After the adrenaline and roar of derby day faded, Manchester City's players were granted two well-earned days to themselves—an intentional break from the intensity. For Adriano, it was more than just rest. It was a long-awaited breath. His first real chance to spend uninterrupted time with the two pillars of his life: Kate and his parents.
He slept in for the first time since arriving in Manchester. The thick blackout curtains shielded him from the pale northern sun, but when he finally stirred, the clock was already nearing eleven. The smell of something sweet drifted into the bedroom, pulling him from under the sheets.
Padding barefoot down the stairs, he found Kate in the kitchen, dressed in an oversized hoodie—his hoodie—flipping pancakes on a hot skillet. A bowl of sliced strawberries waited beside the stove, and the faint sound of jazz played from her phone speaker.
"You're supposed to be at that spa thing," he said, voice still groggy as he slid his arms around her from behind.
"I canceled it," she replied, turning her head to kiss his cheek. "Figured I'd spoil you myself. Thought you earned it."
He laughed, taking the plate she handed him. "After that second goal, I thought I was gonna pass out from the noise in the stadium. You, though—you looked like you were in a box seat at the opera."
"I wasn't calm," Kate said, smirking. "I was just *frozen*. You looked like you'd done it a thousand times."
"I had you in the stands. That's all the calm I needed."
She rolled her eyes and nudged him with her hip, but her smile gave her away. "Corny. Eat your pancakes, hero."
They shared a quiet breakfast, the kind of morning that felt rare in the whirlwind of his new life. There were no cameras, no managers, no tactics. Just laughter, warmth, and syrup.
By mid-afternoon, they were on the move again—headed to a private terminal at Manchester Airport. A black SUV dropped them at the entrance. Security was minimal. A staff member waved them through, and within minutes, they were standing by the glass wall, watching the tarmac as a small jet came to a stop.
Adriano's fingers twitched slightly with anticipation. His heart was hammering, though he wasn't quite sure why. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was the quiet ache of homesickness finally catching up to him.
The door of the plane opened. Down came Rosa Riveiro first, moving faster than expected for her age. Her arms were out before her feet touched the ground.
"Meu filho!" she called, eyes already glossy.
Adriano moved quickly, closing the distance. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tightly like she was afraid to let go.
"Look at you," she murmured, stepping back and running her hands over his arms and shoulders. "So much muscle. You used to cry when you scraped your knees."
"I still do," Adriano said, grinning.
Julio Riveiro followed down the steps, tall and thick-shouldered, dressed in a pressed polo shirt and jeans. He wheeled a modest suitcase behind him, but his eyes were all for his son. The handshake they shared quickly turned into a back-slapping hug.
"Practically a linebacker now," Julio said. "What are they feeding you here?"
Adriano laughed. "Mostly grass and pain."
Then, with a small twist of nervousness, he turned to Kate. She stepped forward confidently, offering her hand with a warm smile.
"Mr. and Mrs. Riveiro, I'm Kate. It's so wonderful to finally meet you. Adriano never stops talking about you."
Rosa smiled brightly, ignoring the handshake and pulling Kate into a hug instead. "Please, no 'Mr.' or 'Mrs.'—we are basically family now. You are most welcome to call us Rosa and Julio."
Julio, ever the quieter of the two, gave her a polite nod and firm handshake. "Glad you're keeping him grounded. That boy's always had his head halfway in the clouds."
Kate laughed. "Don't worry—I bring him back down when I need to."
As they walked toward the car, Julio leaned close to Adriano and muttered in his ear, "She seems smart. Make sure this one sticks around longer than a season, eh?"
Adriano chuckled under his breath. "I'm trying Dad. Believe me."
Kate, catching the tone if not the words, narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "What did he say?"
"Nothing," Adriano replied, a little too fast.
Kate gave him a playful elbow in the ribs, then looked over her shoulder at Julio. "I'm watching you."
Rosa laughed from the front seat as they loaded into the vehicle. "I like her already."
As they drove off into the city, Adriano leaned back against the seat, watching the streets of Manchester blur by. He felt a peace he hadn't realized he was missing. The chaos of the season would return soon. Matches, press conferences, tactics. But for now?
For now, he was just a son. A boyfriend. A young man surrounded by the people who loved him.
And in that moment, that was enough.
***
The late afternoon sun filtered through a light veil of clouds as Adriano eased the sleek black SUV along the winding road back to his Manchester estate. The city slowly faded behind them—gray rooftops giving way to green hedges and tall iron gates. Inside the car, the mood was warm, relaxed, laced with laughter and curiosity. Adriano was behind the wheel, focused but smiling. In the back seat, Kate sat nestled between Rosa and Julio, like she'd always belonged there.
It was Rosa who broke the silence first, leaning slightly toward Kate with that trademark twinkle in her eye.
"So, Kate," she began, "tell me… what's it like, Hollywood life? And more importantly, how did you fall for my boy, hmm?"
Kate let out a soft laugh, a little flustered but touched by the question. "Well, first of all, it's not exactly Hollywood life for me. I did some modeling at first, then a few ads—nothing big at the start. But I got my break just during the World cup.
I went to Hawaii before the world cup, That's where I met Adriano... and you both were there, actually," she said, turning with a smile to Rosa.
Rosa's eyes widened with the memory. "Ahhh, yes! The plane ride! Then the day before we left, Adriano said he met someone."
Kate nodded. "Exactly. Adriano and I met on the flight. Then later We talked... and it wasn't like anything else I'd experienced in the industry. He was just... honest. He listened. No pretense. I was so used to polished lies and networking. But he told me that I needed find my own path, rather than following what's supposed to be. He encouraged me to take a leap of faith ," she added with a soft chuckle. "I guess that's when I fell for him."
Julio laughed from the front passenger seat. "A Classic movie scene. It seems my boy inherited the charm of his father."
"I think I needed that kind of honesty," Kate went on. "We stayed in touch after. And after the World Cup, when he came to Florida… we both knew it wasn't a coincidence. I didn't want to live with a 'what if,' so we decided to try. To build something steady. Real."
There was a pause. Then Rosa gave a firm, approving nod. "Isso que importa—that's what matters. The heart. Not the stage, not the fame."
Julio turned around from the front seat, smiling as well. "And how's Manchester treating you, Kate? Weather too gray for your liking compared to Florida?"
Kate laughed, brushing her hair back. "Honestly? It's not so bad. I mean, yes, it's chilly, but the people are warm. The fans have been welcoming too. As long as we have good heating, I think I'll survive."
Adriano grinned. "Rain's a package deal. Comes with the league."
Julio punched his palm lightly. "You'll get used to it. England doesn't change for anyone. You either adapt or learn to love umbrellas."
Kate gave a mock sigh. "Guess I better start shopping for raincoats."
***
As they rounded the final bend and approached the estate, the house revealed itself beyond the tall trees and iron gate—an elegant, modern mansion resting on manicured grounds. A smooth tarmac loop led to a grand portico. Stone lions flanked the entrance. The hedges were shaped like sculptures. The house gleamed beneath the shifting sky like something out of a film set.
Julio gave a long whistle. "Damn son… That's at least three of our houses in one."
Rosa gasped, leaning forward to see more through the windshield. "It's like a palace."
Adriano slowed the vehicle to a gentle stop at the main entrance and turned back to them with a grin. "There's more than enough room for everyone. You could move in, you know."
Rosa burst into laughter. "And abandon my fruit trees and weekly gossip group in Portugal? Nunca. I'll melt from the rain before I adjust!"
Julio shook his head, though he wore a proud smile. "We'll visit, son. Often. But our little neighborhood still has its charm. And no offense—no house in the world beats our home back there."
Adriano chuckled as he stepped out and opened the back doors. "Alright, alright. But this house? It's always yours too."
He led them up the stone steps and into the main hall. The front doors swung open to reveal a breathtaking space—floor-to-ceiling windows spilled sunlight across polished marble floors. The ceilings were high and adorned with subtle moldings. Modern art lined the walls, and soft classical music played faintly in the background from built-in speakers.
Kate stood just inside the threshold, her mouth slightly agape.
"Holy… Adriano," she whispered, looking around in awe. "This place is something else."
Julio tilted his head, impressed. "Feels like a five-star hotel. Do you even know what half these buttons do?"
Adriano laughed. "I'm still learning. The shower talks to you. It's creepy."
Rosa wandered over to the massive open-concept kitchen, running a hand along the smooth granite island. "This… this is beautiful. You're taking care of yourself."
"That's the plan," Adriano said, walking over to Kate and gently squeezing her hand. He looked at all of them, heart full in a way the derby match hadn't quite touched. "Welcome home. *All* of you."
Rosa smiled warmly and opened her arms once again. "Now then. Show me the rest. And I expect coffee. Portuguese style."
Julio nodded. "And a TV big enough to replay those goals from the other night. I want to brag to my neighbors properly."
Kate linked arms with Rosa, who was already peeking into the next room. "This way, Mama Rosa," she said with a grin. "We'll make a convert out of you yet."
Adriano lingered for a second as they disappeared down the hallway, then exhaled. The house was no longer just a new purchase or a footballer's status symbol. It felt lived in now. Anchored.
Rooted.
He glanced toward the family portraits still waiting to be hung.
For the first time, this didn't feel like a new chapter.
It just felt like home.
The late afternoon light filtered gently through the tall windows of the sitting room, casting golden rays on the polished wooden floors. Rosa and Julio had settled into the plush sofas, sighing with the contentment only long travel and warm reunions could bring. Adriano stood at the hallway, shrugging on a dark coat.
"Dad," he said, glancing toward his father, "you up for a little walk? Just around the grounds. Figured I'd show you what I've been working on."
Julio's face lit up immediately. "Of course. Let me stretch these old legs before dinner tempts me into a food coma."
As the two men made their way to the back garden, Rosa turned to Kate with a raised brow and a smile that was half invitation, half playful conspiracy. "Why don't you help me in the kitchen, dear? I'm making Adri's favorite—'bacalhau à Brás'."
Kate's eyes widened in delight. "That sounds incredible. And you're sure you want me in your kitchen? I'm not exactly a master chef."
Rosa laughed warmly, already on her feet and moving with purpose. "If you can hold a knife and stir a pan, you'll be just fine. Besides," she added, leaning in with a mischievous grin, "this way, I can tell you all the stories about Adriano you won't hear from him."
Kate grinned, tying an apron around her waist as she followed. "Now that is a deal. I need to know how the calm, media-trained football genius was as a little boy."
Rosa snorted. "Oh 'menina', you'll need a full week for all those stories."
***
The air in the garden was crisp and clean, the grass still glistening slightly from an earlier drizzle. Adriano and Julio walked side by side down a stone path that curved through manicured hedges and elegant flower beds.
Julio took a deep breath, eyes scanning the space. "This is... *incrível*. These grounds look like they came out of a magazine."
Adriano smiled, his hands tucked into his coat pockets. "I wanted something peaceful. Something that reminded me of home—without the roosters waking me at five."
They passed a sleek reflecting pool that mirrored the gray sky, then turned toward a neat row of young trees planted along the side fence. Julio paused in front of one.
"Quince?" he asked, surprised.
Adriano nodded. "Portuguese variety. Took some work to import them, but I had to do it. Reminded me of your orchard."
Julio's face softened. He reached out, touching a leaf gently. "You remembered. Your mom used to make quince jam every year. We'd store it in those little jars wrapped in cloth."
Adriano chuckled. "She still does. She gave me a box before I left Lisbon."
Julio glanced over, pride gleaming in his eyes. "You've made something for yourself, Adriano. Fast, sure—but with your head on straight. I see it in how you walk, how you speak. But just remember your roots, boy. They're what keep you grounded."
Adriano met his father's gaze and gave a slow nod. "I will. Always. And you two will always have a home here, even if I know how much you hate leaving Portugal."
Julio clapped a strong hand on his son's shoulder. "Home's not a place. It's people. And you're here, *meu filho*—that's enough to make it feel like home for us. But," he added with a smirk, "this weather? I still haven't forgiven England for stealing the sun."
They both laughed, the sound echoing gently through the garden as they turned back toward the house.
***
Back indoors, the scent hit them instantly—frying garlic, onions, olive oil, and the unmistakable aroma of salt cod simmering on the stove. The kitchen was alive with warmth. Rosa stood at the stove, wooden spoon in hand, while Kate was carefully slicing potatoes at the marble island, her sleeves rolled up and cheeks flushed from laughter.
Adriano inhaled deeply, grinning like a kid.
"You're making *bacalhau à Brás*?" he asked, eyes lighting up.
"You think I'd let you eat takeout while we're here?" Rosa said without turning around. "I'm cooking for my champion."
Julio stepped into the room and beamed. "Smells like Lisbon in here."
Kate turned to Adriano, lifting her hands. "I've officially graduated to sous-chef. I haven't chopped my fingers off yet."
Rosa chimed in from the stove. "And she's heard all about your soap-eating incident when you were five."
Adriano groaned, covering his face. "*Mom, really?"
"She asked!" Rosa said innocently. "What was I supposed to do, lie?"
Kate giggled, tossing a potato slice into the pan. "He thought it was candy. Honest mistake."
Julio grabbed a glass of wine and raised it toward Kate. "Welcome to the family. You're surviving Rosa's stories—no one leaves the kitchen the same."
Adriano wrapped an arm around Kate from behind and whispered, "If she tells you about the vacuum cleaner incident, just know I was seven, and curious."
Kate smiled up at him. "I can't wait."
Rosa turned with a proud gleam in her eye, stirring the fragrant mixture on the stove. "He may be a superstar now, but he'll always be 'meu menino travesso'—my mischievous little boy."
The kitchen filled with the kind of laughter and clatter that only family could make—soft teasing, inside jokes, spoons tapping pots, and glasses being raised. Outside, the clouds lingered, but inside, the house was warm, alive, and full of love.
Adriano leaned against the counter, watching the scene. For all the spotlight, all the interviews, and all the headlines, this is what mattered most.
He didn't need to be the king of Manchester in this moment.
Here, he was just Adriano. A loving Son. A caring Boyfriend. He was at Home.
They gathered around the long oak dining table, polished to a soft shine, set for five. Crystal glasses caught the candlelight and shimmered like jewels, while fine porcelain dishes rested atop embroidered placemats Rosa had brought from Portugal. The rich scent of garlic, olive oil, and parsley lingered in the air as Rosa placed the final platter at the center of the table—golden 'bacalhau à Brás', garnished with chopped olives and fresh parsley.
Adriano stood, wine glass in hand. His voice was quiet but warm. "To family," he said.
"À família," they echoed in unison, lifting their glasses.
They clinked gently, the sound delicate against the soft hum of jazz in the background.
As plates were passed and servings heaped generously, Julio dabbed his mouth with a napkin and leaned back slightly. "The bar's doing well, by the way," he said, addressing the table.
"We brought on two new managers—one handles marketing, the other's running day-to-day operations. I'm back to my 'retired but supervising' lifestyle."
"That's great," Adriano said, pausing mid-bite. "I meant to send you more funds—help with expansion, maybe add a second location."
Rosa shook her head instantly, as if the very idea was an insult to motherhood. "No, no. You've already done enough, meu querido. You keep your money. Save it for your future family."
She glanced meaningfully at Kate, who nearly choked on her sip of wine, coughing gently into her napkin before smiling through the pink in her cheeks.
Adriano laughed softly and reached for her hand under the table. "I'm eighteen, Mom. There's still a long time."
Then he leaned toward Kate with a cheeky grin. "But hey... we don't mind starting early if it means she gets more cooking lessons from you mom."
Kate kicked him under the table, just hard enough to make his leg jolt.
"Behave," she whispered, shooting him a glare that didn't quite hide her grin.
Laughter rippled through the room.
"You're a lucky boy," Julio said, raising his glass toward Kate. "She's sharp, polite, beautiful, and she eats bacalhau without complaining. That's four green flags."
Rosa beamed, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her napkin. "We are blessed, truly. To see our son grow up into the man we always hoped he'd become... and to be here with you both—it means the world."
Adriano looked around the table—his parents, their smiles lined with years of sacrifice and pride; Kate, flushed from the wine and the warmth of family. He felt it in his chest—that quiet, full feeling. The one that only came when everything, for once, was exactly right.
***
The next day, with the sun making a rare but welcome appearance, Adriano took the wheel of his sleek black Range Rover and drove his family out for a personal tour of Manchester.
They started at Castlefield, walking along the cobbled paths by the old canals. Julio admired the blend of historic red-brick warehouses and modern architecture. "This city's got character," he said. "Old soul. Like Porto."
They stopped at a local café for espresso, where Rosa befriended the barista within minutes and managed to get her secret scone recipe. Kate and Adriano shared a quiet laugh as they watched Rosa animatedly gesturing in half-English, half-Portuguese.
Next, they visited the Manchester Cathedral. The grand stone building left Rosa in awe, her fingers brushing the worn pews. "Your grandmother would've loved this place," she said softly.
At the John Rylands Library, Kate and Adriano stole a moment between aisles of old manuscripts. She ran her fingers over a leather-bound spine and whispered, "Feels like something out of a movie."
"I know," Adriano replied. "That's why I wanted you to see it."
They stopped by Old Trafford briefly—more for the irony than anything. Julio posed grinning with a thumbs-up in front of the stadium sign while Adriano dramatically pretended to shield his face from view. "Don't tell the fans," he joked. "This never happened."
Their final stop was a scenic drive through the Peak District just outside the city. Rolling hills and winding roads opened up around them. They parked at a high overlook. Rosa wrapped her shawl tighter, while Julio sipped from a thermos of hot tea. Kate leaned into Adriano's side, snapping photos of the valley below.
"I get it now," Rosa said, her voice light in the breeze. "Why you chose this city."
Adriano looked out over the hills, the wind brushing his hair. "It feels like a place I can grow in. Build something. But having you here makes it real."
They spent the day touring , having fun, enjoying the shared moments, knowing they don't come often.
***
Sunlight streamed through the windows as Adriano stood at the door, already in his training kit. His boots hung from one hand, and his bag was slung over his shoulder.
He kissed Kate gently on the forehead. "Take Mom and Dad out again today. I'll send my assistant to guide you."
True to his word, a black SUV pulled into the driveway. At the wheel sat Raúl Anderson—A thirty year old Spanish/ British guy, lean, sharply dressed in a tailored navy blazer. His dark hair was slicked back, and he wore designer shades that didn't quite hide his sharp brown eyes.
Raul was in charge of handling Adriano's day to day affairs, financial matters and itenary, while his assistant Isabella took care of the other smalls matters and kept connected with the team. They handled Adriano's social media accounts activities and his page, but everything had to be ran by Adriano first. They also handled things like negative feedback, suspicious activity and security, and media coverage.
Raúl stepped out, greeting Adriano with a firm handshake. "Morning, Boss."
Adriano smiled and nodded, then talking about ome small stuff. Adriano liked to keep a friendly relationship with his agent and the team.
"Raúl will take you to the city center," Adriano told them. "The Town Hall, Cathedral, the Arndale... whatever you want to see. Just avoid big crowds."
Raúl nodded crisply. "Understood. Full discretion. We'll keep it low-profile."
Julio clapped Raúl on the back like an old friend. "As long as there's coffee on the way, I'm happy."
Kate climbed into the back seat, nestling beside Rosa, who was already showing her photos of Adriano as a toddler.
They waved from the car as it rolled down the drive. Adriano stood at the edge of the steps, hands on his hips, smiling.
As the car disappeared around the corner, he turned toward his car, slipped on his boots, and headed for the training ground—his world of cameras, tactics, and headlines. But his heart stayed in that house a moment longer, wrapped in candlelight, laughter, and the scent of home.
***
Back at the City Football Academy, Adriano stepped onto the training pitch as his teammates trickled in. The atmosphere was focused—there were five days left until the trip to Anfield. No one needed reminding what that meant. Klopp's Liverpool were aggressive, high-pressing, and eager to reclaim their dominance. It was a test—one of the biggest yet for this new-look City side.
The players gathered as Manuel Pellegrini addressed them in a tight circle near the halfway line.
"Five days until Liverpool," he began, his voice calm but firm. "We keep our shape. 4-2-3-1."
He began listing the lineup.
"Kompany and Hummels starts at center-back. Zabaleta and Kolarov will cover the flanks. De Bruyne on the right. Silva in left central midfield. Adriano on the center. Aguero up top. Hazard and Navas on wings."
He glanced around before continuing.
"On the bench: Richards, Kane, Salah, Mangala, Toure."
There was a short pause. Some veterans exchanged glances. Fernandinho, Boyata, Negredo, Bony—names not called. No one spoke up, but it was clear the winds were shifting. Pellegrini was building something younger, faster.
"Let's start sharp," the manager added. "We know how Liverpool press. So we press harder."
***
The first drill focused on pressing intensity. Cones marked Liverpool's usual midfield shape—three in a triangle. The players had three seconds to close down the man on the ball and then rotate to cover the passing lanes.
Adriano chased, slid into a sharp interception, then quickly fed a pass to Hazard out wide. Hazard chipped it back. Adriano brought it down, squared for De Bruyne.
"All good," Silva called out, giving a thumbs-up as he dropped back into space.
De Bruyne jogged past Adriano. "You two are connecting well. Keep it going."
They reset and repeated. Every sequence needed to be faster than the last. No jogs. Full sprints. Pellegrini watched closely, nodding after each transition.
Next came positional play—smaller spaces, tighter drills. The coaching staff set up a half-pitch game. Four attackers against three defenders with one pivot behind.
Adriano started wide right. On cue, he drifted left to create an overload. Silva overlapped, pulling a defender out of shape. Adriano slipped inside, reading Aguero's run.
The ball came back from Silva, across the top of the box. Aguero laid it off, and Adriano struck with his left—low and driven. The shot deflected, and Aguero cleaned up the rebound.
"Again," Pellegrini called. "Faster rotation, but same pattern. That's the movement we need."
The session shifted to dead-ball situations. Silva stepped up from 25 yards. His shot dipped but was pushed over by the keeper. De Bruyne followed—his effort curled cleanly over the wall and forced a diving save.
Adriano lined up next. He took three steps and struck from 40 yards—his first effort dipped too early and clipped the top of the wall. From 30 yards, his shot had power but sailed just wide.
"Good contact," the set-piece coach nodded. "A few more reps and you'll bury those."
Then came corner routines.
Hummels worked on near-post flicks. Zabaleta practiced timed runs from deep. City rehearsed both short and long options. In one set, Silva tapped to Adriano, who faked a cross before cutting back. Silva continued the run, received the return, and drilled a low ball across goal. Salah met it in stride—first-time finish, bottom corner.
"That's it," the assistant coach shouted. "Sharp, direct. Let's finish here."
As the session wrapped, the team jogged to the cool-down area. Adriano wiped sweat from his forehead, glancing toward Pellegrini. The manager nodded once, expression neutral but satisfied.
There was still work to do. But the pieces were falling into place.
The final training session of the week ended with the dreaded endurance run: a brutal 30–60–30 shuttle drill followed by recovery sprints. Every player pushed themselves past the breaking point. The air echoed with sharp exhales and the scuff of cleats against turf. By the time they reached the final set, chests heaved, legs trembled, and sweat poured like rain.
Micah Richards was the first to speak as they staggered toward the touchline.
"Kane's knackered," he muttered, tossing a water bottle to the striker.
Harry bent forward, hands on his knees, but still managed a grin. "Speak for yourself," he wheezed. "I've got another set in me."
"Yeah?" Aguero smirked. "If it's a sprint to the fridge, maybe."
Laughter erupted around them—relieved, shared laughter. Even the older players cracked a smile. The mood eased. They'd survived the week. Now only the match remained.
***
When Adriano arrived home, he found his parents and Kate cozied up in the living room, mugs of tea in hand. Rosa sat cross-legged on the couch, animated as she recounted the day's adventures. Julio was relaxed in an armchair, and Kate perched beside Rosa, her legs tucked under her.
"How was the city tour?" Adriano asked, peeling off his jacket and dropping into the nearest chair with a groan.
"Absolutely lovely," Rosa replied, eyes bright. "Raúl was such a gentleman. He took us to the cathedral, the town square, and even this charming little canal with boats. I didn't expect Manchester to be so... romantic."
Julio grinned. "I preferred the old pub he pointed out—been there since the 1800s. Real wood. No nonsense."
Kate turned to Adriano with a smirk. "You missed out. Your mom nearly bought a canal boat."
"I was joking!" Rosa laughed. "But it *was* cute."
Adriano exhaled and took the cup Kate handed him, steam rising gently. "Thanks. I needed this."
"Rough day?" Julio asked, patting his son's shoulder.
"Rough week. We've been running like madmen," Adriano replied, taking a long sip. "But the squad's coming together."
They sat and talked for a while—about the training sessions, the rhythm of city life, and plans for their last weekend together before Kate returned to the U.S. Rosa had made a list of restaurants. Julio had circled a day trip to Lake District in a travel magazine. Kate just wanted one more quiet evening before the match.
***
The days blurred together in a focused rhythm:
Mornings began with tactical briefings—Pellegrini walking them through Liverpool's pressing traps, transition speeds, and defensive weaknesses. He emphasized composure under pressure and precise ball movement.
Midday brought gym work. Strength circuits focused on core stability and explosive power. Adriano worked closely with the conditioning coach to maintain muscle without sacrificing agility.
Afternoons were all about chemistry. Small-sided games helped polish link-up play. Adriano and De Bruyne adjusted to each other's timing. Hazard and Navas rehearsed overlapping runs. The backline refined their shape, with Kompany barking orders while Hummels observed patterns, anticipating plays before they formed.
Evenings belonged to family.
They shared warm dinners—home-cooked or eaten out at quiet local spots. Adriano told stories from training; Rosa shared news from Portugal. Julio always had a story from the past, and Kate often ended the night with a teasing jab or a quiet smile.
On Wednesday night, Adriano drove them all to a Portuguese bakery tucked into a side street. Rosa bought 'pastéis de nata' by the dozen, stuffing paper boxes with custard tarts and sweet bread. "For the plane," she insisted. "And for after your match."
Thursday afternoon came with a farewell.
Adriano walked Kate through the terminal at Heathrow, fingers laced with hers. Her flight was late, but their goodbye came too soon anyway.
"I'll be watching the match from home," she said, adjusting the strap of her carry-on. "Don't get hurt babe. I'll call you after I land."
"Just bruises. Nothing permanent," he said, smiling softly. "FaceTime tomorrow?"
"Of course."
She kissed his cheek. "Good luck at Anfield. I know you will perform brilliantly as always."
He whispered back, "Next time, bring your parents. We'll show them around too."
She smiled, " That'd be nice. See you soon babe." She gave a gentle kiss that lingered for a while . She squeezed his hand and reluctantly broke apart.
Adriano smiled and replied, " See you soon babe."
Then she was gone.
***Friday Morning***
The house felt quieter. Calmer, but also filled with a kind of silent anticipation. Rosa stood at the kitchen counter boxing up pastries with careful hands. Julio folded up a city map, slipping it into his carry-on.
"Open these after you win the match, share with your friends" Rosa said, pushing the pastry box toward Adriano.
He smiled. "Deal."
Julio held out a scarf—red and white, with 'LIVERPOOL FC' in bold across it.
"For respect, not allegiance," he said, grinning.
Adriano raised an eyebrow. "I'll wear it in the car. Not a chance inside the stadium."
They shared a laugh.
After lunch, they all packed up and prepped for the drive to Liverpool. Adriano had reserved a hotel for his parents close to the team's. He wanted them nearby—even if they wouldn't be sitting in the player's box, just knowing they were there meant something.
That night, Adriano lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His body hummed—fatigue from the week sat deep in his bones, but it wasn't exhaustion. It was readiness.
He closed his eyes, running through the patterns: overlapping with Silva, checking to De Bruyne, covering Casemiro's push, organizing the counters, sliding into a press.
Everything they'd drilled would be tested under Anfield's lights. The roar of the Reds. The pace of Liverpool. The pressure of expectations.
Tomorrow, it would all count.
And Adriano would be ready.
*** I tried to keep it short but it just kinda flowed out. And As always , Keep supporting !
Next up : You will never walk alone.***