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***
The second half began under bright Etihad floodlights, with the City fans still buzzing from the first-half exhibition. Pellegrini hadn't made any changes at the break—why would he? Everything was working like clockwork. As the players jogged back out, he clapped his hands once and said, "Control it. Kill the game slowly."
On the touchline, John Carver had a haunted look about him. His arms were folded, but his eyes never stopped moving, scanning for anything, anyone, who could stem the bleeding.
Martin Tyler's voice rose again as the second half kicked off:
"Well, Newcastle survived the first forty-five, but you get the sense Manchester City aren't done yet."
Alan Smith replied with a grim chuckle, "If anything, they look hungry for more. It's target practice now."
City resumed as they had ended. Silva drifted between lines like a ghost, dictating rhythm with every touch. Robertson continued his confident display, overlapping and pressing back Newcastle's already shaken backline.
Then, in the 54th minute, came a moment of breathtaking brilliance.
It began with Hummels, who had barely put a foot wrong all night. He glanced up from his own half, took a beat, then launched a lofted diagonal toward the edge of the Newcastle box.
"Look at the vision from Hummels," said Smith. "That's a quarterback's pass."
Adriano, positioned between Taylor and Coloccini, judged the flight perfectly. He let it drop over his shoulder and cushioned it on his chest, his first touch immaculate.
As Coloccini charged in, Adriano—seemingly without looking—flicked the ball over the defender with a little pop of his boot.
"Oh my word," exclaimed Tyler.
Before the ball could even bounce, Adriano twisted his hips and met it with a right-footed volley, striking it with venom. Krul dove instinctively, but the ball screamed past him into the top right corner.
The Etihad exploded.
Etihad Stadium PA Announcer:
"GOAL FOR MANCHESTER CITY! SCORER… NUMBER 10… ADRIANO!"
Adriano wheeled away, arms out, then jogged toward the corner flag with a grin. Salah reached him first, laughing. "Show-off."
"You think I planned that?" Adriano said, still catching his breath. "I just hoped it bounced right."
De Bruyne arrived, giving him a shove. "That's illegal in three countries."
From the commentary box, Tyler was still reeling:
"That's genius. It's instinct, imagination, and execution. Adriano is putting on a clinic tonight."
The fans were now singing his name in full voice:
"Ad-ri-a-no! Ad-ri-a-no!"
Newcastle looked completely beaten. Krul, to his credit, was barking orders, trying to rally his defence. But the rest of the team looked more interested in avoiding embarrassment than mounting any kind of resistance.
Still, City weren't done.
In the 61st minute, De Bruyne slipped Salah through again down the right. The winger cut inside and hit a low drive to the far corner—but Krul parried brilliantly.
"Tim Krul's the only one in black and white playing like this means something," said Smith.
A minute later, Kane thought he had his second. Hazard danced past Dummett and clipped a cross in from the left. Kane rose and powered a header into the net—only to see the linesman's flag up again.
Offside.
Kane looked annoyed. "Come on," he said, looking to the assistant referee. "You sure?"
Adriano gave him a pat on the back. "You'll get another one. Save it for the hat-trick."
Then, in the 67th minute, came City's sixth.
The move began with Silva deep in midfield, wriggling away from a frustrated Colback. He sent it forward to Kane, who dropped off the front line and flicked a first-time pass into the stride of De Bruyne.
"City are flowing like water here," observed Tyler.
De Bruyne drew in three defenders, then slipped a no-look reverse pass into the left side of the box. Silva, having continued his run unnoticed, arrived right on cue.
He took one touch to set himself, then another to calmly side-foot it past Krul into the far corner.
Etihad PA Announcer:
"GOAL FOR MANCHESTER CITY! SCORER… NUMBER 21… DAVID… SILVA!"
The Spaniard didn't even celebrate wildly. He smiled and pointed at De Bruyne, then raised his arms to the crowd, who returned a standing ovation.
Hazard jogged over and ruffled Silva's hair. "Old man still has it," he teased.
Silva smirked. "Just enough."
Back in the commentary box, Alan Smith said it plainly:
"This is football played on another level. Newcastle aren't just outmatched—they're outclassed."
Martin Tyler summed it up as the chants rolled on inside the stadium:
"You don't often see this kind of performance at this level—utter dominance, artistic football. Manchester City are showing the rest of Europe just how dangerous they've become."
The scoreboard read 6–0, and there was still time left. The only question now was whether they'd keep going or show mercy.
By the 80th minute, many in the Etihad crowd were already on their feet, not to leave, but to salute the exhibition they had just witnessed. The scoreboard read six-nil. Every pass was met with cheers, every flick with laughter, and Newcastle, by now, were playing for dignity.
"You have to feel for Newcastle," Martin Tyler said with a low tone as the camera panned to John Carver, arms folded and staring blankly at the pitch. "This has been relentless."
Alan Smith replied, "And the thing is, City haven't even looked like they're trying to run up the score. It's just flowing out of them naturally. That's the frightening part."
Then came the 83rd minute—and one final stroke of brilliance.
Adriano had dropped deep, as he had all night, this time pulling Williamson out of the back line. He turned and spotted Hazard wide on the left and zipped a pass his way. The Belgian's first touch killed the ball dead. Dummett rushed out to meet him, but Hazard shifted inside with a feint, dragging the ball past the full-back with his right, then slipped between Anita and Janmaat with a sharp change of pace.
"Oh, this is dangerous…" said Tyler, his voice rising.
Hazard surged into the box, eyes scanning the far corner. Williamson came across to block—but he was too late. With almost no backlift, Hazard curled a right-footed effort across Krul and into the top corner off the far post.
Goal Announcer:
"GOAL FOR MANCHESTER CITY! SCORER… NUMBER 7… EDEN… HAZARD!"
The stadium roared once more.
Hazard turned away, both arms outstretched, then dropped to one knee and pointed to the sky with a grin. Kimmich was the first to reach him, jumping on his back. "You practicing that in training or just winging it?"
Hazard chuckled. "You know me, mate. Pure improvisation."
Adriano came jogging over, grinning. "Don't lie. You knew exactly what you were doing."
Pellegrini, seeing enough, finally rose from his seat and offered a slow, approving clap. The camera caught him murmuring something to his assistant.
The changes came: Silva made way for Milner, to a standing ovation. Hazard received his own loud cheer as Sinclair jogged on to replace him. Casemiro came on for De Bruyne, who exchanged a quick handshake with Pellegrini before taking his seat.
Alan Smith observed, "That's a courtesy substitution. The game was won a long time ago. But it's also Pellegrini saying: 'Job done, lads.'"
In the final minutes, City eased off the throttle. Milner kept the tempo steady, exchanging short passes with Kimmich and Casemiro. Sinclair made a few energetic runs, trying to stake a claim for more minutes, but the sharpness was understandably missing with the tempo now reduced to a stroll.
Newcastle, to their credit, kept their shape and made no rash tackles. They looked like a team just wanting to hear the final whistle.
In the 89th minute, City had one last chance when Kane floated a pass over the top for Sinclair, who cut it back for Adriano—but the Portuguese Superstar mishit the volley, sending it wide of target.
Martin Tyler smiled. "The only thing Adriano's done wrong tonight, and he'll probably still get a standing ovation."
Finally, after a merciful one minute of added time, the referee blew for full-time.
FULL TIME: MANCHESTER CITY 7 – 0 NEWCASTLE UNITED
The Etihad erupted into a final roar as the players embraced. Joe Hart and Hummels shook hands at the halfway line, while Pellegrini offered a brief nod and handshake to Carver, whose expression was that of a man ready to forget everything he'd just seen.
Adriano and Kane shared a grin as they walked off together.
"Not a bad tune-up before Barcelona, eh?" Kane said.
Adriano smirked. "Let's hope they were watching."
As the camera panned across the beaming faces in the stands and the scoreboard frozen at seven-nil, Martin Tyler delivered the final word:
"An evening of pure dominance. Manchester City, not just winners—but statement makers. And if this is a sign of what's to come, then Europe... should be very, very concerned."
***
POST-MATCH PRESS CONFERENCE — ETIHAD STADIUM
Under the sharp hum of the press room lights, Manuel Pellegrini sat behind the microphone with his usual composed demeanor, flanked by Adriano, who wore a navy City training top and looked fresh despite his brace. The room was packed, every seat filled by journalists still trying to process what they'd seen just an hour earlier.
Pellegrini leaned in as the first question was fired.
Journalist (Sky Sports):
"Manuel, 7-0. Total domination. Did you expect this level of performance coming off the emotional Juventus game?"
Pellegrini offered a measured nod.
"We came into this match focused. I was very clear with the players—no complacency. Newcastle are a team that can punish you if you switch off. But from the first minute, our intensity, our movement... it was perfect. We respected the opponent by playing our best football."
Journalist (BBC):
"Adriano, two more goals today, countless chances created. Do you feel like you're hitting your best form?"
Adriano smiled, shifting slightly in his chair.
"I'm just trying to stay consistent. The team around me makes it easier—Kevin, Eden, David… they know where to find me. But for me, the most important thing is the result. The Juventus win was emotional. This? This was control."
Journalist (The Guardian):
"Manuel, does a performance like this send a message to Barcelona before the Champions League quarter-final?"
The Chilean manager allowed the hint of a smile.
"We don't play to send messages—we play to win games. Of course, Barcelona are a different test. But the best way to prepare for a giant is to show you can dominate. Today, we did that."
Journalist (The Athletic):
"Adriano, one of your goals came from a stunning chest control and volley. Is that something you practice regularly?"
Adriano gave a sheepish shrug, chuckling.
"To be honest, yeah. A lot. I've been working with our coaches on bringing the ball down under pressure. But instinct plays a part. Once I saw the defender commit, I just reacted."
Journalist (Marca):
"Adriano, there's a lot of buzz in Spain about your potential return. Real Madrid is very eager to bring you in after James Rodriguez failed to make much impact. People are comparing your movement to legends. Do you hear that noise?"
Adriano smirked, glancing at Pellegrini before answering.
"I hear it, sure. But that's all it is—noise. I have a lot to prove still. One big game doesn't make you a legend. I just want to win something real with this team."
Pellegrini stood up first, gathering his notes.
"Thank you. See you all next week."
Adriano stood and offered a wave to the cameras, his expression already turning focused again. A few photographers flashed their lenses as he walked off.
SOCIAL MEDIA REACTIONS – POST MATCH
The internet erupted the moment the full-time whistle echoed across the Etihad. Within minutes, hashtags like #City7Newcastle0, #AdrianoAgain, and #HazardClass were trending worldwide.
@CityTillIDie91:
"I've waited YEARS to see a City team this complete. It's not just the scoreline—it's how we played. Relentless. Beautiful." 💙
@NUFCRobbie:
"We looked like traffic cones out there. Not even angry—just in awe. That's Champions League-level domination from City."
@Adriano10FanClub:
"That chest control, flick, and volley from Adriano… I'm still replaying it in my head. Man's playing on another planet." 🚀👑
@GaryLineker (verified):
"City were sublime today. Could've scored ten. Pellegrini's got them ticking at just the right time." 🔵⚪
@HazardSZN:
"Eden Hazard has found his peak form and added extra flair. Man was cooking defenders like it was Sunday brunch."
On Instagram, the club posted a photo of the squad celebrating in the dressing room—shirts off, grins wide, champagne bottles in the background. The caption simply read:
"TOGETHER. 🔥🔵 7 goals. 3 points. 1 goal in mind. #ManCity #PremierLeague"
Adriano reposted the match photo of his volleyed goal with a short caption:
"Just getting started. Obrigado, Manchester. 🙏⚽"
Meanwhile, back in Manchester, fans spilled into the streets after the final whistle. Deansgate and Northern Quarter pubs were full of chants and pints in the air.
Someone had already spray-painted near the Etihad:
"THE CITY IS OURS – King AR 10"
It wasn't just a big win. It was a performance that felt like a statement. And every blue in Manchester felt it.
****
The lights were low in the analysis room at Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper, but the tension in the room was unmistakable. A giant tactical display flickered across the wall-mounted projector, illuminating the concentrated faces of Barcelona's technical staff. Every chair was filled—coaches, analysts, scouts—all focused on one thing: deciphering Manchester City.
The screen rolled footage from City's Round of 16 clash with Juventus—both legs back-to-back. The match audio was muted, but the clicks of keyboards and the quiet scribble of pens filled the silence. Luis Enrique sat at the head of the room, arms crossed, saying nothing. His eyes were fixed on the screen as though he could extract secrets from it through sheer concentration.
Adriano's stunning solo goal in Turin played again—this time slowed down to a near crawl. Hummels' vertical pass split Juventus's midfield. Adriano received it in stride, dipped a shoulder, glided past two defenders, and curled it effortlessly past Buffon.
"Stop it there," one analyst said, pausing the frame. A red laser dot danced across the projection, circling Adriano as he drifted between Juve's midfield and defensive lines.
"He drops into these pockets like Messi did in '09," the analyst murmured, flicking between angles. "Here—watch the body shift. Left foot feint, touches it with the outside of his right, and he's past two men. No hesitation."
Enrique remained silent, tapping his pen against the desk.
Another clip rolled—this time, Kevin De Bruyne under heavy pressure near the touchline, shrugging off a double press and slicing a ball into the center circle. Silva appeared in the next sequence, drifting into space unnoticed, knitting passes between the lines.
Assistant Juan Carlos Unzué leaned forward, arms braced on the table. "They're not rigid. It's like jazz—structured chaos. Silva and De Bruyne don't stay fixed. They invert, overlap, recycle possession at tempo. And watch Hazard here—this run."
Hazard surged down the left in the footage, dancing past Stephan Lichtsteiner before threading a cut-back across the box.
"Hazard's back to his Chelsea prime," Unzué said. "Confident, unpredictable, dangerous off both feet."
Another clip loaded—Kane backing into Chiellini, chesting a ball down and laying it off for De Bruyne. The build-up was patient, but suddenly City accelerated through the final third like a switch had flipped.
Luis Enrique finally spoke, his voice measured but firm. "Adriano is the key," he said, nodding at the screen. "He drifts, roams. You give him even a second to turn, he'll kill you."
The room nodded in agreement.
"But if we press their fullbacks—Kimmich and Robertson—they're vulnerable," he continued. "They push high, leave space behind. If we force errors in buildup, we transition fast. Catch them stretched."
The analysts began loading positional heatmaps and average player movement graphics. City's 4-3-3 shape morphed into a 2-3-5 during attacks—Hummels and Mangala stayed back, while Kimmich and Robertson advanced high and wide. Silva and De Bruyne tucked into central spaces just behind Kane, with Adriano floating unpredictably.
"They're brave," a scout remarked. "Leave themselves open on the flanks in transition. But they dominate possession so well, you rarely get the chance."
Enrique studied the projected heatmap. "We don't press blindly," he said. "It has to be coordinated. Neymar, Messi, Suarez—they need clear triggers. When Kimmich receives with his back to us, we go."
Another assistant flipped to footage of City's high line—vulnerable moments where Juve nearly broke through.
"They aren't just Premier League flair," another scout said, scribbling notes. "They're built for Europe. Strong spine, tactical variety, depth on the bench."
Luis Enrique stood. "Schedule a second session. I want individual dossiers on Adriano, De Bruyne, Silva, and Hazard. Show me what they do when they're rattled, not just when they're in control."
The lights came up slowly. The room buzzed with murmured agreements and scribbling pens. For Barcelona, this wasn't just another quarterfinal. Manchester City had earned their attention.
And now, they were planning how to break them.
****
The cold edge of early March gripped the North West as Manchester City returned to training just two days after dismantling Newcastle 7–0. Spirits were high. Adriano had spent the morning in the gym alongside Kane, cracking jokes about who had more goal involvements since January. Hazard mock-scolded them—"Easy to score when I'm doing all the work out wide."
But the jokes faded once the squad gathered in the tactics room. Pellegrini stood by the board, arms folded.
"Liverpool ," he said. "Different challenge. They won't roll over like Newcastle."
The 27th fixture of the Premier League season was looming. The roar of Etihad. The chaos. It was a ground City hadn't enjoyed much success at in recent years. Even now, Liverpool were fighting to claw their way back into top four contention under Brendan Rodgers.
Their form had improved. Coutinho was pulling strings, Sterling had rediscovered his spark, and Jordan Henderson was captaining the midfield with growing maturity. Daniel Sturridge was back from injury and already among the goals.
"They'll come at us fast," Pellegrini said, tapping a marker against the magnetic board. "Press high. Very vertical. We must play with calm. Use our width—Hazard, Salah, stay ready. They're vulnerable between the lines."
The squad nodded, serious now. They knew the league table was tight. Chelsea were just behind, and any slip could be fatal to their title ambitions.
****
Back in Manchester, City's players trained at full tilt. Kompany had returned to full training, though Pellegrini hadn't yet confirmed if he'd start at Anfield.
In the dressing room, Robertson laced his boots next to Kimmich.
"You ever played against Liverpool before?" he asked.
Kimmich shook his head. "Only in FIFA."
"Loud. Tight pitch. That first ten minutes—chaos," Robertson said, tapping his shin pad. "We'll need to be perfect."
In another corner, Adriano and Casemiro watched Liverpool's recent game against Southampton on a tablet. "Henderson presses hard," Casemiro said, squinting. "We need to play through him."
Adriano grinned. "Let them come. More space behind."
By Thursday night, journalists were already previewing the clash. Sky Sports called it "a test of champions." BBC Sport highlighted the duel between Sterling and Kimmich, and whether Hazard could exploit Glen Johnson's lack of pace on the right.
And across social media, the excitement was palpable.
@CityExtraHQ:
"Anfield. Sunday. A place where titles are lost—or proven worthy. City need a statement win. #LIVMCI"
@BarcaUpdates:
"Barça analysts are watching every City game frame by frame. Adriano's heat map vs Juventus? Terrifying. #UCL"
By Saturday evening, the City squad had traveled west by coach, greeted at their hotel by fans chanting Adriano's name. A group of kids even asked Pellegrini for autographs, to which he smiled and replied, "Only if we win tomorrow."
Anfield awaited. The Premier League title race was alive. But just beyond the horizon, Barcelona loomed.
****
The sky above Manchester was a cold grey blanket, but inside the Etihad, it was electric. Matchday 27 had arrived, and Manchester City were set to face Liverpool in a clash that had all the makings of a Premier League classic. Fans flooded into the stadium, scarves held high, voices already rising in unison. The concourses buzzed with chatter—reminiscing about Adriano's brilliance, debating Pellegrini's midfield balance, and cursing the cold before the hot pies took effect.
The stadium DJ switched off the music, and the low roar of anticipation filled the bowl. The pitch looked immaculate, trimmed and striped to perfection under the floodlights. Camera flashes danced around the stands. Children balanced on the shoulders of their parents, wide-eyed, waiting to see their heroes emerge from the tunnel.
In the City dressing room, the players were quietly focused. Adriano laced his AR10 boots with calm precision, earbuds in, nodding to the beat of a mellow Portuguese rap track. Joe Hart clapped his gloves together as he moved between lockers, breaking the silence. "Alright, lads. Let's make sure they remember where they are. This is our home."
Pellegrini stood in the middle of the group, voice calm but commanding. "They press, they play fast, but they are vulnerable. Use the wings. Kimmich, Robertson, stretch them. Silva, Kevin—find those pockets. And Adriano…" The Chilean gave a small nod. "Keep doing what you're doing."
Out in the tunnel, Steven Gerrard stood stoic in Liverpool red, leading his team out. Daniel Sturridge and Raheem Sterling, flanking him, exchanged a few nervous glances. Across from them, Kane and Hazard bounced lightly on their toes. Hart gave Sturridge a quick nod. No tension—just mutual awareness. This was business.
The announcer's voice boomed: "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome… Manchester City and Liverpool!"
The Etihad exploded. Blue flags waved from all four corners, drums pounded from the South Stand, and chants for Adriano and Silva rolled like thunder across the stadium. Kickoff was minutes away, but the war had already begun in the stands.
****
Inside a dimly lit room tucked within the sleek corridors of Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper, Barcelona's technical staff sat huddled in focused silence. The projection screen at the front flickered with high-definition footage: Manchester City's Champions League tie against Juventus. First leg. Then the second. Again. But now slowed down, frame by frame.
Luis Enrique sat with his arms crossed, posture rigid, his eyes following every detail like a hawk stalking prey. His assistants—Juan Carlos Unzué, Robert Moreno, and a pair of scouts from the analytics department—watched just as intently. No one was sipping coffee. No one was checking phones. This wasn't just prep. This was reconnaissance.
On the screen, Mats Hummels threaded a line-breaking pass forward, bypassing Juventus's midfield. The ball reached Adriano just outside the centre circle. He dipped a shoulder, spun away from Bonucci, and drove toward goal. The clip played in real time first—Adriano's acceleration, the sharp cut onto his right foot, the composed finish into the far corner past Buffon. Then again, this time in slow motion.
One of the analysts paused the frame just as Adriano unleashed the shot and pointed a laser pen at the screen. "Look where he picks it up," he said, voice hushed with a mix of awe and calculation. "He's in that in-between space. Too deep for a centre-back to step, too central for a holding midfielder. That's Messi's 2009 zone."
Robert Moreno raised his eyebrows. "That's not just raw ability," he said. "That's spatial awareness. Intelligence. You see how early he checks over his shoulder? He knows Bonucci is coming before the ball even reaches him."
The video resumed—De Bruyne weaving through pressure, Silva drifting wide then suddenly ghosting between the lines, Kane shrugging off Chiellini like he was swatting a fly. On the touchline in the footage, Pellegrini stood still, hands in coat pockets, letting his side dictate.
"They're a hybrid," said Juan Carlos Unzué, his eyes narrowed. "Transitions are fast. Very fast. But their possession is so clean. No wasted touches. Silva and De Bruyne—constantly inverting. Robertson and Kimmich provide the width."
Robert Moreno tapped his tablet, queuing the next clip. "And Hazard—he looks like Chelsea 2015. Explosive again. Watch this."
On screen, Hazard skipped past two Juventus defenders and slipped in Kane. The English striker's shot was saved, but the point was made.
Finally, Luis Enrique broke his silence. He leaned forward in his seat, tapping the edge of the table with his index finger.
"Kimmich and Robertson. That's where we start. Their buildup begins with those two pushing high. If we press them smartly—not blindly—we force mistakes. Then we break."
He paused, looking around the room. "But Adriano... he's the pulse. The transitions, the link-up, the final ball. Stop him, and we can break the rhythm. We can impose ours."
The staff nodded. No dissent.
A new graphic flashed onto the screen: City's average positions in attack. It looked less like a 4-3-3 and more like a 2-3-5—full-backs in the half-space, midfielders clustered just outside the final third, Kane and Adriano slightly staggered in central zones.
"They play with five in the front line when attacking," said one of the analysts, gesturing to the forward band. "It's positional. They want to drag you wide, then pierce the middle."
Unzué leaned back in his chair, sighing. "It's not just Premier League flash. This team is built like a Champions League side."
Luis Enrique folded his arms again, his tone calm but pointed. "We'll press in waves. Not constantly, but timed. Busquets will have to babysit Silva. Alba has to contain Salah. And we'll need to decide—do we let Piqué follow Adriano into midfield? Or do we trust the zone?"
The room was quiet for a moment, save for the low hum of the projector. Then a scout, younger and relatively new to the senior setup, offered a quiet observation.
"He's not Aguero. He's different. He controls games without touching the ball too much. Kind of like Iniesta used to. But with goals."
Luis Enrique nodded. "Exactly. And it's that mix—power, poise, and patience—that makes him dangerous. But he hasn't faced us yet."
There was no bravado in his tone. Just certainty.
"We'll watch the Liverpool match next. They'll rotate, maybe rest one or two. But if they smell blood, they won't hold back. Let's learn everything we can now."
The screen faded to black, then loaded into City vs Liverpool at the Etihad. The staff leaned forward again, notebooks out, eyes fixed. For Barcelona, the countdown to their biggest European challenge had already begun.
***
Back at the Etihad, the referee glanced at his watch. The whistle was poised. The ball sat in the centre circle. The Premier League's most dangerous attack prepared to unleash itself once more.
****
Current Stats of Adriano:
Premier League
Matches: 19
Goals: 26
Assists: 18
Current top scorer of the Premier League, and top on the assists list.
*
Champions League
Matches: 8
Goals: 18
Assists: 5
Current top scorer, 2nd in Assists
*
FA Cup
Matches: 1
Goals: 2
Assists: 2