turned to Italy.