August 2018 - Spanish Super Cup: Real Madrid vs Barcelona
After the euphoria of the official presentation ceremony, Madrid fans had exactly one week to wait before seeing Adriano make his competitive debut. And what a debut it would be—the Spanish Super Cup against Barcelona, Real Madrid's eternal rivals, at the Camp Nou in Barcelona.
The anticipation was almost unbearable. Social media exploded with predictions, analyses, and arguments. Would Adriano perform immediately, or would he need time to adapt to La Liga's style? Could he handle the pressure of El Clásico in his very first match? How would he fare against Messi, the player many still considered the best in the world despite Adriano's recent dominance?
Zinedine Zidane, ever the tactician, decided there was no point in easing Adriano into Spanish football. He was the best player in the world—throw him into the fire and let him prove it.
The lineup Zidane selected for the match was Real Madrid's strongest available, a statement of intent that sent a clear message to Barcelona and the rest of La Liga.
Real Madrid Starting XI (4-3-3 Attacking):
GK: Thibaut Courtois
DEF: Marcelo, Sergio Ramos, Virgil van Dijk, Dani Carvajal
MID: Toni Kroos, Luka Modrić, Adriano Riveiro (Attacking)
ATT: Kylian Mbappé, Karim Benzema, Gareth Bale
Subs: Erling Haaland, N'Golo Kanté, Keylor Navas, Nacho, Vinícius Jr., Raphaël Varane, Alexis Mac Allister, Federico Valverde
The formation represented a significant shift from Real Madrid's traditional approach under previous managers. Rather than the conservative 4-3-3 holding formation they'd relied on for years, Zidane implemented a more aggressive system that pushed Adriano higher up the pitch, gave him freedom to roam, and allowed the wingers to make penetrating runs behind defenses.
It was designed specifically to maximize Adriano's strengths—his vision, his passing range, his ability to arrive late in the box, his knack for being in exactly the right place at exactly the right time.
But it was also risky. The attacking formation would leave gaps in transition, particularly if Barcelona won possession and counterattacked quickly. It would require perfect coordination, constant communication, and players willing to work defensively even when their natural instincts said to push forward.
Zidane addressed this in the pre-match team meeting the day before the game.
"We're still learning this system," he told the assembled players in the team hotel. "We're still adjusting to each other's movements, each other's tendencies. Barcelona will exploit any mistakes we make. But—" he paused for emphasis, "—they're dealing with their own problems right now. We can beat them if we stay disciplined and execute the plan."
Sergio Ramos, the captain, spoke up. "What about their attack? Messi, Suárez, Dembélé—that's still world-class firepower."
"It is," Zidane agreed. "But they're not as unified as they used to be. The Neymar situation damaged their chemistry. Dembélé is struggling under the weight of his price tag. And Messi... Messi can only do so much alone."
He turned to Adriano, who'd been listening quietly. "You've played against Messi before. What do you think?"
Adriano considered the question carefully. "He's the best player I've ever faced. Still is, even now. But Zidane's right—Barcelona isn't the same team they were a few years ago. If we press them high, disrupt their rhythm, force them to play faster than they're comfortable with... we can win."
"Exactly," Zidane said. "We attack from the first whistle. We don't give them time to settle. We make them chase us."
The meeting continued for another hour, going over set pieces, defensive assignments, specific scenarios. By the end, everyone understood their roles.
That night, Adriano couldn't sleep. He lay in his hotel bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing through possibilities and scenarios.
Kate, lying beside him with her hand resting on her still-flat stomach, noticed his restlessness.
"Can't sleep?" she asked softly.
"Too much going through my head."
"Nervous?"
"A little. Excited mostly. This is what I came here for—big matches, big moments."
Kate propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. "You're going to be brilliant. You always are."
"What if I'm not? What if I flop in my debut? The media would have a field day."
"Then you'll score a hat trick in the next match and everyone will forget about it," Kate said matter-of-factly. "Stop overthinking. Go out there and play your game. Trust yourself."
Adriano pulled her close, kissing her forehead. "Thank you for always believing in me."
"Someone has to," she teased. "Now get some sleep. You have history to make tomorrow."
The Match - Camp Nou, Barcelona
The atmosphere at the Camp Nou was electric and hostile in equal measure. Barcelona fans packed the stadium, 90,000 strong, ready to welcome Adriano to La Liga in the most intimidating way possible.
As the Real Madrid bus pulled up to the stadium, it was greeted by a wall of noise—jeers, whistles, chants of "MADRID, MADRID, BASTARDOS!" The hostility was palpable, intense, exactly what you'd expect from one of football's greatest rivalries.
Inside the away dressing room, the Real Madrid players went through their pre-match routines with practiced efficiency. Some stretched quietly. Others listened to music through headphones. A few engaged in nervous banter to ease tension.
Adriano sat in his designated spot—number 10, naturally—lacing his boots with deliberate care. These were the special edition boots Nike had created for his Real Madrid debut, white with gold accents and "AR10" embroidered on the heel.
Across the room, Mbappé was vibrating with excitement.
"This is insane," the young French winger said to anyone who'd listen. "My first Clásico. Playing WITH Adriano instead of against him. This is actually happening!"
Benzema, the veteran striker, smiled at Mbappé's enthusiasm. "Enjoy it while you can. These matches take years off your life."
"Worth it though," Ramos interjected, walking past in his captain's armband. "These are the matches you remember when you're old. The pressure, the intensity, the rivalry—nothing else compares."
Zidane entered, commanding immediate attention without saying a word. When he spoke, his voice was calm but carried absolute authority.
"Gentlemen, you know what this match means. To the fans, to the club, to Spanish football. Barcelona will come at us hard, especially in the first fifteen minutes. They'll try to score early, silence our supporters, make us doubt ourselves."
He paused, making eye contact with each player.
"Don't let them. Weather that storm. Stay compact, stay disciplined, and when we get our chances—and we WILL get chances—we take them. No hesitation. No second-guessing. We came here to win."
Ramos stood, raising his voice. "Everybody in!" The team formed a tight circle, hands in the center. "On three—HALA MADRID!"
"ONE! TWO! THREE!"
"HALA MADRID!" they roared in unison.
The tunnel was a study in contrasts. Real Madrid players in their pristine white away kits. Barcelona in their traditional blue and red stripes. The two groups stood side by side, not speaking, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
Adriano found himself standing next to Lionel Messi.
For a moment, they just acknowledged each other with slight nods. Then Messi spoke quietly, barely audible over the crowd noise filtering down the tunnel.
"Welcome to La Liga."
"Thanks. Looking forward to this."
"Me too." Messi's expression was unreadable. "Good luck. You'll need it."
Adriano smiled slightly. "So will you."
The tunnel doors opened, and the wall of sound that hit them was overwhelming. Ninety thousand Barcelona supporters roaring their approval for their team, their contempt for Real Madrid, their anticipation for what promised to be an epic encounter.
*****
The match began with exactly the intensity Zidane had predicted. Barcelona pressed high and aggressive, trying to establish dominance early.
In the opening minutes, both teams were cautious, feeling each other out, trying to find rhythms and patterns. Real Madrid were still adjusting to their new tactics and the integration of new players. The attacking formation that looked so promising in training was leaving gaps in practice, particularly when transitions happened quickly.
Adriano made a few probing runs in the first ten minutes, testing Barcelona's defensive shape, seeing how they'd react to his movement. Each time, he drew multiple defenders, which created space for Mbappé and Bale on the wings.
"Stay patient!" Zidane shouted from the touchline. "Don't force it!"
Barcelona had their own issues to deal with. Messi was trying desperately to raise the team's morale and intensity, but the chemistry just wasn't there anymore. The Neymar departure to PSG the previous summer had created a void that hadn't been filled, despite Barcelona's astronomical spending.
The signing of Ousmane Dembélé for 160 million euros was supposed to solve their attacking problems, but it had backfired spectacularly. The constant comparisons to Adriano—who'd joined Manchester City four years earlier for 150 million and immediately delivered three Champions Leagues—put unbearable pressure on the young French winger.
Dembélé was clearly struggling. His usually silky skills were tentative, hesitant. Every touch seemed burdened by the weight of expectations. When he'd try to beat a defender, he'd second-guess himself mid-move and lose the ball.
In the 18th minute, he had a golden opportunity—Messi slipped him through on goal with just Courtois to beat. But Dembélé's shot was weak, straight at the goalkeeper, easily saved. He put his hands on his head in frustration, knowing he should have scored.
The crowd groaned. Some even booed, which only made things worse for the young player's confidence.
"He's broken," Ramos observed to Van Dijk as they jogged back into position. "The price tag destroyed him."
"Focus on our game," Van Dijk replied. "Their problems are their problems."
Real Madrid gradually grew into the match. In the 24th minute, Adriano orchestrated their first real chance.
He dropped deep to receive the ball from Kroos, then immediately turned and drove forward. Busquets stepped up to challenge him, but Adriano's first touch took the ball past the Barcelona midfielder with ridiculous ease.
Suddenly he had space. Mbappé made a run down the left channel. Bale was showing for the ball on the right. Benzema was checking toward the ball centrally.
Adriano slid a perfect through ball between Barcelona's center-backs, right into Mbappé's path. The young Frenchman took one touch to control, a second to set up his shot—
Ter Stegen came out quickly, making himself big. Mbappé's shot hit the goalkeeper's outstretched leg and deflected over the bar.
"Ohhhh!" the Real Madrid fans in the away section groaned collectively. So close.
"Good movement!" Adriano shouted to Mbappé, clapping his hands. "Keep making those runs!"
The near-miss seemed to spark both teams into higher intensity. The match opened up, chances created at both ends.
In the 29th minute, Messi produced a moment of individual brilliance—collecting the ball thirty yards out, dancing past Casemiro's challenge, and unleashing a curling shot toward the top corner. Courtois tipped it over with an acrobatic save.
Three minutes later, Real Madrid struck.
The move started with Van Dijk winning a header in his own box from a Barcelona corner. He nodded it down to Modrić, who immediately looked forward.
Adriano had already started his run, anticipating the clearance. He received Modrić's pass just inside Barcelona's half, facing their backline with acres of space ahead.
Gerard Piqué backpedaled desperately, shouting at his defensive partners to cover runners. But Real Madrid had numbers—three attackers against three defenders, with Adriano on the ball.
Adriano drove forward, forcing Piqué to make a decision. The Barcelona defender had to step up and engage, couldn't let Adriano get any closer to goal.
As Piqué committed, Adriano's eyes flicked left to where Mbappé was sprinting into space. But instead of passing, he chopped the ball to his right with the outside of his boot, completely wrong-footing Piqué.
The defender lunged desperately but was already beaten. Adriano was now twenty yards from goal, slightly right of center, with a clear sight of Ter Stegen.
The goalkeeper came off his line, trying to narrow the angle. Adriano shaped to shoot, and Ter Stegen set himself—
But it was a dummy. Adriano let the ball roll across his body, stepped over it, then struck it with his left foot instead of his right. The change of pace and direction left Ter Stegen frozen.
The ball curled beautifully, arcing away from the goalkeeper's dive, bending toward the far post. It seemed to hang in the air forever before nestling into the side netting.
GOAL! Real Madrid 1-0 Barcelona! 32nd minute! Adriano Riveiro!
The Camp Nou fell silent for a heartbeat, the shock palpable. Then the small section of Real Madrid supporters erupted in absolute delirium.
Adriano didn't celebrate elaborately—this was Barcelona's home, dangerous to provoke 90,000 hostile fans. He simply raised one fist, closed his eyes briefly, then jogged back to the halfway line as his teammates mobbed him.
"THAT'S HOW YOU ANNOUNCE YOURSELF!" Ramos screamed, grabbing Adriano's head and kissing it. "WELCOME TO LA LIGA!"
Mbappé was practically bouncing with excitement. "Did you see Piqué's face?! He had no idea what you were doing!"
In the family section, Kate was on her feet screaming, Rosa and Julio beside her doing the same. All three were crying happy tears, overwhelmed by emotion.
"That's our boy," Julio kept repeating. "That's our boy!"
****
Barcelona came out for the second half with renewed intensity, clearly having received a stern talking-to from their manager Ernesto Valverde during the break.
They pressed higher, tackled harder, and created several dangerous moments in the opening ten minutes of the half. Messi, in particular, was everywhere—dropping deep to collect the ball, driving at Real's defense, trying through sheer individual brilliance to drag his team back into the match.
In the 51st minute, his efforts paid off.
Messi collected a pass from Rakitić just outside Real's penalty area. Three defenders converged on him immediately—Casemiro, Kroos, and Carvajal—but Messi's low center of gravity and incredible ball control allowed him to wriggle between them.
Suddenly he was in the box. Van Dijk stepped up to challenge, but Messi's touch took the ball past the big Dutchman. Courtois charged out, making himself as large as possible.
Messi dinked it over him with outrageous cheek.
The ball floated toward the empty net. Ramos sprinted back desperately but couldn't reach it before it dropped over the line.
GOAL! Real Madrid 1-1 Barcelona! 51st minute! Lionel Messi!
The Camp Nou exploded. Barcelona were level, and their talisman had delivered again.
Messi's celebration was subdued—arms raised, acknowledging the crowd, but no wild emotion. Even in celebration, he seemed burdened by the responsibility of carrying this team.
"Stay calm!" Zidane shouted from the touchline. "We knew they'd score! Respond!"
And respond Real Madrid did, almost immediately.
From the restart, Kroos played a simple ball to Modrić. The Croatian midfielder turned and looked up, seeing Adriano already moving into space between Barcelona's midfield and defense—that dangerous zone where defenders have to decide whether to follow or hold their position.
Modrić's pass was weighted perfectly, and Adriano's first touch killed it dead. He had time and space—rare commodities against Barcelona.
But instead of shooting or dribbling, Adriano played a diagonal ball out to Mbappé on the left wing. The French winger took one touch to control, then exploded toward the byline with the kind of pace that nobody could legally catch.
His cross was low and hard, zipping across the face of goal. Benzema was arriving at the front post, Bale at the back post, Adriano arriving late in the center.
Piqué tried to intercept, lunging with his leg extended. The ball deflected off his shin and ballooned up into the air, spinning unpredictably.
For a moment, nobody knew where it would land. Players froze, watching, waiting—
Adriano didn't freeze. He'd already processed the deflection's trajectory, already positioned himself. As the ball dropped, he adjusted his body, swung his right foot, and struck it on the volley while it was still chest-high.
The technique was perfect—foot through the ball, body balanced, follow-through complete. The ball rocketed past Ter Stegen, who didn't even move, into the roof of the net.
GOAL! Real Madrid 2-1 Barcelona! 54th minute! Adriano Riveiro!
This time, Adriano's celebration was more emphatic. He sprinted toward the away section, arms outstretched, roaring with joy. The Real Madrid fans were losing their minds, chanting his name at deafening volume.
His teammates caught up to him in a mass of white shirts, everyone shouting, everyone celebrating.
"TWO GOALS IN YOUR DEBUT CLÁSICO!" Marcelo screamed. "YOU'RE A LEGEND ALREADY!"
In the family box, the celebration was even more chaotic. Kate was jumping up and down, seven weeks pregnant but too caught up in the moment to care. Rosa had her hands pressed to her face in disbelief. Julio was hugging Jeff so hard the American could barely breathe.
Barcelona tried to respond again, throwing more numbers forward, but Real Madrid's defense held firm. Van Dijk and Ramos were commanding, organizing, cutting out through balls and winning aerial duels.
The match remained 2-1 until the 72nd minute, when Barcelona finally found an equalizer.
A corner kick was played short to Messi at the edge of the box. He controlled it, let it bounce once, then struck a curling effort toward the far corner. Courtois got a hand to it but couldn't keep it out.
GOAL! Real Madrid 2-2 Barcelona! 72nd minute! Lionel Messi!
The Argentine had single-handedly dragged his team level. He raised both arms to the crowd, who responded with a standing ovation. Even in a team struggling for cohesion, Messi remained transcendent.
"Four more minutes to hold," Zidane muttered, checking his watch. The match was heading toward extra time unless someone produced magic in the closing stages.
Someone did.
In the 76th minute, Kroos intercepted a loose Barcelona pass in midfield. He immediately looked forward and saw the opportunity—Barcelona had committed numbers forward chasing a winner, leaving space in behind.
Adriano was already moving, having read the interception before it happened. Kroos's pass was inch-perfect, dropping right into Adriano's stride just inside Barcelona's half.
Two defenders scrambled back, but Adriano had momentum and angle. He drove toward the penalty area, drawing Piqué out of position.
As the Barcelona center-back committed, Adriano looked up and saw Benzema making a run to the far post. The pass had to be weighted perfectly—too hard and it would run through to Ter Stegen, too soft and the covering defender would intercept.
Adriano's right foot caressed the ball, sending it curling toward the penalty spot. Benzema timed his run to perfection, arriving just as the ball did, and side-footed it past Ter Stegen's dive.
GOAL! Real Madrid 3-2 Barcelona! 76th minute! Karim Benzema!
The French striker wheeled away in celebration, but he immediately sought out Adriano to embrace him. "PERFECT PASS!" he shouted over the noise.
Real Madrid's bench erupted, substitutes and staff jumping up and down. Zidane allowed himself a small smile and a fist pump.
The final fifteen minutes were tense, desperate. Barcelona threw everything forward. Valverde made attacking substitutions, bringing on fresh legs to chase an equalizer.
But Real Madrid held firm. Van Dijk and Ramos were colossal, blocking shots, clearing crosses, winning every aerial duel. Courtois made two crucial saves. The midfield protected the defense brilliantly.
When the final whistle blew confirming Real Madrid's 3-2 victory, the celebrations were euphoric.
The players collapsed in exhausted relief, then surged together in a mass celebration. Ramos grabbed the club flag from the corner and waved it at the Barcelona fans, goading them shamelessly.
Adriano, physically and emotionally drained, dropped to his knees in the center circle. Two goals and an assist in his debut Clásico. He'd delivered everything the fans had hoped for and more.
Messi walked past, heading for the tunnel. He stopped briefly, extending his hand.
"Well played," Messi said simply.
Adriano shook it, mutual respect between two champions. "You too. See you next time."
"Looking forward to it."
In the away section, the Real Madrid fans were still celebrating wildly, singing Adriano's name over and over. The players went over to applaud them, acknowledging their support.
Then came the family moment everyone had been waiting for.
Kate had made her way down from the family box and was waiting near the tunnel. When Adriano spotted her, his face lit up with pure joy.
He jogged over, sweaty and exhausted, and she didn't care—she threw her arms around him and kissed him deeply. The crowd whistled and cheered, Barcelona fans and Madrid fans alike appreciating the moment.
"I'm so proud of you," Kate whispered against his lips.
"We did it," he replied. "New team, new start, and we fucking did it."
Rosa and Julio arrived moments later, both crying happy tears. They embraced their son, telling him in rapid Portuguese how proud they were, how much they loved him.
Jeff and Shelly joined the family huddle, all of them sharing in this perfect moment.
The cameras captured it all—the goal celebrations, the family embraces, the emotion. By the next morning, photos of Adriano kissing Kate after the match would be on the front page of every Spanish sports newspaper.
****
The victory over Barcelona set the tone for Real Madrid's entire season.
They came together as a team more quickly than anyone expected, the new players integrating seamlessly with the veterans. The attacking system Zidane had implemented began to click, with Adriano at its heart orchestrating everything.
Through August, September, and October, Real Madrid were dominant. They won match after match in La Liga, dropping only two points in their opening ten games—a draw against Sevilla where they'd led 2-0 before conceding two late goals.
In the Champions League, they topped their group with relative ease, winning four matches, drawing one, and losing only to Borussia Dortmund in a meaningless final group game where Zidane rested all his key players.
Adriano was, predictably, sensational. He scored goals in bunches—hat tricks against Espanyol and Levante, braces against Valencia and Athletic Bilbao. His partnership with Mbappé developed into something special, the two players seeming to read each other's minds.
But it wasn't just Adriano. Mbappé himself was thriving, his raw pace and finishing combining with improved decision-making. Against Real Sociedad in October, he scored four goals in a 5-1 demolition.
Erling Haaland, despite being only eighteen, was forcing his way into Zidane's plans. The Norwegian's physical presence and poacher's instincts made him a nightmare for defenders. When he came on as a substitute against Girona and scored twice in fifteen minutes, the Bernabéu gave him a standing ovation.
"These kids are special," Benzema told reporters after that match. "Mbappé, Haaland—they're going to be superstars. And they're learning from the best in Adriano. We're building something that can dominate for a decade."
The veterans were no slouches either. Modrić and Kroos controlled midfield with their usual brilliance. Ramos and Van Dijk formed one of the most formidable defensive partnerships in Europe. Marcelo provided width and creativity from left-back.
For the first time in years, the Real Madrid locker room was genuinely harmonious. There were no ego clashes, no factional disputes, no drama. Everyone bought into Zidane's vision and Adriano's leadership.
In December, Luka Modrić won the 2018 Ballon d'Or—recognition for Croatia's run to the World Cup final and his consistent excellence at Real Madrid. Adriano finished second in the voting, which he took with good grace.
"Luka deserves it," Adriano told the press at the ceremony in Paris. "He's been world-class for years. My time will come."
Privately, he wasn't bothered at all. Individual awards were nice, but he cared more about team trophies. And Real Madrid were on track for several.
*****
While Adriano dominated on the pitch, his personal life was equally fulfilling and busy.
Kate continued doing promotional work for Avengers: Infinity War throughout her first trimester, determined to fulfill her contractual obligations despite the pregnancy. The film had been released in April and become a global phenomenon, grossing over $2 billion worldwide.
Her performance as Scarlet Witch had been widely praised, and Marvel was already discussing expanding her role. They were considering a solo Scarlet Witch film, potentially starting production in late 2019 or early 2020.
Kate was hesitant initially, worrying about the time commitment and how it would affect her ability to be present for their child. But Adriano encouraged her to pursue it.
They had the conversation in their Madrid home one evening in October, Kate visibly pregnant now in her second trimester.
"I don't know if I can do it," Kate said, curled up on the couch with her hand resting on her growing belly. "A whole movie—that's months of shooting, months away from the baby."
Adriano sat beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders. "But it's what you love doing, right? Acting?"
"Yes, but—"
"No buts. If it's just one more movie after Endgame, it's manageable. We have help—your parents, my parents, they'll all be here. Plus, I'll make my schedule work around yours. During my off-season, I'm completely available for dad duty."
Kate looked at him, searching his face. "You're sure? You won't resent me for it?"
"Never. You supported my career through everything—the move to England and then Madrid, the crazy schedule, all of it. I support yours the same way. If Marvel wants to give Scarlet Witch her own movie, you should do it. You'll regret it if you don't."
"What about after that?"
"After Endgame wraps in 2021, you take as much time off as you want. Focus on being a mom, being with family. Your career will still be there when you're ready to go back."
Kate kissed him softly. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"
"Not in the last hour. I was starting to worry."
She laughed and swatted his arm. "I love you. And thank you for always understanding."
"Always," he promised.
They also discussed Adriano's own future timeline.
"I've been thinking about retirement," he admitted during that same conversation.
Kate raised an eyebrow. "You're twenty-two. Isn't it a bit early for that?"
"Not retiring now. But planning ahead. I'm thinking... maybe after the 2026 World Cup. Or possibly after Euro 2028 if Portugal qualifies and I'm still playing well."
"That's six to eight years away. Even then you would be only 30. Isn't that still your prime?"
"I know. But I want to retire while I'm still at the top, while I can still do everything I want to do on the pitch. Not wait until I'm declining and teams don't want me anymore. Go out on my own terms."
Kate nodded slowly. "And then what?"
"Then I'm a full-time dad. Full-time husband. Maybe some coaching if it interests me, maybe ambassador work, charity stuff. But football won't be the priority anymore. Family will be."
"Our kids are going to be so loved," Kate said softly, her hand moving to her stomach again.
"They are," Adriano agreed. "More loved than either of us were growing up. I'll make sure of that."
To accommodate Kate's travel schedule for Infinity War promotions, Adriano had purchased another new Gulfstream G650 private jet—one of the fastest and most luxurious private aircraft available. It allowed Kate to fly comfortably between Madrid and various promotional appearances without the stress and delays of commercial travel.
She would fly out for an event in Los Angeles or New York, do her interviews and appearances, then fly back to Madrid within 24-48 hours. The flexibility was crucial for maintaining some normalcy during pregnancy.
The Spanish football schedule helped too. La Liga had more breaks than the Premier League, and midweek matches were less frequent. This gave Adriano occasional opportunities to accompany Kate to events.
In November, they attended the Avengers: Infinity War premiere in London together. Adriano in a sharp tuxedo, Kate in a stunning maternity gown that showed off her baby bump elegantly. The photographers went crazy, recognizing the power couple instantly.
"Adriano! Kate! Over here!"
"Kate, what brand are you wearing?"
"Adriano, how does it feel to be back in England?"
They posed together, comfortable in the spotlight, both having grown accustomed to this level of fame. When they walked the red carpet, fans screamed for both of them—Marvel fans wanting Kate's autograph, football fans wanting Adriano's.
Inside the premiere, they mingled with Kate's co-stars. Chris Evans and Chris Hemsworth both greeted Adriano warmly, the three men having become friends over the years.
"How's Madrid treating you?" Evans asked.
"Amazing so far. La Liga's great, the team's clicking, and most importantly—" Adriano put his arm around Kate's waist, "—my wife's actually warm for once. No more Manchester rain."
Kate laughed. "He's not lying. I was freezing for four years straight. Madrid's been heaven."
Scarlett Johansson approached, embracing Kate carefully, mindful of the baby bump. "Look at you! You're glowing!"
"I'm seven months pregnant and exhausted constantly," Kate replied with a grin. "But thank you."
"When are you due?"
"Late April. We're doing final preparations now—nursery, baby-proofing the house, all of it."
The conversation was interrupted by Kevin Feige, Marvel's president, who pulled Adriano and Kate aside for a private word.
"Kate, I wanted to talk to you about something," Feige began. "We're planning a standalone Scarlet Witch film. We think there's real potential there, especially after audiences' reaction to your character in Infinity War and what's coming in Endgame."
Kate glanced at Adriano, who nodded encouragingly.
"I'm interested," Kate said. "But I need to know the timeline. With the baby coming—"
"We're thinking late 2020 or early 2021 for production start," Feige assured her. "That gives you plenty of time to have the baby, recover, adjust to being a mom. No rush at all."
"And there's something else," Feige continued. "We're considering Elizabeth Olsen for the role of Agatha Harkness in the film. We think the dynamic between the two of you could be really special."
Kate's eyes lit up. "I love that idea. Elizabeth's fantastic."
"Great. We'll be in touch with your agent to work out the details. But I wanted to give you a heads-up personally."
After Feige walked away, Adriano kissed Kate's temple. "See? It's all working out."
"Yeah," Kate agreed, smiling. "It really is."
****
Kate went into labor in the early hours of April 26th, 2019.
Adriano had been hypervigilant for weeks, keeping his phone on maximum volume at all times, ensuring the hospital was programmed into every GPS system, the go-bag packed and re-packed obsessively.
When Kate woke him at 3 AM saying "It's time," he shot out of bed so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet.
"Okay okay okay," he said, trying to stay calm and failing miserably. "Hospital. We need to get to the hospital. Where are the keys? I just had the keys. Where the fuck are the keys?"
Kate, remarkably calm despite being in labor, pointed to the hook by the door where the keys hung. "Right there. Breathe, babe. We have time."
"Right. Yes. Breathing. I'm breathing. Are you breathing?"
She laughed despite the contraction pain. "I'm breathing. Now let's go before you have a panic attack."
The drive to the hospital was surreal—Madrid's streets empty at that hour, streetlights creating pools of orange glow, Adriano driving carefully despite every instinct telling him to floor it.
The drive to the hospital was surreal—Madrid's streets empty at that hour, streetlights creating pools of orange glow, Adriano driving carefully despite every instinct telling him to floor it.
They'd chosen a private hospital in Madrid's exclusive Salamanca district, one that specialized in celebrity patients and guaranteed privacy. The staff had been briefed weeks in advance, security protocols established, a private wing reserved.
When they arrived, the team was ready. Kate was whisked into a private labor and delivery suite while Adriano filled out paperwork with shaking hands.
Rosa and Julio arrived within the hour, having flown in from Lisbon two weeks earlier specifically to be present for the birth. Kate's parents were already in Madrid, having arrived the previous week.
The labor was long—fourteen hours that felt like an eternity to everyone waiting. Adriano stayed by Kate's side the entire time, holding her hand, wiping her forehead, murmuring encouragement even when she cursed him out during particularly painful contractions.
"This is YOUR fault!" she shouted at one point. "YOU did this to me!"
"I know, I'm sorry," he said, wincing as she squeezed his hand hard enough to crack knuckles. "You're doing amazing. So strong."
"I HATE you!"
"I love you too."
Finally, at 5:47 PM, Isabella María Riveiro entered the world.
She was tiny—just under seven pounds—with a shock of dark hair and her father's eyes. When the doctor placed her on Kate's chest, both parents burst into tears.
"Oh my god," Kate whispered, staring at their daughter in wonder. "She's perfect. She's so perfect."
Adriano couldn't speak, too overwhelmed with emotion. He just stroked Isabella's tiny head with one finger, marveling at how something so small could contain so much love.
When the nurses cleaned Isabella and wrapped her in blankets, Adriano got to hold her for the first time. He sat in the chair beside Kate's bed, cradling his daughter carefully, terrified of dropping her or breaking her somehow.
"Hey, princesa," he whispered. "I'm your papá. I've been waiting so long to meet you."
Isabella yawned, her tiny fist curling around Adriano's finger. His heart melted completely.
Kate, exhausted but glowing, watched them with tears streaming down her face. "We made that. We actually made a whole person."
"Best thing I ever did," Adriano said, unable to look away from Isabella. "Besides marrying you."
They let the grandparents in after an hour. Rosa wept openly at the sight of her granddaughter. Julio kept wiping his eyes, pretending he wasn't crying. Kate's parents were equally emotional, everyone taking turns holding Isabella and marveling at her.
"She has your nose," Rosa told Adriano.
"And Kate's chin," Jeff pointed out.
"She's perfect," everyone agreed.
That night, after the visitors left and Kate was sleeping, Adriano sat in the chair beside her bed with Isabella in his arms. The baby was sleeping too, making tiny snuffling sounds.
He thought about everything that had brought him to this moment—the rebirth in Lisbon, the poverty, the hunger, the desperation. His mother working herself to exhaustion. The chance of second life given by some unknown entity. The impossible journey from nothing to everything.
And now this. A family of his own. A daughter who would never know poverty, never know hunger, never know desperation. Who would grow up loved and safe and with every opportunity.
"I promise," he whispered to Isabella, "you'll have everything I didn't. But more than that, you'll know you're loved. Every single day. No matter what."
Isabella stirred slightly, her tiny hand gripping his finger tighter in her sleep.
Adriano smiled through his tears and held his daughter close, knowing that this—this moment, this feeling, this perfect tiny human—was worth more than every trophy, every goal, every accolade he'd ever received or ever would.
This was what really mattered.
This was everything.
****
Isabella's birth came at a crucial point in Real Madrid's season. They were in the final weeks of the La Liga campaign, locked in a tight title race with Barcelona, and preparing for Champions League semifinals.
Zidane gave Adriano a week of paternity leave immediately after the birth, which Adriano used to focus entirely on Kate and Isabella. No training, no media obligations, just family.
But after that week, reality reasserted itself. Real Madrid needed him.
The sleep deprivation was brutal. Isabella, like most newborns, woke every two to three hours demanding to be fed, changed, or comforted. Adriano insisted on helping with night duties despite Kate's protests that he had matches to play.
"You need your sleep," Kate argued one night at 2 AM after Isabella had woken them for the third time. "I can handle this."
"No," Adriano said firmly, already out of bed and picking up their crying daughter. "We're partners. Equal responsibility. You carried her for nine months and went through labor, I can handle some sleepless nights."
He was true to his word, taking turns with Kate for every feeding, every diaper change, every midnight soothing session. It meant he arrived at training exhausted some mornings, but he didn't care.
His teammates noticed but didn't criticize. Many of them were fathers themselves and understood.
"How's the baby?" Ramos asked one morning after Adriano showed up with dark circles under his eyes.
"Perfect. Exhausting. Perfect," Adriano replied with a tired smile.
"Welcome to parenthood," he laughed. "It never gets easier, just different."
Despite the exhaustion, Adriano's form didn't suffer. If anything, fatherhood seemed to give him extra motivation.
In the Champions League semifinal first leg against Liverpool—a rematch of the previous year's final—Adriano was magnificent. He scored twice and assisted once in a 4-1 demolition at the Bernabéu, putting Real Madrid in complete control of the tie.
The second leg at Anfield was tense, Liverpool pressing desperately, but Real Madrid held firm for a 1-1 draw that sent them through to another Champions League final.
In La Liga, the title race went down to the final day. Real Madrid and Barcelona were level on points, with Madrid ahead on head-to-head record after their 3-2 victory at the Camp Nou and a 2-2 draw at the Bernabéu in the return fixture.
Real Madrid's final match was away to Real Betis. Barcelona's was at home to Eibar. Both matches kicked off simultaneously.
The pressure was immense. Real Madrid couldn't afford to slip up—if they dropped points and Barcelona won, the Catalan club would win the title on superior goal difference.
Adriano started the match despite having slept only three hours the night before—Isabella had been particularly fussy, possibly teething early. But as soon as he stepped onto the pitch, the exhaustion fell away. This was too important.
Real Madrid dominated from the opening whistle. Mbappé scored in the 12th minute, collecting Adriano's through ball and slotting past the goalkeeper. Benzema made it 2-0 just before halftime, finishing from Adriano's cross.
The Betis fans were actually rooting for Madrid—anything to prevent Barcelona from winning the title. When Adriano scored Madrid's third goal in the 67th minute, curling a free kick into the top corner, the home supporters cheered.
Final score: Real Betis 0-3 Real Madrid.
Barcelona also won their match 3-0, but it didn't matter. Real Madrid were La Liga champions by virtue of their superior head-to-head record.
The celebration at the final whistle was euphoric. Players collapsed in relief and joy, then surged together in a massive group hug. Ramos grabbed the Spanish flag again and ran around the pitch waving it.
Adriano found himself at the bottom of a pile of jubilant teammates, everyone screaming and laughing. When he finally extracted himself, he immediately FaceTimed Kate.
She answered from their Madrid home, Isabella visible in her arms.
"WE DID IT!" Adriano shouted over the noise. "CHAMPIONS!"
"I'm so proud of you!" Kate shouted back, laughing and crying simultaneously. "Isabella, look—Daddy won!"
The baby, of course, had no idea what was happening and was more interested in trying to eat her own foot.
Adriano laughed through his own tears. "I love you both so much. I'll be home soon."
"We'll be waiting," Kate promised. "Go celebrate with your team."
The celebration continued in the dressing room and on the team bus back to Madrid. When they arrived at the Bernabéu later that evening for the official trophy presentation, fifty thousand fans were waiting to welcome them.
Adriano walked out onto the pitch carrying the La Liga trophy, holding it high as the crowd roared their approval. Fireworks exploded overhead. Confetti rained down in white and gold.
"CAMPEONES! CAMPEONES! OLÉ OLÉ OLÉ!" the fans chanted.
In his first season with Real Madrid, Adriano had delivered their first La Liga title in three years. And there was still one more trophy to chase.
June 1, 2019 - Champions League Final: Real Madrid vs Manchester City
The Champions League final in Madrid's Wanda Metropolitano Stadium pitted Real Madrid against Manchester City—Adriano's former club.
It was a narrative too perfect for fiction. The prodigal son returning to face the team he'd led to three consecutive European crowns. His former teammates now opponents. His legacy at City versus his ambitions with Madrid.
The English media had been building it up for weeks as "Adriano's Revenge Match," though Adriano himself tried to downplay that angle.
"I have nothing but love and respect for City," he told reporters in the pre-final press conference. "They gave me everything—a platform to develop, teammates who became brothers, coaches who believed in me. I'll always be grateful. But tomorrow, I'm a Madrid player. I want to win for this club, these teammates, these fans."
Pep Guardiola, still managing City, was asked about facing his former star.
"Adriano is the best player I ever coached," Pep said simply. "Possibly the best player in the world. We know stopping him is nearly impossible. But we'll try our best."
The City squad Adriano would face included several of his former teammates—De Bruyne, Sterling, Bernardo Silva, Ederson, Walker. They'd exchanged messages during the week, friendly but competitive.
De Bruyne:Still can't believe we're playing against each other in a CL final. Gonna be weird not having you next to me in midfield.
Adriano:Gonna be weird trying to stop your passes instead of finishing them. Don't go easy on me.
De Bruyne:Never. See you on the pitch.
The match buildup was intense. Madrid was buzzing with anticipation—their team in another Champions League final, with a realistic chance of winning a fourth European crown in five years.
Kate attended with the five-week-old Isabella, who wore a tiny custom Real Madrid jersey with "PAPÁ 10" on the back. Rosa and Julio were there too, along with Kate's parents Jeff and Shelly and several of Adriano's close friends like Henry, Chris and Tom.
In the tunnel before the match, Adriano found himself standing next to De Bruyne.
"Last chance to join our side," Kevin joked.
"Too late. I already sold my soul to Madrid."
"Fair enough. May the best team win."
"They will," Adriano said with a grin. "Us."
De Bruyne laughed and shook his head. "Same confidence as always. I've missed that."
When the teams walked out onto the pitch, the atmosphere was electric. Seventy thousand fans packed the stadium—roughly half supporting Madrid, half City, creating a wall of noise that was almost physical.
Real Madrid Starting XI (4-3-3 Attacking):
GK: Thibaut Courtois
DEF: Marcelo, Sergio Ramos, Virgil van Dijk, Dani Carvajal
MID: Toni Kroos, Luka Modrić, Adriano Riveiro
ATT: Kylian Mbappé, Karim Benzema, Gareth Bale
Manchester City Starting XI (4-3-3):
GK: Ederson
DEF: Benjamin Mendy, Aymeric Laporte, John Stones, Kyle Walker
MID: Bernardo Silva, Fernandinho, Kevin De Bruyne
ATT: Raheem Sterling, Sergio Agüero, Riyad Mahrez
The match began with City pressing high, clearly intent on not giving Madrid time to settle. Guardiola's game plan was obvious—force turnovers in dangerous areas, hit Madrid on the counter, and most importantly, cut off service to Adriano.
For the first twenty minutes, it worked reasonably well. City created two half-chances, though neither seriously tested Courtois. Madrid struggled to establish their rhythm, with City's pressing forcing hurried passes and uncomfortable touches.
But in the 23rd minute, Real Madrid struck.
Modrić won possession in midfield, dispossessing Bernardo Silva with a perfectly timed tackle. He immediately looked up and saw Adriano making a diagonal run toward the left channel.
The pass was weighted perfectly. Adriano collected it at full stride, his first touch taking him past Fernandinho's challenge. Suddenly he had space, City's defense scrambling to reorganize.
Walker was backpedaling desperately, trying to cut off the angle. Stones was shifting across to provide cover. But Madrid had numbers—Mbappé sprinting down the left wing, Benzema checking toward the ball centrally, Bale arriving on the right.
Adriano drove toward the penalty area, forcing Walker to commit. At the last possible moment, he slid a pass between Walker and Stones, right into Mbappé's path.
The young Frenchman's first touch was perfect, his second even better—a low, hard finish across Ederson into the far corner.
GOAL! Real Madrid 1-0 Manchester City! 23rd minute! Kylian Mbappé! Assist: Adriano Riveiro!
Mbappé sprinted toward the corner flag, sliding on his knees, arms outstretched. His teammates mobbed him, but Mbappé made sure to find Adriano.
"PERFECT PASS!" he screamed, grabbing Adriano's head.
In the stands, Kate was on her feet cheering, careful to hold Isabella securely. The baby, startled by the noise, started crying, but Kate was too excited to care.
City responded well to going behind, pushing forward with more urgency. De Bruyne, in particular, was trying to drag his team back into the match with his passing and movement.
In the 34th minute, he nearly succeeded. De Bruyne collected a pass thirty yards out, looked up, and played a perfect through ball between Ramos and Van Dijk. Sterling sprinted onto it, just staying onside, and fired past Courtois.
The City supporters erupted. Sterling wheeled away in celebration—
But the linesman's flag was up. Offside. The goal was disallowed.
Replays showed it was incredibly close, possibly the wrong call. Sterling was furious, arguing with the linesman, but the decision stood.
City pressed even harder after that, throwing more numbers forward, but Real Madrid's defense held firm. Van Dijk, in particular, was immense—reading the game perfectly, intercepting passes, winning aerial duels.
The first half ended 1-0 to Madrid, but it felt like City had momentum.
Zidane addressed this in the halftime team talk.
"They're going to come at us hard in the second half," he told his players. "They have to. But that means they'll leave space behind. When we get the ball, we hit them quickly. No messing around in our own half. Forward, forward, forward."
He turned to Adriano specifically. "Kevin will be trying to match you. Don't let him. Take him on, beat him, make him chase you. Tire him out."
Adriano nodded. He and De Bruyne had been teammates for years, knew each other's games intimately. This would be a fascinating individual battle within the larger match.
The second half began with City indeed pressing aggressively. They won a corner in the 48th minute. De Bruyne whipped it in, Laporte rose highest, his header beat Courtois—
But Ramos was positioned on the goal line and headed it clear.
City appealed for handball, claiming the ball had struck Ramos's arm, but the referee waved them away. No penalty.
Real Madrid survived that scare and gradually began to assert control. Kroos and Modrić were dominating midfield, dictating the tempo, moving City's defensive block around with their passing.
In the 61st minute, Madrid extended their lead.
The move started deep, Van Dijk playing a long diagonal to Bale on the right wing. The Welshman controlled it expertly, then drove at Mendy.
Bale's pace had declined slightly from his peak years, but he was still quick enough to trouble most defenders. He knocked the ball past Mendy and sprinted after it, reaching it just before it went out for a goal kick.
His cross was dangerous—low and hard, whipped toward the penalty spot. Fernandinho tried to intercept but could only deflect it slightly.
The deflection took it perfectly into Benzema's path. The French striker controlled it with his chest, let it drop, then volleyed it past Ederson in one smooth motion.
GOAL! Real Madrid 2-0 Manchester City! 61st minute! Karim Benzema!
Benzema ran toward the corner flag, arms spread wide, roaring in triumph. The Madrid supporters went wild, sensing victory.
At 2-0 down with less than thirty minutes remaining, City were in serious trouble. Guardiola made attacking substitutions, throwing caution aside and committing more players forward.
In the 71st minute, his gamble paid off. Agüero collected a pass on the edge of the box, turned Ramos with a brilliant piece of skill, and fired low into the corner.
GOAL! Real Madrid 2-1 Manchester City! 71st minute! Sergio Agüero!
Game on. City's supporters found their voices again, roaring encouragement. The final twenty minutes would be crucial.
But Real Madrid had Adriano.
In the 77th minute, with City pushing for an equalizer, Madrid won possession in their own half. Kroos immediately looked forward and saw what everyone in the stadium saw—Adriano had space.
The German midfielder's pass was perfect, dropping right into Adriano's stride just inside City's half. He controlled it with one touch and immediately accelerated.
Fernandinho and Bernardo Silva both converged on him, trying to cut off his space. But Adriano's first touch had taken him past Fernandinho, and his change of pace left Bernardo trailing.
Suddenly he was bearing down on City's penalty area. Stones and Laporte backpedaled frantically. Walker was sprinting across to help. Ederson was shouting instructions.
Adriano drove to the edge of the box. Stones had to commit, couldn't let him get any closer. As the defender lunged, Adriano's right foot opened up, and he curled a shot around Stones toward the far post.
Ederson dove desperately, fingertips extended—
But the ball was perfectly placed, curling just inside the post and dropping under the crossbar.
GOAL! Real Madrid 3-1 Manchester City! 77th minute! Adriano Riveiro!
Adriano sprinted toward the corner flag, sliding on his knees with his arms outstretched, screaming with joy. His teammates piled on top of him in a mass celebration.
In the stands, Kate was crying and laughing simultaneously, holding Isabella close. "Your daddy just scored in a Champions League final!" she told the baby, who responded by grabbing her mother's hair and pulling hard.
Rosa and Julio were embracing, both in tears. This was their son—from the favela to the pinnacle of world football.
The final thirteen minutes were tense but manageable. City tried desperately to mount another comeback, but Real Madrid's defense stood firm. Van Dijk and Ramos were colossal, blocking shots and clearing crosses.
When the final whistle blew confirming Real Madrid's 3-1 victory, the celebrations were joyous and emotional.
Adriano dropped to his knees in the center circle, hands over his face, overwhelmed. He'd won his fourth Champions League title. In his first season with a new team, he'd delivered La Liga and European glory.
His teammates swarmed him, lifting him up, carrying him on their shoulders. Ramos grabbed a camera and took selfies with everyone. Marcelo found a Spanish flag and draped it over himself like a cape.
The trophy presentation was spectacular. Fireworks exploded overhead as Captain Ramos lifted the famous trophy. Each player took turns kissing it, holding it high, posing for photos.
When it was Adriano's turn, he held it for a long moment, savoring the weight of it, the meaning of it. Four Champions League titles before his twenty-third birthday. It was an achievement that might never be matched.
Then came the family moment.
Kate had made her way down to the pitch, Isabella bundled in blankets despite the warm June evening. When Adriano spotted them, his face lit up with pure joy.
He jogged over, still in his sweat-soaked kit, and gently took Isabella from Kate's arms.
"Look, princesa," he whispered to his daughter, showing her the medal around his neck. "Papá won. We're champions."
Isabella, of course, was far more interested in trying to eat the medal than appreciating its significance.
The cameras captured the moment—Adriano in full kit, medal around his neck, holding his baby daughter, Kate standing beside them with her arm around his waist. The photo would become iconic, appearing on the front page of every sports newspaper in Europe the next morning.
"I'm so proud of you," Kate said, kissing him deeply despite the sweat.
"Couldn't have done it without you," Adriano replied. "Any of it."
Later, in the dressing room, the celebration was raucous. Champagne sprayed everywhere. Music blasted from speakers. Players danced and sang, still in disbelief at what they'd accomplished.
Zidane, normally reserved, was grinning ear to ear. "This team," he told the assembled media, "is special. We have young players, experienced players, world-class talent in every position. And we have Adriano—the best player in the world. This is just the beginning for us."
He was right. This Real Madrid team, built around Adriano's genius and complemented by world-class talent in every position, would go on to dominate European football for years.
But for now, in this moment, they just celebrated—champions of Spain, champions of Europe, on top of the football world.
And Adriano, exhausted and exhilarated, thought about the journey that had brought him here. From the favela to the pinnacle. From poverty to glory. From having nothing to having everything.
He thought about Kate and Isabella waiting for him, about the family he'd built, about the life he'd created.
He thought about how far he'd come and how grateful he was for every step of the journey.
And he smiled, knowing that the best was still to come.