The night after their day at the mall was calm and serene. Lisbon, draped in soft Christmas lights strung across balconies and winding street corners, felt almost magical under the cool night air.
Back at the family home, the warmth of Rosa's cooking filled the house with a comforting aroma. She had prepared bacalhau com natas—a creamy, oven-baked codfish dish that Adriano had loved since he was a child. The rich smell of garlic, onions, and cream wafted through the kitchen, blending with the faint crackle of logs in the fireplace.
The dining table was modest but well-kept, its wooden surface polished smooth from years of family meals and late-night conversations. Plates were set neatly, with wine glasses placed by each setting. As they all sat down, Julio reached for the bottle of red wine, giving it a quick swirl before pouring generously into each glass, pausing only when he got to Adriano's. He raised an eyebrow mischievously and poured a bit extra. "You're off the pitch for a week; it won't hurt," he chuckled, the sound deep and warm.
Adriano smirked, raising his glass. "Saúde," he said, clinking it against his father's, the sound ringing lightly in the room.
Kate watched the exchange with a soft smile, her eyes flicking from father to son. She had slipped seamlessly into the family dynamic, her laughter mixing effortlessly with theirs. Rosa doted on her throughout the meal, fussing over her plate as if she were her own daughter. "Kate, querida, you need more bread," Rosa insisted, reaching for the basket without waiting for a reply.
Kate laughed, holding up her hands. "Rosa, I've had three pieces already. Any more and I won't fit back on the plane!"
"Nonsense," Rosa said firmly, placing another warm slice onto her plate. "You are too thin, you need to eat." She gave a knowing look to Adriano. "He always forgets to eat properly when he's away. You need to keep an eye on him."
Adriano groaned playfully. "Mãe, I'm fine. I promise."
Rosa only shrugged, clearly unconvinced. "We'll see," she replied, her eyes twinkling with affection.
Kate chuckled, taking a bite of the bread despite her earlier protest. "I have to say," she began after finishing her second helping of bacalhau, "I think I might get addicted to Portuguese food. This is amazing."
Rosa's face lit up with delight. "Well, then you'll just have to come back every Christmas, won't you?" she said, her tone both hopeful and matter-of-fact.
Adriano raised his eyebrows, his grin spreading wide. "Every Christmas? You hear that, Kate? You're stuck with us now. No escape."
Kate nudged him playfully. "I can think of worse places to be," she replied, her eyes meeting his with a warmth that lingered.
Julio, who had been quietly sipping his wine and observing the scene, leaned back in his chair, tapping the side of his glass thoughtfully. His eyes were soft, gleaming with pride as he watched the easy connection between his son and Kate.
"I'll tell you one thing," he began, his voice carrying a weight of sincerity, "it's good to see my boy so happy. You two are good together."
Kate's smile faltered for just a second, the emotion flickering across her face. She glanced down at her plate, a blush creeping into her cheeks as she took a sip of wine to hide it. "It's good to be home," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, but clear enough for everyone to hear.
Rosa reached across the table and placed her hand over her, squeezing gently. "And it's good to have you here," she said warmly, her eyes glimmering with moisture she refused to let fall.
The room fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only comes with family—real, unfiltered connection. Outside, the streets of Lisbon glowed under the gentle hum of Christmas lights, but inside, around that simple wooden table, the light of family shone even brighter.
***
The next morning, Christmas Day arrived with the quiet charm of tradition. Adriano woke up early, the first rays of sunlight filtering through his bedroom curtains, casting soft streaks of gold across the wooden floor. He lay still for a moment, letting the familiar warmth of home sink in. Beside him, Kate was still curled up beneath layers of blankets, her hair splayed across the pillow in gentle waves. Her breathing was steady, her expression serene. Adriano watched her for a moment, a soft smile spreading across his face before he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. She stirred slightly but didn't wake, mumbling something incoherent as she snuggled deeper into the covers.
Adriano slipped out of bed quietly, throwing on a sweater before heading downstairs. He found his father already in the living room, sleeves rolled up and a familiar look of concentration on his face as he wrestled with a tangled mess of Christmas lights. Boxes of ornaments were spread out across the coffee table, some spilling over with tinsel and old decorations that had seen countless Christmases before.
"Need a hand?" Adriano asked, his voice light with amusement as he took in the hopeless snarl of wires in Julio's hands.
Julio looked up, his eyes brightening with a grin. "If you don't mind," he said, handing over the knot of lights with clear relief. "I swear these things get more tangled every year."
Adriano chuckled, already working his fingers through the mess. "You always let them get like this, Pai," he teased, deftly pulling apart the strands with a practiced touch. "Remember last year? It took us an hour just to get them untangled."
Julio laughed, shaking his head. "An hour? I think it was closer to two! Your mother nearly gave up on us."
Adriano smiled at the memory, feeling the warmth of nostalgia settle over him. They worked together in easy silence for a while, stringing the lights carefully around the tree in perfect circles. Adriano hung up the ornaments—some new, gleaming with fresh paint, and others older than him, their colors faded but their memories strong. His hands paused when he came across a familiar one: a small, hand-painted football, its edges chipped but still intact.
He held it up, turning it over in his hands. "You still kept this?" Adriano asked, his voice laced with surprise.
Julio glanced over and smiled warmly. "Of course. It's tradition," he said simply, wiping his hands on a cloth. He moved closer, reaching out to touch the ornament with a careful hand. "Every time you play, I think of this. The boy who always had a ball at his feet, running around this house, knocking over everything in sight."
Adriano chuckled, shaking his head. "I broke a lot of things, didn't I?"
Julio laughed, his eyes sparkling with memory. "You did," he agreed. "But you always apologized… well, mostly."
Adriano smiled, hanging the ornament carefully near the top of the tree. He looked back at his father, the room soft with morning light. "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you and Mãe," he said quietly, the words heavy with sincerity.
Julio's expression softened, his hand coming to rest on Adriano's shoulder. He gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze. "We just gave you the ball, son. You did the rest," he replied, his voice gentle.
Adriano looked down, his smile growing a bit wider. "Couldn't have done it without you," he said, and for a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching out in shared understanding.
By mid-morning, the living room was complete. The tree sparkled with lights, casting soft glows across the walls.
Ornaments twinkled in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and Rosa had set up a delicate nativity scene on the mantelpiece, its tiny figurines perfectly arranged. The warm, inviting smell of freshly baked bolo rei—a traditional Portuguese Christmas cake—drifted in from the kitchen, mingling with the faint scent of cinnamon and cloves.
Kate joined them a little later, rubbing her eyes as she padded into the living room, still in her pajamas. She took one look at the beautifully decorated tree and broke into a wide smile. "Good morning, everyone," she said cheerfully, stretching her arms above her head.
Rosa appeared from the kitchen, her hands dusted with flour. "Ah, Kate! Just in time," she called, waving her over. "Come, come! I need help with the pastries."
Kate blinked, momentarily surprised, but Rosa's insistence left no room for hesitation. "Oh, um... sure!" she replied, glancing back at Adriano with a mock look of betrayal. He just shrugged, leaning back on the couch with a grin and mouthing, Good luck.
Rosa swept Kate into the kitchen, where the countertops were already cluttered with bowls of dough, trays of flour, and tins of sugar. Rosa handed her a rolling pin, nodding approvingly. "You know how to use this, yes?"
Kate laughed, gripping the handle firmly. "I think I can manage," she replied.
They set to work side by side, rolling dough and dusting sugar over freshly made filhós—Portuguese Christmas pastries that gleamed with a light coat of cinnamon and sugar.
Rosa kept the conversation lively, asking Kate about the movie shoot, her family back in Florida, and how she was adjusting to life in Europe. Kate answered each question warmly, her hands never stopping as she rolled and dusted with care.
Rosa leaned in conspiratorially after a while, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And what about you and Adriano?" she asked, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Do you think I might be getting a grandchild soon?"
Kate's cheeks flared bright red, and she nearly dropped the rolling pin. "Oh, we haven't… I mean, not yet," she stammered, her eyes flicking toward the living room where Adriano and Julio were chatting. "But maybe someday," she added softly, a shy smile pulling at her lips.
Rosa patted her hand, her expression warm and knowing. "I can wait," she said with a smile. "Just promise me one thing: Take care of my boy well. make sure he eats properly. My son forgets sometimes when he's away."
Kate laughed, nodding earnestly. "I'll make sure of it," she promised.
Rosa gave her a satisfied nod, turning back to the dough with a contented hum. The kitchen was warm with the smell of baked goods and the easy rhythm of shared company. For Kate, it felt like slipping into a memory she didn't know she had—familiar, comforting, and wholly hers.
The Christmas lunch was nothing short of a grand affair, the dining table transformed into a spread of Portuguese tradition and comfort.
Rosa had outdone herself—platters of roasted lamb glistened with rosemary and garlic, the meat tender and perfectly seasoned. Beside it sat steaming trays of bacalhau com batatas, salted cod baked with potatoes and drizzled with olive oil, its aroma filling the entire house.
At the center of the table, a mountain of rabanadas—Portuguese-style French toast soaked in sweet syrup and sprinkled with cinnamon—waited patiently for its turn to be devoured.
The family gathered around the well-worn wooden table, its surface covered with mismatched plates and gleaming silverware polished for the occasion.
Julio poured the wine generously, chuckling as he filled Adriano's glass to the brim. "For all those goals you keep scoring," he teased, handing it over with a grin.
Adriano raised his glass, smirking. "Only if you keep watching," he shot back, clinking his glass against his father's.
They ate heartily, plates piled high with food, the room filled with the sound of laughter and the scrape of forks against porcelain.
Conversation flowed easily, winding through the years with the comfort of familiarity. Julio, always the storyteller, launched into tales of Adriano's youth, his eyes sparkling with nostalgia.
"You know," Julio began, gesturing with his fork for emphasis, "he used to spend hours kicking that battered old football against the garden wall. Day in and day out, just him and that ball. I swear, half the time I thought it was glued to his foot."
Rosa, setting down a fresh basket of bread, laughed and nodded in agreement. "It's true. I used to watch him from the kitchen window... relentless. He wouldn't stop until it got too dark to see."
Adriano groaned, covering his face with one hand. "Not this again," he muttered, shaking his head. "I swear you two have told that story a thousand times."
Julio waved him off, undeterred. "Oh, we're not done," he grinned, leaning back in his chair. "He broke so many flower pots, I lost count. I used to joke that the garden was a war zone. And you know what he'd say? 'I'm just practicing my free kicks!' Like that was supposed to make me feel better!"
Kate burst out laughing, her eyes wide with amusement. "You didn't!"
Adriano groaned louder, peeking out from behind his hands. "I paid you back for those, remember?" he protested, pointing a fork in his father's direction.
Julio raised his glass, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You did. And with interest," he said, taking a long sip before continuing. "But I'd break a thousand more if it meant watching you live your dream."
The room fell silent for a heartbeat, the weight of Julio's words settling in with a gentle grace. Adriano looked down, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Thanks, Dad," he murmured softly.
Kate's smile softened as she watched the exchange, her fingers lightly tracing Adriano's hand. He smiled at her.
When the conversation shifted to her, she leaned forward eagerly. "Well, if you think a garden war zone is bad, you should've seen Christmas at my house," she began, eyes sparkling.
"I grew up in Florida, so every Christmas was either at our house or on the beach. My dad would bring out this old barbecue, and we'd play volleyball all day. The only snow I saw was made of sand."
Rosa's eyes widened with genuine surprise. "Christmas… on a beach?" she repeated, as if the very idea were foreign. "How strange!"
Kate laughed, nodding. "I thought the same thing when I saw snow for the first time. I couldn't believe how cold it was!"
The family chuckled, and Rosa reached across the table to pat Kate's hand warmly. "Well, next time you'll have to bring your parents here. We'll show them how Christmas is done in Lisbon."
Kate smiled, her eyes glancing toward Adriano. "I'd like that," she replied softly.
As the plates were cleared and the smell of coffee began to fill the air, conversation shifted naturally to the future. Rosa served slices of bolo rei, the traditional Portuguese Christmas cake, its jeweled fruits glistening under the dining room lights. Between bites of the dense, sweet cake, Adriano and Kate spoke of their plans—how, after her movie wrapped up in January, she would join him in Manchester.
Rosa clasped her hands together, her face lighting up with happiness. "I'm happy knowing you'll be there to look after him," she said, her voice thick with emotion.
"He needs someone to keep him grounded, especially with all that running around he does."
Julio leaned back in his chair, a smirk already tugging at his lips. He pointed his fork in their direction, shaking his head with mock sternness. "Just don't make me a grandpa too soon, alright?" he quipped.
Kate's eyes went wide as her cheeks flared a brilliant shade of crimson. She covered her face with both hands, laughing despite her embarrassment. "Oh my God…" she murmured from behind her fingers.
Adriano threw his head back, laughing heartily as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I'll see what I can do, If I can keep my hands off her. But I doubt it, specially when my girlfriend is so beautiful and affectionate." he teased, shooting his father a mischievous grin.
The whole table erupted in laughter, even Rosa covering her mouth with her hand as she giggled softly. Kate peeked out from behind her hands, shaking her head in disbelief. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?" she asked, eyes glimmering with amusement.
Adriano just raised his glass again. "Not a chance babe. " he said with a wink.
That night, after the dishes were washed, the leftovers were stored away, and the lights on the Christmas tree flickered softly in the corner of the living room,
Adriano and Kate found themselves wrapped in the warmth of their blankets. The room was quiet, the only sounds coming from the distant hum of city lights and the occasional pop of the fireplace. Kate rested her head on Adriano's chest, her fingers tracing gentle patterns along his arm.
"You seem quiet," she whispered, her voice soft against the stillness. "What's on your mind?"
Adriano took a moment before answering, his hand moving to run gently through her hair. "My dad's joke... about grandkids," he admitted quietly.
Kate looked up, her eyes meeting his. "You've been thinking about that?" she asked gently.
He nodded, his expression thoughtful. "When we have kids in future, I want them to be proud of me. Not just as a footballer, but as a person. I want them to look up to me… like I did with my dad."
Kate's eyes softened, and she hugged him tighter. "They will," she said, her voice full of certainty. "I know they will."
Adriano leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'm going to make sure of it," he murmured. "I want to build something that lasts… for us, for them. I want them to know me not just as a great footballer, but as a great person."
Kate reached up, cupping his face with her hand, her eyes locked with his. "You're already that person, Adriano," she whispered. "Just don't change." She kissed him affectionately.
He smiled, the warmth of her touch grounding him. "I won't," he promised softly.
And with that, they drifted off to sleep, the lights of Lisbon flickering gently through the window, casting shadows of dreams yet to come.
******
The Lisbon morning dawned crisp and clear, sunlight spilling over the terracotta rooftops as Adriano and Kate packed their bags in quiet anticipation. Rosa bustled around them, her hands seemingly always full—a packed lunch here, a folded sweater there.
"You're sure you have everything, meu querido?" she asked for the third time, her brow knitted with concern.
Adriano chuckled, zipping up his suitcase. "I'm sure, Mãe. If I forget anything, I know you'll just send it over with half the pantry."
Rosa swatted his arm playfully. "You joke, but you barely eat properly in Manchester. I have to make sure you don't waste away!" She pressed a tin of pasteis de nata into his hands, wrapped neatly with a red ribbon. "For the journey," she added with a warm smile.
He accepted it with a grateful nod. "Thanks, Mom."
Meanwhile, Kate was finishing up her own packing when Rosa turned to her, arms open wide. "Come here, querida," she said warmly, pulling Kate into a tight embrace. The older woman held on for a moment longer, patting Kate's back affectionately. "You're always welcome here. Always," she whispered, her voice soft but resolute.
Kate smiled, her eyes glimmering with emotion. "Thank you, Rosa. I'll be back soon, I promise."
Rosa pulled back, her hands still resting on Kate's shoulders. "And next time, we'll teach you how to make bacalhau com natas properly," she teased with a wink.
Kate laughed. "I'll hold you to that."
In the living room, Julio was waiting by the doorway, arms crossed, watching the scene unfold with a proud smile.
When Adriano walked over, suitcase in hand, Julio clapped him firmly on the back. "Take care of business, son. We're watching every match. Even when your mother falls asleep by halftime," he added with a chuckle.
"That happened once!" Rosa shouted from the kitchen, shaking her head. Julio just grinned wider.
Adriano laughed, shaking his head. "I will, Pai. And you two better visit soon. The stadium's quieter without your yelling."
Julio's grin softened into something more sincere. "If you keep scoring hat-tricks, we just might." He pulled Adriano into a quick, firm hug. "Proud of you, son. Always."
They walked out to the car where Raul was waiting, already loading up their luggage with efficient precision. He gave Adriano a nod. "Ready to head out boss man?"
Adriano looked back at his parents, standing together in the doorway, hands intertwined. He raised his hand in a final wave, which they returned, Rosa dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "See you soon!" Kate called out, waving enthusiastically.
Rosa blew her a kiss. "Come back soon, querida!"
As the car pulled away, Adriano watched his parents shrink in the rearview mirror, the house getting smaller and smaller until it finally disappeared around a bend. He leaned back into the seat, exhaling slowly. Kate slipped her hand into his, resting her head on his shoulder. The hum of the engine filled the silence, comfortable and warm.
"You ready to get back to it?" she asked softly, her eyes flickering up to meet his.
He nodded, a flicker of determination passing through his gaze. "Always," he replied, squeezing her hand gently.
The ride to the airport was smooth, the city rolling by with its familiar charm—street vendors setting up shop, locals chatting outside cafés, the river glimmering in the morning sun.
Raul broke the peaceful silence from the front seat, glancing back in the mirror. "There's been a bit of drama while you were gone," he began, his voice casual but his eyes sharp.
Adriano raised an eyebrow. "Drama? What happened?"
Raul sighed, adjusting his grip on the wheel. "City lost to Chelsea in the Capital One Cup. Pellegrini rotated the squad heavily—didn't want to risk the first team."
Adriano leaned back, nodding thoughtfully. "It's just the cup… not too bad," he said, although a hint of concern touched his voice.
Raul's expression darkened. "That's not all. They drew against Burnley and Sunderland. Both at home."
Adriano sat up straighter, the relaxation from his holiday slipping away. "Two draws? At home?" he repeated, his tone sharpening. "That's… not great."
Raul nodded grimly. "It gets worse. There were some injuries. Bad ones."
Adriano's eyes narrowed. "Who?"
Raul hesitated, as if trying to soften the blow. "Kompany tore his ACL… he's out for at least a few months."
Adriano's jaw tightened. "Not Vince…"
Raul nodded solemnly. "Zabaleta ruptured a knee ligament. Three months minimum. And Aguero…" he paused, taking a breath. "Calf muscle tear and a possible hamstring strain. He's out for nearly three months."
Adriano's face dropped, his hand going to his forehead as he processed the news. "That's… that's bad. Really bad," he murmured, his mind already spinning with the implications. "Aguero and Zabaleta out for three months? And Vince too?"
Raul nodded, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. "Pellegrini's already working on signings for the window. They're going to need replacements… and fast."
Adriano stared out the window, his gaze distant. "I need to get back to training," he said finally, his voice resolute. "Check in with the team."
Kate reassured him, " It's going to be alright babe. You can turn things around.
They pulled up to the airport, Raul getting out first to unload their luggage. Adriano stepped out, stretching his legs before turning to Kate, who was still lingering by the door, her eyes a little misty. "Well," she began, forcing a smile, "Guess this is it for now."
Adriano stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a tight embrace. "Not for long," he murmured into her hair. "I'll be back before you know it."
She pulled back slightly, her hands resting on his chest. "Take care of yourself, okay? And keep an eye on that leg," she teased, tapping his thigh.
He smirked. "I will. And you… keep an eye on my mom. She'll try to fatten you up with pastries."
Kate laughed, nodding. "I'll do my best." She leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Go win some games," she whispered.
Adriano gave her one last kiss and hug, before turning towards the terminal. He looked back once more, waving as she stood there, arms wrapped around herself in the chilly morning air. With a final nod to Raul, he headed inside.
The flight to Manchester felt longer than usual, his mind replaying Raul's words over and over. Injuries. Draws. Missed opportunities.
His fingers drummed restlessly against the armrest, the weight of it settling heavily on his shoulders. When the plane finally touched down, he didn't even consider heading back to his flat. He hailed a cab straight to the Etihad Campus, his expression set and determined.
There was work to do.
****
The familiar grounds of the Etihad Campus buzzed with activity as Adriano stepped inside, the crisp Manchester air lingering on his jacket. Staff members waved and greeted him warmly as he passed, their smiles genuine but weary. There was an undercurrent of tension in the hallways—voices hushed, expressions tight. The club had been rocked by the recent injuries, and the atmosphere was heavy with unspoken concern.
Adriano made his way through the winding corridors, nodding to familiar faces before reaching the glass-paneled door of Pellegrini's office. He raised his hand and knocked firmly.
"Come in," came the familiar Chilean accent, weary but steady.
Adriano stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Pellegrini was hunched over his desk, stacks of papers spread out like a chaotic mosaic—scouting reports, tactical breakdowns, medical reports. He looked up, and despite the clear exhaustion etched into his features, he managed a tired smile. "Adriano," he greeted warmly. "Good to have you back."
"Good to be back, Coach," Adriano replied, moving forward and sinking into the chair opposite the desk. He took a moment to study Pellegrini, noting the deeper lines around his eyes, the faint touch of gray that seemed more prominent since the last time they'd spoken. "Raul told me... about the injuries," he added quietly.
Pellegrini sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if trying to ease the weight of it all. "It's been rough," he admitted, his voice carrying a heaviness that spoke of long nights and relentless pressure.
"We rotated the squad for the cup against Chelsea. Took a gamble, and it didn't pay off. But the league matches…" He shook his head slowly. "Burnley. Sunderland. Both at home. Draws. It was... disappointing. And then Kompany, Zabaleta, Aguero… all gone for months. We're stretched thin, Adriano."
Adriano leaned back, his jaw tightening. "It's a nightmare," he murmured. "Kompany's leadership, Zaba's grit, and Kun's goals... gone, just like that."
Pellegrini nodded solemnly, his gaze dropping back to the cluttered papers on his desk. "We're fighting fires right now," he confessed. "The medical team's working around the clock, but there's only so much they can do. We need depth… and soon."
Adriano leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Are we bringing people in?" he asked, his tone direct but hopeful.
Pellegrini managed a small smile at the eagerness in Adriano's voice. "Yes," he replied, nodding with conviction. "We are."
"Kimmich and Robertson will join from January 1st. So the defense is covered. If needed, we can recall back one of the defenders from Malaga, they have been doing well, Both Van Djik and Stones. Even that kid Dybala has been doing quite good. But he's probably not physically strong enough for Premier League yet.
The deal for Martial has fallen with out Monaco, they won't sell him as one of their forwards just got injured.
Asensio also chose to go to Real Madrid. Son Heung-Min deal has been successfully signed from Bayer Leverkusen for €18 million euros,but they wanted him to finish the season there, so we agreed to loan him till end of season. We still have Milner, Sinclair as backups on wings.
Scouts have been working around the clock. I've already spoken with the board, and the window opens soon. We've got targets lined up—some young, some experienced. We can't afford any missteps."
"Good," Adriano replied, his voice firm. "We need fresh legs. But if there's anything I can do, anything you need from me, just say the word."
Pellegrini chuckled softly, leaning back in his chair, the leather creaking under the weight. "You know what?" he began, his eyes softening with something that almost resembled pride.
"Just be you, Adriano. You've been carrying this team brilliantly. Your goals, your presence… you've kept us in the fight. We'll need more of that. We're going to lean on you more than ever now."
Adriano held his gaze, determination hardening his features. "I can handle it," he replied simply, no hesitation in his voice.
Pellegrini's eyes lingered on him for a moment, that fatherly glint shining through the fatigue. "I know you can," he said, his tone softer now. "I've seen it. From Málaga to Portugal, and now here… you've never stopped. You've always pushed, always fought. But…" His voice trailed off, and he leaned forward, clasping his hands together.
"Just be careful not to push yourself too much, my boy," he added gently. "We need you fit, not just fierce."
Adriano cracked a smile. "I appreciate it, Coach. But you know me—I only have one gear."
Pellegrini chuckled, shaking his head. "Yes, I know. That's what I'm afraid of," he replied, his eyes twinkling with familiar fondness. "But we'll get through this. Together. The new signings will help. Until then, you focus on what you do best."
Adriano nodded firmly. "You have my word," he replied. "I'll keep us fighting."
Pellegrini smiled, leaning back with a sigh of relief. "I don't doubt it," he said, his voice laced with confidence. He reached across the desk, extending his hand. "Welcome back, Adriano."
Adriano grasped his manager's hand, the firm shake sealing a renewed commitment. "Good to be back, Coach."
****
Adriano stepped out onto the sprawling training ground of the Etihad Campus, the familiar chill of Manchester nipping at his skin. His breath fogged in the cold morning air as he surveyed the scene ahead.
The squad was scattered across the pitch, immersed in their warm-ups. David Silva stood by the sideline, effortlessly juggling the ball with delicate touches, his eyes never leaving its flight.
Further up the field, Mats Hummels barked instructions at the younger defenders, his voice sharp and commanding, hands gesturing as he orchestrated their movements.
On the far side, De Bruyne and Salah were engaged in a playful duel, each trying to nutmeg the other, their laughter ringing out across the pitch. De Bruyne's cheeks were flushed from the cold, and Salah was grinning widely as he poked the ball through De Bruyne's legs, throwing his hands up in victory.
"That's five times now, Kev! Getting a bit slow, aren't you?" Salah teased.
De Bruyne chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, enjoy it while it lasts, Mo. I'll get you back."
Meanwhile, Eden Hazard stood near one of the assistant coaches, firing shots into the top corner with ruthless precision. Each strike smacked the back of the net with a satisfying thud, the assistant nodding approvingly.
Suddenly, Silva spotted Adriano making his way over. "Well, well, look who finally decided to join us!" he shouted, waving him over with a grin.
Adriano jogged over, his boots crunching on the frost-bitten grass. He was met with a flurry of handshakes, pats on the back, and the occasional playful shove. "Good to see you, mate. How was Portugal?" Silva asked, his smile genuine.
Adriano grinned, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Beautiful as always. But I heard things got... complicated here."
Silva's smile faded slightly, and he sighed. "Complicated is putting it lightly. Those injuries really hit us hard. Burnley and Sunderland just sat back with ten men behind the ball, and we couldn't break them down. It was like trying to kick down a brick wall with slippers on."
De Bruyne jogged over, overhearing the conversation. "You're not wrong. They parked the bus and threw away the keys," he added, shaking his head.
Hummels joined the small circle, arms folded across his chest. "Defensively, we're stretched," he said bluntly. "I'm playing alongside Mangala, and sometimes even Boyata. No disrespect to them, but it's... different. The chemistry's just not there yet."
Adriano frowned, nodding in understanding. "I saw Kompany's injury report. ACL tear... it's bad."
Hummels sighed, his expression tightening. "Yeah, it's tough. He's gutted. Zaba too. They're both recovering at home. You should check in with them when you can."
Adriano nodded firmly. "I will. Right after training. They're a big part of this team… we've got to keep them in the loop."
Just then, Harry Kane wandered over, his hair still slightly damp from the morning shower. "Look who's back from his holiday," he teased, giving Adriano a playful shove. "Missed you out there, mate. You better be sharp—we need you."
Adriano chuckled, shoving him back. "Don't worry, Harry. I'm sharper than ever. But it looks like I missed a lot while I was gone."
Kane nodded, a hint of frustration flickering across his eyes. "Yeah, it's been rough. We just couldn't find the net. But hey," he added with a grin, "now you're back. Guess I can let you do all the running."
Adriano laughed. "Only if you promise to finish the chances I set up for you."
Kane smirked. "Deal."
The session kicked off with passing drills. The ball zipped across the grass, the rhythm smooth and precise. Adriano slipped back into the flow with ease, trading sharp one-twos with Silva and De Bruyne. He didn't put too much effort as he just landed here today.
There was an intensity in the air, a sense of urgency that hadn't been there before. Each touch felt deliberate, each pass sharp. It was as if the injuries had pulled the squad closer, determination etched on every face.
During a water break, Pellegrini gathered the team into a huddle. His gaze swept across the circle, meeting the eyes of every player.
"Listen," he began, his voice steady but firm. "I know it's been rough these past few weeks. We've lost some important players. Kompany, Zabaleta, Aguero… it's a blow, no doubt. But we are Manchester City," he continued, his voice rising.
"We push forward. We adapt. The transfer window opens soon, and we will reinforce. But right now, right here, we work with what we have. And what we have," he gestured to the group, "is enough.".
There was a murmur of agreement, nods spreading through the huddle. Adriano stood at the front, his eyes locked on Pellegrini's. He felt the weight of expectation pressing down on his shoulders, but he welcomed it. He always had.
"We've got your back, Coach," Adriano said firmly, his voice cutting through the cold air with confidence.
Pellegrini's gaze softened, and a faint smile broke through his normally stoic expression. He stepped forward, clapping Adriano on the back. "I never doubted it," he replied. "Not for a second."
From the back of the group, Hazard called out with a grin, "Does this mean you're gonna start passing the ball, Captain? Or are you just gonna dribble past everyone as usual?"
Laughter erupted, and Adriano shot back, "Maybe if you start finishing your chances, I won't have to do it all myself!"
De Bruyne chimed in, smirking, "I guess I'll have to start racking up those assists again, huh? Can't have Adriano hogging all the glory."
Salah laughed, nudging De Bruyne. "Just make sure he actually passes to you, Kev. I'm still waiting for my ball from last training session."
Adriano rolled his eyes dramatically. "I swear, you guys just love to complain. Just be in the right spot, and I'll find you."
Kane stepped forward, slinging an arm around Adriano's shoulders. "And I'll be there to bang them in," he declared confidently.
The huddle broke with laughter and pats on the back, the tension from before seemingly melting away. As they moved back onto the pitch, Adriano couldn't help but feel the shift—like the squad had drawn a line in the sand. Injuries or not, they were ready to fight.
And with the transfer window opening soon, reinforcements would arrive. But until then, it was up to them.
Adriano met De Bruyne's eye and nodded. "Let's get to work."
De Bruyne grinned, spinning the ball under his foot. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
****
After training, Adriano wasted no time. He showered quickly, the hot water washing away the morning's chill, and changed into a fresh set of clothes. His mind was already on his next stops—his teammates needed him, and he wasn't the kind to leave anyone hanging. Keys in hand, he made his way to his car, the engine purring to life as he pulled out of the Etihad Campus and into the steady rhythm of Manchester traffic.
His first stop was Kompany's place. The captain lived in a quiet, tree-lined neighborhood, the sort of place where everything felt calm and orderly. Adriano parked and made his way to the front door, knocking firmly.
A moment later, the door swung open, and there stood Kompany, leaning against his crutches, his leg braced heavily from thigh to ankle. Despite the situation, the Belgian defender's smile was wide, eyes bright with the kind of spirit that made him a leader.
"I should've known you'd come," Kompany greeted, reaching out to shake his hand with a firm grip.
Adriano smiled, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "Of course, Captain. Can't let you sit around here bored out of your mind," he replied, glancing around the living room, where football memorabilia adorned the walls. Signed shirts, medals, and photos of Kompany lifting trophies—reminders of battles fought and won.
Kompany gestured toward the sofa. "Take a seat, mate. I could use the company," he said, lowering himself carefully into an armchair. Adriano followed suit, settling into the plush cushions.
They sat in a brief silence before Adriano broke it. "How's the knee?" he asked, his voice softer now, more genuine.
Kompany's smile faded slightly, replaced by a look of resignation. "It's bad," he admitted. His eyes glanced down at the brace, fingers brushing its edge. "Surgery's scheduled for next week. Doctors say I'll be out for a while... months, probably." He paused, jaw tightening. "It's tough. But it's part of the game."
Adriano leaned forward, resting a hand on Kompany's shoulder. "We'll handle it, Vinny," he said firmly, his voice carrying conviction. "You just focus on getting back stronger. We'll hold it down until you're back, I promise."
Kompany's eyes softened, and a smile returned, small but genuine. "I know you will," he replied. He took a breath, his hand tapping the armrest gently. "Carry the torch, yeah? Keep the boys in line. They listen to you."
Adriano chuckled. "You're the one they listen to. I'm just the guy running around kicking balls."
Kompany laughed, a deep, hearty sound that filled the room. "Maybe so, but you've got their respect. That counts for more than you know." He leaned back, eyes fixed on Adriano. "Just make sure you give those United lads hell, alright?"
"You know I will," Adriano replied, standing up and offering his hand. Kompany grasped it firmly, nodding with unspoken gratitude.
"Visit again soon, yeah?" Kompany said as Adriano made his way to the door.
"Count on it," Adriano replied, waving as he stepped back out into the brisk Manchester air.
Next up was Zabaleta. His place wasn't far, and Adriano made the drive quickly.
Zabaleta's wife answered the door, greeting him warmly before leading him into the living room where the Argentine defender sat, his leg propped up on a cushion, a bag of ice resting on his knee.
"Pablo!" Adriano called out cheerfully, spreading his arms wide.
Zabaleta's face lit up with a grin. "Adriano! Come here, brother," he said, struggling to sit up straighter. Adriano moved forward, clasping his hand and pulling him into a half-hug.
"How's it holding up?" Adriano asked, nodding towards the iced knee.
Zabaleta shrugged, his smile never fading. "Hurts like hell. Doctors say three months, maybe more. But I've had worse," he said with a chuckle. "Remember that tackle against Chelsea last year? Thought my leg was gone!"
Adriano laughed, shaking his head. "I remember. You walked off the pitch like it was nothing. Hardest man I know," he said, clapping Zabaleta on the shoulder.
Zabaleta leaned back, his expression growing a bit more serious. "You boys... you've got to hold the line while I'm gone. I know you can do it. Think of it as preparing for my retirement soon."
Adriano nodded firmly. "We will. I'll make sure of it. And when you're back, you'll slot right back in, no question. Don't talk about retiring yet. You still got a lot more to give."
Zabaleta smiled warmly. "You always were the optimistic one, huh?"
"Someone has to be," Adriano replied, grinning. He spent another half hour chatting with Zabaleta, swapping stories, reminiscing about matches gone by, and promising to keep him updated on every training session.
When he finally stood to leave, Zabaleta gave him one last handshake, squeezing hard. "Keep the spirit alive, hermano," he said earnestly.
"You got it," Adriano replied, nodding before stepping back out into the cold.
His final stop was Aguero's place. Sergio greeted him at the door, his face breaking into a wide grin. "There he is! Looking well-rested, eh? Portugal treating you nicely?" he teased, pulling Adriano into a quick hug.
Adriano laughed, stepping inside. "You should try it sometime, mate. The sun does wonders."
Aguero chuckled, leading him into the living room. "I would, if I wasn't stuck with my leg in a brace," he joked, patting his thigh. "Doctor says three months. I'm going mad already."
Adriano flopped onto the sofa, stretching his legs out. "I figured you'd be enjoying the time off. Isn't FIFA 15 out?" he quipped.
Aguero rolled his eyes. "I already broke the career mode record twice and kicked your ass. I need the real thing, man." He leaned forward, his expression softening. "But I'm glad you're back. The boys need you out there. We've been struggling... just can't break those low blocks. It's frustrating."
Adriano nodded. "I heard. But we're gonna fix it. Pellegrini's got some targets for January. Until then, we push harder. No other choice."
Aguero clapped him on the back. "I wouldn't expect anything less. Just make sure you bang a couple in for me while I'm out, eh?"
Adriano smirked. "Don't worry. I'll score enough for both of us."
They spent the next hour laughing, recounting old matches and planning their comeback. Before leaving, Adriano gave Aguero a firm handshake and a promise to visit again soon.
Aguero grinned. "Bring me back a trophy while I'm out, yeah?"
Adriano grinned back. "I'll do my best."
As he stepped outside, the Manchester sky had darkened, the clouds heavy with the threat of rain. He took a deep breath, his hands tucked into his coat pockets, and looked up. The challenges ahead were massive, but his teammates believed in him.
Pellegrini believed in him. He wouldn't let them down.
Not now. Not ever.