The Etihad Stadium glowed under the floodlights, a sea of blue and white flags swaying in perfect rhythm with the heartbeat of a city that was one win away from destiny.
It wasn't just another Manchester Derby — it was the derby. The one that could crown Manchester City as Premier League champions with eight games to spare
In the tunnels, the cameras captured the faces of both sides — City calm, confident, composed; United rigid, grim, almost resigned. Adriano, in the middle of the City line, looked tranquil, eyes steady ahead. The crowd's chant filtered down even here: "King Adriano! King Adriano!" It was deafening.
In the commentary box, Martin Tyler's voice began its melodic roll.
"Good evening, everybody. This is Manchester — blue and red divided by a thin strip of road but a vast gulf in form. Manchester City versus Manchester United, and Alan, the stakes could not be higher tonight."
Alan Smith responded with a half-laugh, half-sigh. "No, they couldn't, Martin. City are ninety minutes away from the Premier League title.
Last 2 games, they comfortably defeated Aston Villa 4-1 and Norwich 5-0, putting them at 87 points from 29 games.
thirty games, thirty wins if they do it tonight. Eight games to spare. That's not just a title; that's domination. But, of course, United would love nothing more than to spoil the party."
The camera panned across the stands — banners of Blue Moon Galacticos waved proudly. Children held up signs that read 'Crown the King!' in reference to Adriano.
The Portuguese prodigy had already taken over the world — Ballon d'Or winner at nineteen, a global phenomenon,loved by people due to his generousity, and the beating heart of Pellegrini's perfect machine.
In the City dugout, Pellegrini leaned back, calm as always. "Play your football," he told them moments before kickoff. "Let the world see what they already know — that you're the best."
At the other end, Louis van Gaal had a different message for his United side. "Stay compact. Do not give Adriano space. He only needs one second."
But sometimes, even one second is too much.
The whistle blew. The roar was instant, shaking the Etihad to its foundations.
City in their classic sky blue. United in their blood red. And the rhythm of the game was clear from the first pass — United dropped deep, immediately setting up two tight lines of defense. Rooney and Martial lingered high, waiting for a counter, but otherwise, it was red shirts packed behind the ball.
Martin Tyler: "You can see Van Gaal's plan right from the start, Alan — he's parked that bus double-decker style."
Alan Smith: "He has, Martin. You can't really blame him. If they open up too early, this City side will carve them to pieces."
For ten minutes, City probed patiently. De Bruyne and Silva passed between lines, but the red wall held. Every Adriano touch was met by a swarm of bodies. Herrera shadowed him everywhere, even tugging his shirt once — drawing boos from the home crowd and an early warning from the referee.
Adriano smirked as he got up. "You'll need a leash for that," he muttered in Portuguese under his breath, brushing off the foul.
City's first real chance came in the 14th minute. Hazard drove in from the left, slipped a neat pass into Aguero, who spun sharply and fired low — but De Gea was alert, stretching low to his right to palm it away.
Tyler's voice sharpened. "Early test for De Gea — and he's up to it!"
"Yeah, that's what you expect from him," Alan added. "World-class keeper, and he'll have to be tonight."
The Etihad responded with applause, then another round of "Blue Moon" echoing through the stadium.
City pressed relentlessly. Robertson's overlapping runs down the left were a constant outlet, while Kimmich on the right combined cleverly with Salah. But every cross was met by Smalling or Blind. United were holding on grimly, the tension thick as fog.
In the 23rd minute, Adriano dropped deep to collect from De Bruyne, then pinged a sixty-yard diagonal switch to Salah. The ball was perfect, arcing over Blind's head and into Salah's stride. Salah controlled beautifully, cut inside, and went for goal — again, De Gea saved.
Tyler: "They're knocking harder and harder now, Alan."
Smith: "And that pass from Adriano — outrageous. He makes that look easy, but it's inch-perfect over forty yards."
Adriano clapped for his teammate, shouting, "Good try, Mo! Keep hitting them!"
For United, their first attack came only in the 28th minute — Martial breaking down the left, cutting past Kimmich, and firing wide from a tight angle. Hart barely had to move.
City quickly regained control. Pellegrini gestured for more tempo from the touchline.
Then, the moment of magic arrived.
It was the 34th minute. Adriano picked up the ball near midfield, dropping deeper than usual to find space. Herrera was on him instantly, but a quick feint sent him the wrong way. Adriano glided past him effortlessly, his stride smooth, almost arrogant. Rojo stepped up, lunging to block, but Adriano sidestepped him like a matador dodging a bull. The crowd began to rise — they could feel it.
Then came the flick.
He met Blind near the box — the Dutch defender squared his stance, expecting a cut inside. Instead, Adriano lifted the ball delicately over his head with that now-iconic Adriano Flick, the rainbow arc hanging in the air for a split second before dropping behind Blind's shoulder. Adriano darted around him, reclaimed it on the other side, and without breaking stride, chipped De Gea with the outside of his boot.
The ball floated gracefully, spinning in slow motion, and nestled into the net's far corner.
"OH STOP IT!" Martin Tyler bellowed. "That is absolutely outrageous! Adriano — the boy wonder, the king of Manchester — and what a goal that is!"
Alan Smith was laughing in disbelief. "That's just ridiculous, Martin! He's playing a different game out there. The control, the confidence — you don't see that even in training grounds, let alone a derby!"
The Etihad exploded. The stands shook as blue shirts leapt, screamed, hugged strangers. The chant rose instantly: "KING ADRIANO! KING ADRIANO!"
Adriano, with that calm, theatrical flair, sprinted to the corner flag, tossed an imaginary crown into the air, and caught it on his head. He then spread his arms, basking in the roar. Hazard jumped onto his back, laughing uncontrollably. Aguero ran over, shouting, "That's insane, hermano! You're not human!"
Kompany jogged from the back, grinning. "That's why they call him the King."
Even De Gea, still kneeling on the turf, shook his head. He clapped once, a quiet acknowledgment of genius.
Pellegrini, arms folded, simply nodded. A small smile. He'd seen many goals in his career, but few like that.
As play resumed, United tried to push higher. Van Gaal shouted instructions from the touchline — "Press! Press him! Don't give him space!" — but the fear had already crept in.
In the 37th minute, Rashford tried to break through but was flattened by Van Dijk, who won the ball cleanly. The crowd roared approval. Van Dijk turned, fist pumped, shouting, "My house!"
Tyler chuckled over the replay. "Van Dijk there, letting the youngster know this is not a playground."
City regained possession, calmly rotating it across their backline. Kompany looked up, spotted Van Dijk signaling. Then — the trap was set.
At the 39th minute, United overcommitted. Their midfield pressed high, their defenders stepped up. Van Dijk intercepted a through ball just inside his own box and immediately saw the space. He lifted his head and launched a long, curling pass over the halfway line.
Tyler's tone sharpened. "Oh, and that's a beautiful ball from Van Dijk!"
Aguero and Adriano both took off. The timing was perfect — the run, the weight of the pass. Aguero reached it first, cushioning the ball with his chest as Adriano sprinted beside him. Blind and Smalling were miles behind.
One pass, one glance, and City were two against one — Aguero and Adriano bearing down on De Gea.
Alan Smith's voice jumped an octave. "They're in here, Martin! It's two on one!"
Adriano darted diagonally, drawing De Gea toward him. The keeper hesitated, caught between both forwards. Adriano shaped to shoot — De Gea dove desperately to his left — and then came the softest touch sideways. Aguero, calm as you like, tapped it into an empty net.
"AGUEROOOOOOO!" Tyler's voice thundered over the eruption. "It's two-nil to Manchester City! Unselfish brilliance from Adriano, and City are thirty minutes away from history!"
The Etihad went berserk. Flags flew, smoke flares burst blue and white, the chants rolling like waves. "We are champions! We are champions!"
Aguero pointed straight at Adriano, grinning. "That's all you, hermano! You sold him completely!"
Adriano laughed, embracing him. "I told you I'd feed you one. Enjoy it!"
Behind them, Silva and De Bruyne were already applauding the sequence — the vision, the teamwork, the artistry. Pellegrini's entire bench stood, clapping in unison.
Alan Smith's commentary was part analysis, part admiration. "You see there, Martin, the intelligence — Adriano could've gone for goal himself, but he reads the keeper, sells him, and makes the simple pass. That's what separates world-class from genius."
City nearly made it three before halftime. In the 44th minute, Robertson whipped in a deadly low cross, and Hazard flicked it just over the bar. The crowd gasped, half ready to celebrate.
Tyler chuckled, "This could've been three or four by now. United hanging by a thread."
As the clock ticked toward forty-five, the noise in the stadium swelled again — chants of "Stand up for the Champions!"filling the air. The fans were already in party mode.
Just before the whistle, Adriano picked up another ball near the right wing, spun away from two markers, and lofted a cheeky chip that nearly caught De Gea off guard. The keeper backpedaled and just tipped it over.
Alan Smith laughed. "He's trying to embarrass them now, Martin!"
Tyler grinned. "He might just be succeeding."
The referee blew for halftime. The scoreboard read Manchester City 2, Manchester United 0.
Adriano walked off smiling, surrounded by teammates patting his back. Aguero threw an arm over his shoulder. "That flick — they'll be talking about that one for years."
Adriano grinned. "It's not about talk. It's about trophies."
Kompany followed behind, shouting to the group, "Forty-five more, lads! Let's finish this!"
As they disappeared down the tunnel to the chorus of "Blue Moon", the Etihad vibrated with uncontainable joy.
It wasn't just a lead. It was a coronation in progress.
******
The tunnel was a mix of noise and focus as Manchester City reemerged for the second half. The home fans hadn't stopped singing since halftime — a rolling wave of "Blue Moon" echoing through the night, swelling every time Adriano's face appeared on the big screen. The atmosphere felt less like a league game and more like a coronation waiting to be formalized.
In the commentary box, Martin Tyler's voice rose above the crowd as the players took their places.
"Welcome back to the Etihad, where Manchester City are forty-five minutes away from the inevitable — a second consecutive Premier League title, and they're doing it in the grandest possible way, against their city rivals."
Alan Smith replied, "Yeah, Martin, they've been magnificent. It's been total control. United have tried to hang on, but when Adriano's in this kind of mood, there's really not a lot anyone can do."
Down on the pitch, Pellegrini remained motionless on the touchline, hands clasped behind his back. His face was calm, but there was a flicker of a smile as he watched his players take formation again. Kompany had gathered everyone in a quick huddle before kickoff — even Adriano stood there listening attentively.
Kompany spoke with authority: "We keep our heads. Don't give them hope. Let's finish this properly."
Adriano added quietly, "We play our game — we end it early."
As the whistle blew for the restart, City moved like clockwork. They were patient but purposeful, shifting the ball across the pitch, forcing United to chase shadows.
Within three minutes, Silva slipped through two defenders, passing to De Bruyne, whose low cross nearly found Aguero. Smalling intercepted, but only just — his clearance barely escaped the box.
"Early intent from City again," Tyler observed. "They're not content with two."
Alan chuckled. "You can't see this side sitting back, can you? They smell blood."
At the 51st minute, the first big chance of the half arrived. Salah broke down the right after a wonderful overlapping run from Kimmich. The Egyptian beat Blind with sheer pace and whipped a low ball into the near post. Aguero darted forward, stretching, but De Gea smothered it bravely at his feet.
"Good save again by De Gea," Tyler said, his tone admiring. "He's keeping this from being a rout."
The United keeper's save only delayed the inevitable.
City's tempo didn't dip — if anything, it quickened. Silva and De Bruyne orchestrated like maestros, pinging triangles around Herrera and Schneiderlin. The red shirts looked weary, chasing ghosts. The ball found Adriano deeper again; he turned, accelerated, and the stadium collectively leaned forward, sensing danger.
Alan Smith's tone sharpened. "Here he goes again…"
Adriano surged forward, skipping past Herrera as though he weren't there. Rojo lunged — too slow. The Portuguese glided by, his touch soft, almost contemptuous. As he reached the edge of the box, Smalling came across — Adriano feinted right, then chopped left with a Cruyff turn so clean it left Smalling stumbling.
Then came the thunder.
From just outside the D, Adriano unleashed a curling right-footed strike that bent past De Gea's fingertips, kissed the underside of the bar, and rippled into the top corner.
The Etihad exploded. Blue confetti erupted from the stands, fans leaping onto their feet in disbelief.
Tyler's voice was pure adrenaline. "OH, IT'S SENSATIONAL! ADRIANO AGAIN! THREE-NIL TO CITY, AND THE TITLE IS BLUE — WELL AND TRULY BLUE!"
Alan Smith could barely contain his laughter. "He just doesn't stop delivering! Another masterpiece from the young king of Manchester — and look at the fans, Martin, they're absolutely delirious!"
Adriano didn't sprint this time. He dropped to his knees, arms wide, eyes closed, as if soaking in the sound — the roar of forty-eight thousand worshippers. Then he stood, turned to the fans, and thumped his chest three times before pointing to the badge.
Robertson ran over and hugged him from behind. "You're not real, mate! How do you even see that shot?"
Adriano laughed breathlessly. "You don't see it. You feel it."
Silva jogged over next, clapping him on the back. "You're making the rest of us look lazy!"
The bench went wild. Pellegrini, for once, allowed himself a small fist pump. Behind him, the substitutes — Mbappé, Dybala, and Theo Hernandez — were on their feet, cheering, yelling, "El Rey! El Rey!"
Martin Tyler summed it up perfectly: "The crown shines brighter and brighter with every touch. Adriano — the prodigy turned emperor of English football."
United looked broken. Their fans, silent all evening, sat motionless. Van Gaal stood near his technical area with arms folded, his expression one of grim resignation.
In the 58th minute, City nearly made it four. Silva found Hazard on the left with a delightful lofted pass. Hazard danced around Darmian, cut inside, and bent one toward the far post — inches wide. The crowd gasped, the noise swelling with every near miss.
"United hanging on by their fingernails," Alan murmured. "Could've been another."
City were relentless. The ball moved from Kimmich to De Bruyne, to Silva, to Adriano, all in a blur. Even Hart was playing short passes, recycling possession with total calm. It was football played with arrogance, confidence, and artistry.
At 63 minutes, United tried to hit back. Rashford, still full of youthful energy, darted between Kompany and Van Dijk, forcing a foul. The free kick, taken by Rooney, curled over the wall — but Hart stretched, tipping it over spectacularly.
"Good save by Joe Hart!" Tyler exclaimed. "Had to be alert there."
Van Dijk clapped his keeper's gloves. "Safe hands, mate!"
Hart smiled. "You know me — not letting them ruin the party."
As the minutes rolled on, the atmosphere turned celebratory. The Etihad crowd began singing, "We're gonna win the league!" again and again. Some fans were already waving cardboard crowns in the stands — homemade tributes to Adriano.
Then came the fourth goal — the exclamation mark on a historic night.
It was the 71st minute. De Bruyne, patient in midfield, played a quick one-two with Casemiro before slipping a through ball to Salah on the right wing. Salah, with his trademark burst, beat Rojo and cut it back into the middle.
The ball zipped across the box — past Aguero, past a diving defender — and found David Silva arriving perfectly at the edge of the area. Without hesitation, Silva placed a precise, curling finish low into the bottom corner.
"GOAL! DAVID SILVA!" Martin Tyler cried. "The magician at work again, and it's four-nil to Manchester City! Champagne football at the Etihad!"
The stadium erupted into yet another storm of celebration. Blue flares smoked from the South Stand, the noise deafening. The players mobbed Silva near the corner flag. Adriano wrapped his arm around him, laughing.
Silva grinned, slightly breathless. "Had to get in on the act, eh?"
Adriano replied, "About time, maestro."
Even Pellegrini was smiling broadly now, applauding from the sideline. He turned to his staff. "This team — it's perfection."
Alan Smith's analysis carried a tone of reverence. "There's something special about this group, Martin. They've got the stars, the structure, the hunger — but it's the chemistry that makes it magic. Everyone's smiling, everyone contributing."
City eased their tempo slightly afterward, letting the ball flow effortlessly between blue shirts while chants poured down from the terraces:
"CHAMPIONS AGAIN! OHH, ADRIANO!"
United had long since accepted their fate. Van Gaal slumped in his seat. Rooney's frustrated foul on Casemiro in the 76th minute drew ironic cheers from the home fans.
Adriano helped Casemiro up, joking, "He's trying to get himself booked just to go home early."
Casemiro smirked. "Can you blame him?"
As the game entered its final fifteen minutes, City toyed with their rivals — calm, controlled, yet mercifully not humiliating. Pellegrini gestured for composure. "Keep possession. Respect the opponent."
Adriano dropped deeper, orchestrating play like a conductor. Every pass drew applause. Every flick, cheer. The Etihad was basking in its own dream.
Tyler's commentary softened, reflective now. "It's easy to forget, Alan, just two seasons ago this club was in a transition — losing Yaya Toure's form, Silva aging, questions about the squad. And then came this young Portuguese lad, Adriano Riveiro — a teenager from Málaga — and he changed everything."
Alan Smith replied earnestly. "Yeah, Martin, he's transformed them. The price tag, the pressure, the expectations — he's not just met them, he's gone beyond. He's made them believe. You can see it in the stands, in his teammates — he's the heart of this side."
The camera panned to Adriano as he received the ball again, turning neatly between Herrera and Schneiderlin, spreading play to Hazard. The fans stood and applauded mid-game — an ovation not for a goal, but for pure command.
By the 85th minute, Pellegrini began gesturing toward the bench. Dybala and Theo Hernandez started warming up, though everyone knew this was symbolic — the stars would see this out.
At the 88th minute, a tired United side earned a corner. Mata swung it in — Hart caught comfortably, then simply stood still for a second, looking at the fans as if soaking it in himself.
The City faithful had begun chanting again, louder now, unified and thunderous:
"King Adriano! King Adriano! King Adriano!"
It rolled through the Etihad like thunder. Adriano turned, smiling, clapping toward them. He thumped his chest — once, twice, three times — then pointed to the badge and lifted his arm high, acknowledging the love pouring from forty-eight thousand voices.
Martin Tyler's voice carried over the roar, reverent and emotional. "You're witnessing the birth of an era. Manchester City — champions again, but more than that — they've become a dynasty, built around a nineteen-year-old who plays like he's seen the future."
Alan Smith added softly, "And what a future it is, Martin."
The final whistle blew.
The noise that followed was indescribable — an explosion of sound, color, and emotion. The players raised their arms as the bench emptied onto the pitch. Fans leapt, waved flags, some even crying. Blue smoke drifted above the stadium like mist over a mountain.
Kompany lifted Adriano into a brief bear hug. "We did it, lad. Champions again."
Adriano laughed, out of breath. "We never stopped believing."
Silva joined them, grinning. "This is what dreams look like."
Across the field, Aguero punched the air, yelling, "Vamos, City!" while Robertson wrapped the Portuguese prodigy in a half-hug from behind, shouting, "That's our king!"
The big screen flashed: MANCHESTER CITY 4 – 0 MANCHESTER UNITED
Below it, in bold letters: CITY CROWNED CHAMPIONS
Though the official trophy ceremony would come later, nothing could stop the celebration. The Etihad was a carnival — scarves twirling, fans singing, waves of chants filling the night.
Adriano walked slowly toward the East Stand, applauding with both hands, eyes scanning the stands filled with banners that read "Our King" and "He Made Us Believe."
He thumped his chest again — boom, boom, boom — and pointed skyward, smiling wide. His expression wasn't prideful; it was gratitude, the look of a young man living the dream he once only dared to imagine.
Martin Tyler closed his commentary with words that felt almost poetic.
"And so, it ends as it was written — Manchester City, champions of England once more. Thirty wins from thirty games. Perfection. And at the center of it all, a teenager who's made the impossible look ordinary. The name… Adriano Riveiro."
Alan Smith's voice softened beside him. "They'll talk about this season for generations, Martin. The team that never lost. The kid who became a king."
The camera lingered on Adriano as he waved toward the fans one last time, a gentle smile curving his lips. Behind him, his teammates clapped along, arms around each other, blue and white confetti fluttering down like snow.
The music swelled — "Blue Moon" reverberating through every inch of the stadium.
Manchester City were champions again.
And their King stood among them, crown invisible, but undisputed.
*******
Adriano's Stats 2015-16 Season
Premier League
Match: 28
Goals: 44
Assists: 24
Champions League
Match: 8
Goal: 17
Assist: 6
Community Shield
Match: 1
Goals : 2
Assists: 2
Capital One Cup
Match: 5
Goal: 10
Assists: 5
FA Cup
Match: 3
Goal: 5
Assist: 2
Euro Qualifiers
Match: 6
Goals: 8
Assist: 5