After that incident, the dressing room, already divided, split further. Adriano's longtime teammates—De Bruyne, Hazard, Silva, Kane, and others—publicly supported him. Newer signings who'd only known Guardiola's regime remained neutral or quietly backed the manager.
The tension was palpable at training. Players who'd been friends for years now barely spoke. Tactical sessions became awkward, with some players executing instructions enthusiastically while others went through the motions.
Kate had flown to Manchester the moment she heard about the injury, having wrapped her scenes for Infinity War early. She arrived at their home to find Adriano on the couch, ice pack on his leg, staring blankly at the television.
"Hey babe," she said softly, sitting beside him.
"Hey yourself. Thought you had another week of shooting."
"I told them my husband needed me. They understood." She examined his face, seeing the exhaustion and frustration written there. "Talk to me. And I don't mean about the injury, I mean about everything."
Adriano was quiet for a long moment before speaking.
"I feel trapped," he finally admitted. "I love this club. I love this city, these fans, my teammates. But I hate what it's become. Every training session feels like a battle. Guardiola looks at me like I'm the problem instead of part of the solution. And maybe I am the problem—maybe I'm just too stubborn to adapt to his system."
"Or maybe his system is wrong for you," Kate suggested gently.
"But how do I know that? What if I'm just being difficult? What if I leave and realize I was the issue all along?"
Kate took his hand. "Adriano, listen to me. You've won three Champions Leagues, three league titles, two Ballon d'Ors, two World Cups, a Euro championship. You've broken every record there is to break. You are not the problem. If a manager can't figure out how to use the best player in the world effectively, that's on the manager, not the player."
"But the team—"
"Will be fine without you," Kate interrupted firmly. "They have world-class players in every position. Kev, David , Eden, Harry, Mo—these guys are incredible. They'll survive. The question isn't whether City will be okay without you. The question is whether you'll be okay staying somewhere you're not appreciated."
Adriano looked at her. "What do you think I should do?"
"I told you before, I won't advise you on career moves. I don't understand football that much even after watching your games. But I will say this: you've already repaid Manchester City ten times over for the chance they gave you.
Your performances brought them three Champions Leagues and League titles they'd never won before. They broke history because you and the others worked hard. You put this club on the map as European royalty. You don't owe them your entire career, especially not if staying makes you miserable."
"You wouldn't mind if I left? Started over somewhere else?"
Kate smiled. "Babe, I hate Manchester's weather. I've been freezing my ass off for three years. If you want to move to Spain where there's actual sunshine? I'll pack tomorrow."
Despite everything, Adriano laughed. "You've never complained about the weather before."
"Because I'm a supportive wife. But between you and me? This constant rain is bullshit." She kissed him softly. "My point is, do what makes you happy. Not what you think you should do, not what's expected, not what's safe. What makes Adriano Riveiro happy?"
"You," he said simply. "You make me happy."
"I know. What else?"
He thought about it. "Playing football the way I love playing. Fast breaks, running at defenders, pulling off fun moves, deciding games in moments of brilliance rather than death by a thousand passes. Being valued for what I can do, not criticized for what I can't."
"Then find a place that wants that version of you."
Over the next week, as his hamstring healed again, Adriano thought deeply about his future. He visited the youth academy more frequently, spending time with promising youngsters like Phil Foden, Jude Bellingham, Erling Haaland, and Jamal Musiala.
Phil Foden particularly caught his attention. The local Manchester kid had just been promoted to first-team training, and in his first media interview, he'd shared a story that touched Adriano deeply.
"Three years ago, I was working at my grandparents' shop in Manchester," Foden had said. "Adriano drove by one day, and I chased him down the street asking for an autograph. He could've just driven away—he's a busy guy.
But he stopped, signed my shirt, and told me, 'Keep working hard. If you really want it, you'll get there.' Those words changed my life. I put that signed shirt on my wall, and every time I wanted to quit when training got hard, I looked at it and remembered what he said.
Now I'm here, training with him. It's a dream come true."
When Adriano heard about the interview, he sought Foden out at training.
"I remember you," Adriano said, smiling. "You were the kid who nearly got hit by a car chasing me down the street."
Foden laughed, embarrassed. "Yeah, that was stupid. But I had to get that autograph. You were my hero."
"And now we're teammates. Funny how things work out." Adriano put a hand on his shoulder. "You're talented, Phil. Really talented. Don't let anyone make you doubt that."
He grinned. "Thanks Adriano. That means everything coming from you."
Despite their different playstyles—Foden more technical and possession-oriented, Adriano more direct and explosive; they developed a mentorship relationship. Adriano saw in Foden the hunger he'd had at that age, the desperation to prove himself against any odds.
He worked similarly with Bellingham, Haaland, and Musiala, offering advice on dealing with pressure, maintaining focus, staying humble despite success.
"Why do you spend so much time with them?" Guardiola asked one day, his tone neutral but curious.
"Because they're the future," Adriano replied. "And because someone did the same for me when I was coming up. Ronaldo, specifically. He didn't have to mentor me, but he did. Now I'm passing that forward."
"It's admirable," Guardiola admitted. "I just hope it doesn't distract from your own development."
"I think my development is pretty much done, coach. I'm just maintaining at this point."
It wasn't a hostile exchange, but the subtext was clear: they had different visions for what Adriano should be doing with his time and energy.
Despite all the turmoil, Guardiola somehow managed to turn the season around. After Adriano's return in February, City went on a remarkable run. They clawed back to first place in the Premier League, winning their final twelve matches to claim the title by two points over Liverpool.
Adriano played in only forty matches total for the season due to his injuries, but still managed extraordinary numbers: 57 goals and 29 assists. In any other context, with any other player, those statistics would be celebrated as the best season in football. For Adriano, they were seen as a disappointment compared to his previous campaigns.
The media narrative was harsh: "Adriano's decline," "Is the golden age over?" "Can Adriano adapt to modern football?"
It was absurd. He'd just scored 57 goals in 40 matches while playing injured for part of the season in a system that didn't suit him. But perception mattered in football, and the perception was that he was slipping.
Through it all, Kate remained his anchor. She'd finished her Infinity War commitments and, true to her word, flew to Manchester whenever possible. When they couldn't be together physically, they video called every single day—sometimes for hours, sometimes for just ten minutes, but always maintaining that connection.
One night in April, after City had clinched the league title, they had a long conversation about the future.
"I talked to Sheikh Mansour today," Adriano said. "Told him I'm considering a move this summer."
Kate's expression didn't change. "How'd he take it?"
"Better than expected. He and Al Mubarak offered to terminate Guardiola's contract—again—but I refused. Told them it would set a terrible precedent if players started getting managers fired."
"That's very mature of you."
"Or very stupid. I could've stayed, had things my way, kept winning."
"But you'd have been miserable. And eventually, that misery would've destroyed the success anyway."
Adriano nodded slowly. "We agreed to wait until after the World Cup to make any announcements. Give both sides time to prepare, make sure any transfer is handled professionally."
"So you're definitely leaving?"
"I think so. Four years at City—three Champions Leagues, three league titles, all domestic trophies, everything I could possibly accomplish. Maybe it's time for a new challenge. Let some of these incredible teammates step out of my shadow and shine on their own."
Kate moved closer to him on the couch. "Where are you thinking?"
"Real Madrid's still interested. Perez called again last week. They're willing to break Neymar's record—250 million euros, maybe more."
Kate whistled "That's insane money. Not for you, but for others it's a sum they'd never see in their whole life. Even me."
Adriano shook his head. "You'll get there babe, you are pretty successful already. For me, I don't care about the money. But Real is... it's Real Madrid. The biggest club in the world. Somewhere I wanted to play once just to spite Barcelona. A chance to play in Spain where you'd actually be warm for once."
Kate laughed. "I do appreciate you considering my comfort in this major career decision."
"Always," he said with a grin, then turned serious again. "But there's a complication. They're probably planning to let Ronaldo go. Wage demands, age, they can't afford both of us. So if I go there, it means Cristiano leaves."
"How do you feel about that?"
"Conflicted. He's been like a big brother to me. Mentored me with Portugal, gave me advice, supported me through everything. The idea of essentially pushing him out of Madrid feels wrong."
"Did you talk to him about it?"
"Not yet. I want to get through the World Cup first. One thing at a time."
"Smart." Kate kissed his temple. "For what it's worth, I'll support whatever you decide. Manchester, Madrid, Milan, Munich—I don't care where we live as long as we're together."
"Even if it means more time apart during filming?"
"We've made it work so far. We'll keep making it work. That's what marriage is—figuring shit out together."
Adriano pulled her close, grateful beyond words for her unwavering support.
****
Portugal arrived in Russia with sky-high expectations. They were defending champions, had won Euro 2016, and possessed arguably the strongest squad they'd ever fielded. With Adriano and Ronaldo leading the attack, supported by talents like Bernardo Silva, João Félix, and Bruno Fernandes, they were favorites to repeat.
The group stage started shakily. Their opening match against Spain was a thriller—Portugal won 4-2, with Ronaldo scoring twice and Adriano adding a goal and two assists. The football was spectacular, both teams attacking relentlessly.
But then came a surprise stumble—a 2-2 draw against Morocco, who played defensively and caught Portugal on two counter-attacks. It wasn't a disaster, but it raised questions about defensive vulnerabilities.
The final group match against Iran was tense. Iran sat deep, defended stubbornly, and frustrated Portugal for long stretches. But class eventually told—Adriano broke the deadlock in the 67th minute with a trademark curling shot, then set up two more goals in a 3-1 victory that secured top spot in the group.
The knockout rounds brought tougher tests. Uruguay in the round of 16 played physical, aggressive football, trying to intimidate Portugal out of their rhythm. But Portugal matched their intensity and added technical quality Uruguay couldn't match. Ronaldo scored twice, Adriano once, in a 3-1 victory.
The quarter-final against France was the match everyone expected in the final. A World class team against defending World Cup winners, Mbappé against his former teammate, tactical masterminds Deschamps and Fernando Santos matching wits.
The match lived up to expectations. France took the lead through Griezmann. Portugal equalized through Ronaldo. Mbappé restored France's lead with a brilliant solo goal. Adriano leveled it again with a header from Bernardo Silva's cross.
It was 2-2 after ninety minutes, still 2-2 after exhausting extra time. France pushed hard, but Portugal's defense—marshaled brilliantly by Pepe and José Fonte—held firm.
Then, in the 117th minute, France committed numbers forward desperately seeking a winner. They lost the ball. Portugal broke with devastating speed.
Moutinho to Bernardo Silva to Adriano, who was sprinting into space down the left channel. Three French defenders converged on him as he approached the penalty area.
Adriano didn't hesitate. He shook them all with a body feint suggesting a shot, then cut inside onto his right foot. The defender nearest him lunged, missing completely.
Adriano's shot was struck with perfect technique. The ball flew past Hugo Lloris's desperate dive and into the top corner.
3-2. Portugal were through to the semifinals.
Adriano didn't celebrate wildly—he was too exhausted. He just dropped to his knees, looked at the sky, and let his teammates mob him.
After the match, he sought out Mbappé, who sat devastated on the pitch.
"You were brilliant," Adriano told him sincerely. "That goal you scored—world-class."
Mbappé managed a sad smile. "Not enough though."
"You'll win it someday. Trust me. You're too good not to."
"Thanks, Adriano. And congratulations. Go win it all."
The semifinal against Belgium was hard-fought but ultimately comfortable. Portugal controlled the match, defended solidly, and won 2-1 with goals from Ronaldo and João Félix.
That set up a final against England—a team that had exceeded all expectations with young talents like Harry Kane, Raheem Sterling, Marcus Rashford along with older veterans.
Before the match, Kane approached Adriano during the pre-game warmup.
"Go easy on us for old times' sake?" Kane joked.
Adriano laughed. "What do you mean?"
Kane's expression turned slightly more serious. "Kevin told me about your decision. That you're probably leaving City this summer."
Adriano was surprised. "He told you that?"
"He's worried about you. We all are. You've seemed... unhappy this season."
"I've been dealing with some things," Adriano admitted carefully.
"I get it. Football's not everything. Being happy matters more." Kane paused. "For what it's worth—wherever you end up, if there's ever a chance for me to join you, I'm in. You're the best teammate I've ever had. Made me a better player just by being around you."
Adriano was genuinely touched. "Thanks, Harry. That means a lot."
"Now let's play a great final. No holding back."
"Never."
The final itself was spectacular. England started aggressively, pressing high and forcing Portugal back. They took the lead through Kane in the 34th minute—a clinical finish after a perfect through ball from Foden.
Portugal equalized just before halftime when Ronaldo powered home a header from Adriano's corner.
The second half was end-to-end, both teams creating chances but unable to convert. England's young players showed no fear, attacking with abandon. Portugal's experience kept them composed under pressure.
In the 76th minute, England restored their lead. Foden won the ball in midfield and immediately played Sterling through on goal. The finish was emphatic—2-1 England.
For the next ten minutes, England defended heroically, every player behind the ball, protecting their lead with everything they had.
Then, in the 87th minute, Portugal won a free kick thirty yards from goal. Adriano stood over it while Ronaldo positioned himself at the edge of the box.
The free kick was perfect—whipped in with pace and dip. It evaded everyone in the box and curled toward the far corner. England's goalkeeper, Jordan Pickford, was beaten.
2-2. Game on.
Extra time was brutal—both teams exhausted, running on pure adrenaline. Chances came at both ends. Kane hit the post. Adriano had a shot cleared off the line.
In the 104th minute, Ronaldo produced magic despite his age. He collected the ball just inside England's half, drove forward past two challenges, and unleashed a shot from twenty-five yards that flew into the top corner. Unstoppable. Spectacular.
3-2 Portugal.
England threw everything forward in the final minutes, desperate for an equalizer. But Portugal held firm.
When the final whistle blew, confirming Portugal as back-to-back World Cup champions—the first team ever to defend the World Cup title in the modern era—the celebration was pure joy mixed with exhaustion.
Adriano collapsed to the turf, overwhelmed. Ronaldo pulled him up into a fierce embrace, both crying openly.
"We did it again," Ronaldo said, voice breaking. "Back-to-back World Cup champions. Nobody's ever done this. I hae no more regrets."
"We're legends," Adriano replied, still processing it. "Actual fucking legends."
Later, during the trophy presentation, Adriano collected his second consecutive Golden Ball award—6 goals and 5 assists throughout the tournament. The journalists voting for the award weren't even subtle about it: he'd been the tournament's best player by a considerable margin.
Standing on the podium with the trophy, wearing his medal, holding his individual award, Adriano scanned the crowd until he found Kate and his parents. Kate had flown to Russia for the final, negotiating another break from her promotional tour.
She was crying happy tears again, just like in France two years ago.
He blew her a kiss, and she caught it, pressing her hand to her heart.
The heavy talk came after that. Ronaldo pulled him aside for a moment.
"Heard you're joining Madrid?" He asked lightly.
Adriano sighed. "It's not confirmed yet. I was going to talk to you about it."
Ronaldo also sighed. "So that means they will probably let me go. Mendes told me they weren't willing to meet my demands."
Adriano looked at him directly. "I wished to play alongside you like national team. It's not m intention to make you leave Real. I know it's your dream club."
Ronaldo patted his shoulder. "I'm not happy about it either. But let's face it, until last season we didn't win a champions league for 3 years. If not for Pep messing with you, we'd probably have lost again. I have been there for a long time. maybe it's better this way."
****
The celebration in the Portuguese locker room after the final lasted hours. Players, coaches, staff—everyone sharing in the historic achievement. But eventually, reality intruded.
Adriano was sitting quietly in a corner, still in his kit, when there was a knock on the locker room door. A UEFA official poked his head in.
"Adriano? There are some people here to see you. They said it's important."
Curious, Adriano followed the official to a private meeting room. Inside, he found Florentino Pérez and Zinedine Zidane waiting, both dressed in expensive suits despite the late hour.
"Mr. Perez. Zidane." Adriano shook their hands, surprised but not entirely shocked. "This is bold, coming here right after the final."
"Historic occasions call for bold actions," Pérez replied with a smile. "Congratulations on the victory. Back-to-back champions—remarkable."
"Thank you."
"We won't waste your time," Pérez continued. "We're going to make a formal offer tomorrow. Real Madrid wants to sign you this summer. We're prepared to pay Manchester City 250 million euros—breaking Neymar's record by a significant margin.
Your wages would be the highest in world football as expected. But more importantly, we're offering you the chance to build a new dynasty at the biggest club in the world. Unlike last time, we won't ask you to change your playstyle."
Jorge Mendes appeared in the doorway—apparently he'd been waiting outside. "May I join?" he asked.
Adriano nodded, and his agent entered, sitting beside him.
"I want to be clear about something," Mendes said to Pérez and Zidane. "I represent Adriano, but I'm not going to pressure him into any decision. This is entirely his choice. I'll facilitate whatever he wants, whether that's staying at City or moving to Madrid or any other club. I may want him to accept, but it's not upto me."
"Appreciated," Pérez said.
They spent the next hour discussing details. Not just money and contract length, but Adriano's role in the team, the tactical system, the transfer targets Real Madrid had in mind.
Adriano asked pointed questions. "What's happening with Cristiano? I heard there are issues with his wage demands."
Pérez sighed. "That's... complicated. Cristiano wants a significant raise. We love him—he's been incredible for us—but at his age, with the finances involved, and with you potentially joining... we've had discussions about letting him move on."
"To where?"
"Juventus have made an offer of 105 million. Substantial money for a player his age, but they're willing to pay it."
Adriano sat back, processing that. Ronaldo to Juventus. It made sense—a new challenge, Serie A being less physically demanding than La Liga, the chance to win titles in a third major league.
But it still felt wrong, like he was pushing his mentor out.
"Have you talked to Cristiano about this?" Adriano asked.
"We've had preliminary discussions. He understands the business side of football. But obviously, the final decisions depend on multiple factors—including whether you join us."
Zidane spoke up for the first time. "I want to address your concerns about role and tactics. I watched what happened this season at City; Guardiola trying to make you into something you're not. That won't happen at Madrid. We'll build around your strengths. Direct running, pace on the counter, freedom to exploit space and to display your flairs. We need a rebuild soon anyway—new young players to complement the existing core."
"What young players are you targeting?"
"We've already signed Mac Allister, Mbappé, and Van Dijk," Pérez said. "We're in negotiations for Vinicius Jr, a young Brazilian with tremendous potential. We're also interested in Jude Bellingham and Erling Haaland from City's academy. They will be special, I can feel it."
Adriano perked up at those names. "Jude and Erling are special. If you can get them, do it. Although I won't ask them to."
"We're trying. But City are reluctant to sell more young talents after losing the others. Specially since you might be leaving."
They discussed tactics more. Zidane outlined a system that would feature Mbappé on the left wing, Vinicius (if they signed him) on the right, and Adriano centrally with freedom to roam, dropping deep or pushing high depending on the situation.
"What about Mbappé as striker?" Adriano asked. "I've heard speculation—"
"No," Zidane said firmly. "Mbappé is most effective on the left, cutting inside onto his right foot. Moving him centrally would waste his pace in wide positions. If we sign Vinicius, he'll play on the right—he's naturally left-footed, so he can either cut inside or cross with his strong foot. Benzema still has good years on him, we plan to keep him."
Adriano nodded. "Yes. Karim is a good striker and a nice guy. We have talked before."
The tactical discussion went on for another twenty minutes before they returned to contract specifics.
"We're offering a five-year deal," Pérez said. "Salary of 35 million euros per year after tax, plus bonuses for individual and team achievements. Full image rights retention. A gentleman's agreement that if you ever want to leave, we won't stand in your way—no forcing you to stay against your will. we'll also help you if you wish to get into coaching after you retire."
Florentino spoke seriously. "I never say this to a player, but I want you to play the rest of your career and retire as a Madrid player if possible. We will do our best to make it happen. You will be the face of the next generation and our icon, like Raul was."
It was an extraordinary offer. Not just the money, but the respect implied in that final clause—treating him as a partner rather than an asset.
"I need to think about it," Adriano said finally. "Talk to my wife and family, talk to Sheikh Mansour properly. This isn't a decision I'll rush."
"Of course," Pérez stood and extended his hand. "Take your time. We'll send the formal written offer to Jorge within 48 hours. Review it carefully, discuss it with your family, and let us know."
After they left, Mendes stayed behind.
"What do you think?" he asked Adriano.
"I think it's a good offer. Great, even. But—"
"But you feel guilty about Cristiano."
"Yeah. He's been like a brother to me. The idea that I'm essentially taking his place, forcing him out of Madrid... it doesn't sit right."
"Have you considered that maybe Cristiano's ready to move on anyway?" Mendes suggested. "He's thirty-three. He's won everything at Madrid. 3 Champions Leagues, multiple league titles. Maybe he wants a new challenge, independent of whether you join or not."
"Maybe. But I should talk to him before making any decisions."
"That's wise. I'll arrange it."
****
Two days later, back in Portugal for the national team's celebration parade, Adriano finally had the conversation he'd been dreading.
He met Cristiano at a private villa outside Lisbon, away from media and public attention. They sat on a terrace overlooking the ocean, drinks in hand, the weight of the conversation heavy between them.
"So," Cristiano began, "Florentino made you the offer officialy."
"He did. You already know?"
"Of course I know. They told me the day before the final that if you agreed to join, they'd likely let me leave to Juventus."
Adriano studied his friend's face, trying to read his emotions. "How do you feel about that?"
Cristiano took a long drink before answering. "Honestly? Conflicted. Madrid's been my home for nine years. I've achieved everything here. The thought of leaving is painful."
"Then stay. I'll turn down the offer. You're more important than—"
"Let me finish," Cristiano interrupted gently. "It's painful, but it's also time. I'm thirty-three, Adri. My body's breaking down. La Liga defenders are faster than they used to be, or maybe I'm just slower. I maybe able to struggle for a few years, but I can't be the best. And with all my regrets now fulfilled, I lost the hunger to push myself like before. Either way, the end is coming."
He paused, gathering his thoughts. "Juventus is offering me something Madrid can't anymore—a new challenge. A chance to prove I can still perform at the highest level in a different league. Win titles in a third country. Build a new legacy. That excites me more than staying at Madrid and gradually declining would."
"Are you sure? Because I can—"
"I'm sure. And more than that—I want you to take this opportunity. You deserve it. You've outgrown Manchester City, or at least Guardiola's version of it. Madrid will value you properly. Let you play your natural game. And honestly?" Cristiano smiled. "I'd rather you replace me than some random player I don't know or care about. At least this way, I know Madrid's in good hands."
Adriano felt emotion welling up. "You've done so much for me. Mentored me, supported me, been like family. I don't know how to repay that."
"By winning. By being great. By making sure Madrid keeps dominating Europe for the next decade. That's how you repay me—by continuing the legacy we built together with Portugal and that I built at Madrid."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Cristiano spoke again.
"One thing though—when we play against each other, no holding back. I don't care if you're my friend, if I consider you a brother. On the pitch, we're rivals. Full intensity."
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Adriano agreed.
They embraced, both emotional, both knowing this conversation marked the end of one era and the beginning of another.
After Cristiano left, Adriano called Kate.
"I'm going to do it," he told her. "I'm going to Madrid."
"You sound certain."
"I am. I talked to Cristiano—he's okay with it. Actually wants me to do it. And after everything this season at City, I think it's time for a fresh start."
"Then I'm happy for you. For us. When do you tell Sheikh Mansour?"
"Tomorrow. I owe him an in-person conversation."
The meeting with Sheikh Mansour and Al Mubarak was held at a neutral location—a private club in London where they could talk without interruption.
Adriano laid out his decision clearly and respectfully.
"I'm grateful for everything Manchester City has done for me. You took a chance on an eighteen-year-old with everything to prove. You built a team around me. You paid me incredibly well and supported me through every challenge. I'll never forget that."
"But?" Sheikh Mansour prompted gently.
"But it's time to move on. I've won everything here—three Champions Leagues, three league titles, every domestic trophy. The team's evolved in a direction that doesn't suit my strengths as well. And I think my teammates need a chance to step out of my shadow and establish their own identities."
Al Mubarak nodded slowly. "We've seen this coming for a while. Still hurts though."
"I don't want this to be acrimonious," Adriano said firmly. "I won't leave on a free transfer and cost you money. Real Madrid's offering 250 million euros—"
"We don't care about the money," Sheikh Mansour interrupted. "You've earned us that back ten times over in success and global visibility. If you wanted to leave on a free, we'd let you."
"I know. But I care about doing this right. Take the 250 million. Use it to rebuild. Invest in the young players who are ready to step up and the current team. You'll be fine without me."
They talked for another hour about logistics, timing, public messaging. They agreed to wait until July to make the announcement official, giving both clubs time to prepare.
When they finally stood to leave, Sheikh Mansour pulled Adriano into a hug—surprising for a man usually so formal.
"Thank you," the Sheikh said simply. "For four incredible years. For making Manchester City relevant at the highest level. For giving us memories we'll treasure forever. You are not just a player to us, you are our legend."
"Thank you for believing in me," Adriano replied. "When I was still green, you saw potential. I hope I repaid that faith."
"You exceeded it beyond our wildest dreams."
After the meeting, Adriano felt a weight lift from his shoulders. The decision was made. The hard conversations were done. Now came the exciting part—building something new.
He called Kate immediately.
"It's official. Well, not publicly yet, but it's done. I'm leaving City for Madrid."
"How do you feel?"
"Relieved. Excited. A little sad. All of it at once."
"That's natural. You're closing a huge chapter of your life."
"Yeah. But I'm ready for the next one. New city, new team, new challenges. And you'll actually be warm for once."
Kate laughed. "Silver lining of the century right there."
"When can you fly out? I want you with me when I tell the team."
"I can be there tomorrow. Just need to cancel one appearance, but they'll understand."
"I love you."
"I love you too. Now go start your new adventure, Mr. Galáctico maker."
****
The formal negotiations between Real Madrid and Manchester City happened quickly once both sides knew Adriano wanted the move.
Real Madrid offered 250 million euros plus performance-based add-ons that could push the total to 280 million—shattering Neymar's record by a significant margin.
Manchester City negotiated hard on some details but ultimately accepted. They knew forcing an unhappy player to stay was futile and would only create more problems.
The announcement was scheduled for late July, giving both clubs time to prepare their messaging and plan for the future.
In Russia, Adriano had one more important meeting.
He'd requested time with Fernando Santos, Portugal's national team manager, to discuss what this transfer meant for the national team.
"Does this change anything with Portugal?" Adriano asked directly.
Santos smiled. "Why would it? You're still Portuguese. You'll still be our captain when Cristiano eventually retires from international duty. The club you play for doesn't matter—what matters is your commitment to the national team."
"I'm committed. I want to win everything with Portugal. Every trophy there is."
"I know you do. And we will. You're twenty-two years old, Adriano. You've got another decade of international football ahead of you. By the time you're done, you might be Portugal's greatest ever player."
"Cristiano's the greatest."
"Today, yes. But you're still writing your story. Let's see where it goes."
They discussed logistics—how Real Madrid's schedule might affect national team availability, how to manage Adriano's fitness across club and country commitments, plans for future tournaments.
"The next major tournament is Euro 2020," Santos noted. "We'll be defending champions. The expectation will be enormous."
"Good. I perform better with expectations."
"Yes, you do," Santos agreed with a knowing smile.
Back in Manchester, Adriano gathered his closest teammates—De Bruyne, Hazard, Silva, Kane, Salah—for a private dinner at his home.
Kate had prepared a Portuguese feast with Rosa's help (his mother had flown in for the World Cup celebration and stayed to help with the transition).
Over wine and food, Adriano broke the news.
"I'm leaving," he said simply. "Joining Real Madrid this summer. The announcement's coming in a few weeks, but I wanted you to hear it from me first."
Silence settled over the table.
Finally, David Silva spoke. "We knew. Deep down, we all knew. Things haven't been right this season."
"I tried to make it work mate," Adriano said. "I really did. But—"
"You don't need to explain," De Bruyne interrupted. "We get it. Guardiola's system doesn't suit you. Rather than waste years being frustrated, you're making a change. That's smart, not disloyal."
"I feel like I'm abandoning you."
"You're not," Kane said firmly. "You've given us four incredible years. Three Champions Leagues. We wouldn't have any of that without you. Now it's our turn to step up, prove we can win without you."
"You absolutely can. This squad is stacked with talent."
"Maybe," Hazard said with a slight smile. "But it won't be the same without you. You're the heart of this team."
"Foden will be the heart of the next team. Bellingham, Haaland, all the young guys. They're ready."
They spent the rest of the evening reminiscing—retelling stories from the perfect season, laughing about training ground incidents, celebrating the brotherhood they'd built.
As people started leaving, De Bruyne pulled Adriano aside.
"I'm serious about what I said earlier. You don't owe us explanations or apologies. You've been the best teammate any of us have ever had. You made us better players just by being around you. We'll miss you like crazy, but we want you to be happy. If Madrid makes you happy, then go be happy."
"Thanks buddy. That means everything."
They hugged, both getting emotional, both knowing their partnership—one of the most productive in football history—was ending.
After everyone left, Adriano and Kate cleaned up together in comfortable silence.
"You okay?" she finally asked.
"Yeah. Sad, but okay. Saying goodbye is hard."
"But necessary sometimes."
"Yeah." He put down the dish he was washing and turned to her. "Thank you for being patient with me through all this. For not pressuring me either way. For just being here."
"That's what marriage is," Kate said, echoing her earlier words. "Figuring shit out together. You were there for me during my career transitions. I'm here for yours."
"Still. I appreciate it."
"I know. Now finish the dishes. We have packing to start tomorrow—apparently we're moving to Spain."
Adriano laughed and returned to washing, feeling lighter than he had in months.
The future was uncertain in many ways. New team, new league, new tactical system, new expectations. But for the first time in a year, he felt genuinely excited about what came next.
Four years at Manchester City had been extraordinary—historic, record-breaking, unforgettable. Three Champions Leagues. Three Premier Leagues. Countless records. Two Ballon d'Ors. Memories that would last forever.
But every story needs a new chapter. And his was about to begin in Madrid.