The locker room had a heartbeat of its own—one Adriano knew well by now. The thud of boots against tile, the snap of locker doors opening, the low hum of conversation mixed with spurts of loud laughter. It all felt familiar, but there was something different in the air. Excitement. Hunger. A season waiting to erupt.
Adriano hadn't even finished changing into his training kit when a ball suddenly bounced off his thigh.
He looked up, and there stood Kevin De Bruyne, already in his gear, a mischievous smirk playing on his face. "Just checking if the Legacy Icon still has a first touch."
Adriano caught the ball with his foot and flicked it up effortlessly. "Still better than yours."
"Oh, really?" Kevin raised a brow, laughing as he turned and jogged away.
A loud clap echoed as Yaya Touré came around the corner, arms wide. "There he is! Mr. Fifty Million Plane Man!"
Adriano groaned, dragging a hand over his face. "I knew Raul shouldn't have told you."
"Too late," Yaya grinned, pulling him into a half-hug. "You better let me ride in that thing. I've been cramped in economy too long."
"You? Economy?" Adriano laughed. "What happened to the captain of Côte d'Ivoire?"
"Retired, my friend. I don't even get peanuts now."
David Silva came by with a water bottle in one hand and a towel slung around his neck. "You planning on flying us to away games now, or do we still take the team bus?"
"Depends," Adriano replied, giving him a quick hug. "If Boss makes us do double sessions, I'm flying to Marbella mid-week."
"Don't tempt me," Silva grinned.
Vincent Kompany, always the steady presence, gave Adriano a warm handshake and nodded. "Good to see you back. Looks like you've been enjoying the break."
Adriano shrugged, smiling. "Few beaches, few mountains, a Bugatti, you know. Standard summer."
"Try parenting two toddlers and tell me about relaxation," Kompany muttered as he shook his head, but the fond smile never left his face.
Not far behind, Eden Hazard strolled in late, sunglasses still on indoors. "I hear there's a prince in our locker room now."
Adriano turned. "I thought it was you, Eden. What happened?"
Hazard dramatically placed a hand on his chest. "Alas, I've been dethroned. A gold Bugatti? Legacy card? Dating a superhero? I humbly bow before Your Majesty."
"Idiot," Adriano laughed.
"Hey, it's not jealousy. It's just me respecting greatness," Hazard said, grinning as he opened his locker beside Adriano's. "Seriously though, it's good to have you back."
"It's good to be back," Adriano replied, with a genuine nod.
A loud sneeze came from the end of the row, and they all turned to see Mohamed Salah struggling to pull his training shirt over his head. The fabric was twisted somehow.
"Need help, Mo?" Adriano asked, suppressing a grin.
"I got it," Salah muttered, pulling harder.
"No, you really don't," De Bruyne called out.
Adriano walked over and tugged the shirt down for him with ease.
"There. Now you look like a professional again."
Salah gave a sheepish grin. "Thanks. It's my first day back, I'm still jetlagged."
"No worries," Adriano said, patting his shoulder. "We'll blame it on travel."
The laughter resumed. The team's energy felt right. Balanced. Familiar, but with an edge of evolution.
Then came the two unfamiliar voices.
From the far side of the room, the new signings were quietly organizing their lockers. Son Heung-Min looked relaxed, even cheerful, but was clearly observing everyone first. Trent Alexander-Arnold, on the other hand, looked like he was still absorbing the fact that he was in the same room as his footballing idols.
Adriano grabbed a fresh towel, slung it over his shoulder, and made his way over.
Son spotted him first and straightened up. "Hey! Adriano, right?"
"That's me," he smiled. "Son, welcome."
They shook hands firmly, and Son's smile widened.
"I've been watching you since your debut. It's kind of weird now being in the same squad."
"Weird for you? Imagine how weird it was seeing your stats in FIFA the day after you scored a brace against Germany."
Son laughed. "Ah, that game. My German friends still won't talk to me about it."
"You'll fit right in here," Adriano said. "Just don't let Kevin teach you English."
"I heard he teaches sarcasm instead," Son joked.
"Exactly," Adriano said with a grin, then glanced at Trent, who was still adjusting his boots in silence.
"Trent, right?" Adriano asked gently.
Trent looked up, slightly startled, then nodded. "Y-yeah. Trent. Hi."
"Relax, man," Adriano chuckled, offering a handshake. "You're not on trial."
Trent quickly stood and shook his hand. "It's just… crazy. I grew up watching you guys on TV."
"And now we're teammates," Adriano said. "Pretty cool, right?"
"Cool doesn't even cover it," Trent said, finally cracking a nervous smile.
Adriano clapped him on the shoulder. "Look, we've all been the new kid. Just be yourself. Train hard. The rest falls into place."
"Thanks," Trent said, visibly easing a little.
As Adriano turned to head back toward the main circle of lockers, Son called out, "Hey—any chance I get to ride in the Bugatti before the season starts?"
"No promises," Adriano said over his shoulder. "But I might need a co-driver if Hazard keeps forgetting which side the wheel's on."
"Oi!" came Hazard's voice.
Everyone laughed again.
The atmosphere was exactly where it needed to be—easy, full of camaraderie, but sharp enough to hint at what was coming.
Soon, the staff would call them out to the pitch.
But for now, the locker room belonged to them.
****
The youth academy players stood in a loose group near the edge of the training ground, half-dressed and unsure whether they were supposed to stretch or wait for instructions. Some tried to act casual, others fiddled with their shin pads, but their eyes kept darting toward the center of the locker room—toward him.
Adriano.
He didn't need to say anything to command attention. Just his presence was enough. And as he slung a towel over his shoulder and made his way over, the cluster of new faces instantly stood straighter.
"Alright, who's causing trouble already?" Adriano called out with a light grin, stopping in front of them.
Laughter broke out, nervous at first but quickly easing into something more genuine.
"Don't worry," he added, "I was more lost than you guys on my first day. Ended up putting my locker stuff in the physio's cabinet."
That cracked the ice. A couple of the younger players chuckled, and even the quieter ones smiled.
The first to approach him properly was Rúben Dias. The young Portuguese center-back was trying to keep his cool, but his grin kept betraying him.
"Adriano," Rúben said, offering his hand, "I—I'm honored, man. Seriously. I'm still trying to believe I'm here."
Adriano gave him a firm handshake and a warm clap on the back. "Rúben Dias, huh? I've heard good things. And you're Portuguese, so you're already halfway to being world-class."
"That's what I keep telling people," Rúben joked, finally laughing.
"You earned this," Adriano added sincerely. "Don't waste it."
"I won't," Rúben said quickly, almost too seriously.
Adriano pulled out his phone. "Come on, let's get a picture. Your family's going to want proof you met me, right?"
Rúben looked stunned. "Seriously?"
"Of course." Adriano snapped a quick selfie with the grinning center-back, then said, "I'll DM it to you later. You can frame it next to your Ballon d'Or."
Rúben shook his head, still smiling like a schoolkid.
Not far behind him, Alexis Mac Allister stepped forward. "Hey, Adriano—uh, do you mind if I ask something?"
"Go for it," Adriano said, adjusting his towel over his shoulder.
Mac Allister scratched the back of his head. "How do you, like, control a game? I mean, you don't just play midfield—you dictate it. It looks effortless."
Adriano gave a small laugh. "It's not effortless, trust me. I spend hours watching tape, learning patterns. The trick is knowing when to slow it down, when to speed it up—and always think two passes ahead."
Mac Allister nodded, soaking it in.
"But also," Adriano added with a half-smile, "sometimes you just pass it to Kevin and let him do the thinking."
That earned a round of laughs, even from Theo and Donnarumma who were eavesdropping from nearby.
"Thanks, really," Mac Allister said, "means a lot."
"Keep your head up and play your game," Adriano said. "Confidence is everything in midfield. The ball listens better when you believe you're in charge."
A voice broke in—Marcus Rashford, grinning wide, was holding his phone up.
"Mate," Rashford said, laughing, "my friends won't shut up. They think I'm lying when I say I'm training with you. One of them legit asked me to get your autograph—on a slice of toast."
Adriano raised a brow. "A slice of toast?"
"Long story," Rashford shrugged.
"Well, next time tell them to bake it into a cake," Adriano replied, "I'm not signing carbs unless they're premium."
They both burst out laughing.
"You doing alright otherwise?" Adriano asked.
"Yeah. Just trying not to trip over my own legs."
"You'll be flying past defenders before you know it," Adriano said. "But if you do trip, make sure it looks intentional. That's how Eden draws penalties."
From the side, Theo Hernandez and Gianluigi Donnarumma moved closer, clearly trying to muster up the courage to jump into the conversation. Adriano noticed immediately.
"What about you two?" he asked, turning to them. "You guys settling in alright?"
"Uh—yeah," Theo nodded. "I just wanted to ask… what's the locker room vibe like here? Like… do people keep to themselves or is it, you know, open?"
Adriano smiled. "It's a madhouse," he said. "Hazard talks too much, Kevin never lets us forget he speaks five languages, and Yaya keeps telling everyone he's the team dad."
Donnarumma grinned, finally speaking up. "That sounds fun, actually."
"It is," Adriano said. "We look out for each other. No egos. You'll see."
Theo looked genuinely relieved. "That's good. I was kinda nervous."
"We all were once," Adriano said. "Now look—Yaya still makes me carry cones."
The group laughed again, more relaxed now, more open.
Then Adriano turned slightly as Kylian Mbappé approached. There was a different energy in the younger Frenchman—eager, yes, but with a quiet confidence too.
"Adriano," Mbappé greeted him with a respectful nod.
"Mbappé," Adriano replied, offering a fist bump. "Welcome to the circus."
"Thanks," Mbappé grinned. "I've wanted to say this for a while—watching you in the World Cup final... that was insane."
Adriano smirked. "You'll know how it feels in the next one."
The others around them chuckled, some shaking their heads.
"You calling it already?" Theo said, teasing.
But Adriano just shrugged with mock arrogance. "I have a gift."
Mbappé grinned but didn't let go of the moment. "I actually heard something from one of the assistant coaches…"
"Oh?" Adriano tilted his head.
"They said you were the one who recommended me for promotion to the senior team."
Adriano paused, then nodded. "Yeah. I saw your tape. You don't just run—you think when you move. That's rare. I told them if we didn't promote you, someone else would take you by next year."
Mbappé's grin widened, his face lit up. "Thank you. I mean that. Coming from you—it means everything."
"Earn it every day," Adriano said. "Being here is one thing. Staying here takes work."
Mbappé nodded firmly. "I will."
Adriano looked around at the circle of young faces now all hanging on his words—eager, hungry, inspired.
"Alright," he said, clapping his hands once, "let's get out there before Pep decides we're all too soft to train."
Just as he turned to head out, Rashford whispered to Donnarumma, "He really is the coolest guy here."
Donnarumma whispered back, "I'd ask for a selfie but I don't wanna push it."
"Do it tomorrow," Rashford grinned. "Then frame it."
As the group followed Adriano out to the pitch, the energy among them had shifted—lighter, warmer, bonded by the kind of moment that would live in their memories far beyond the season.
The youth had arrived—and their idol had welcomed them in.
****
The Manchester sun was unusually kind that morning, casting long golden rays over the freshly cut training pitch. Adriano had just wrapped up his rounds with the squad, exchanging laughs and jabs with his teammates, both old and new. But now, he made his way across the training facility toward the coach's office.
Manuel Pellegrini's door was already slightly ajar, a familiar habit of the Chilean manager who liked things open, literal or otherwise. As Adriano stepped inside, he found Pellegrini standing by the window, a cup of maté in one hand and a faint smile on his face.
"Finally, the superstar decides to return to Manchester," Pellegrini teased, turning around with that calm, wise smile that never seemed to fade.
Adriano laughed as he stepped in and closed the door behind him. "Had to squeeze in some rest before the chaos begins."
Pellegrini set his cup down and walked over, pulling Adriano into a warm hug. "It's good to see you my boy, Really. You look well."
"You too, boss," Adriano replied, returning the hug sincerely. "Still calm as ever. What's your secret?"
"Maté, prayer, and pretending I don't read transfer rumors," Pellegrini said, chuckling as he gestured toward the seat in front of his desk. "Sit. We've got a lot to talk about."
Adriano settled into the leather chair as Pellegrini resumed his place across from him. The atmosphere in the office was cozy—light from the window bounced off the framed photos of past teams and trophies, and the air carried that comforting scent of brewed herbs and grass from the pitch.
"How was your vacation?" Pellegrini asked. " Maldives, Patagonia… I've seen the headlines."
Adriano smiled, almost sheepishly. "It was amazing. Peaceful, refreshing. We tried to keep things private, but, you know…"
"Yes, yes. The world has a way of keeping tabs on its most talked-about couple." Pellegrini leaned back in his chair. "But what about your health? How's your ankle ? Any lingering pain?"
Adriano rotated his foot lightly. "All good now. The medical team in Lisbon said the swelling's completely gone. I've been training lightly just to stay in rhythm. I'm ready."
Pellegrini nodded, clearly pleased. "Good. We'll need you fit this season. We're going all in."
There was a brief pause as Pellegrini reached for a clipboard on his desk. "I wanted to run some thoughts by you, get your perspective. Especially now that the squad's been finalized.".
"Sure," Adriano said, sitting up attentively.
Pellegrini tapped the list with his pen. "With the younger players coming up—Rashford, Dias, Mbappé, Mac Allister—and the new additions like Son and Trent, I want to balance experience with growth. We can't burn out the veterans chasing every trophy."
"I was thinking the same," Adriano said quickly. "Capital One Cup and FA Cup—perfect for them to get serious minutes. Maybe rotate them in league games against bottom-half teams. Build confidence, keep everyone sharp."
"I agree," Pellegrini said. "And I trust your instincts. You've talked with them. If anyone knows who's ready, it's you."
"They're hungry," Adriano said with a grin. "Mbappé already asked me what it's like playing in a World Cup final. I told him he'd find out in the next one."
Pellegrini chuckled. "That boy has fire. So do the others. But they'll need guidance. You've become a leader, Adriano—on and off the pitch."
There was a pause, the mood shifting slightly as Pellegrini leaned forward, elbows on the desk, voice softer now.
"Which is why I want to talk to you… about something more personal."
Adriano raised an eyebrow. "Okay."
"You're not the same kid I coached Málaga," Pellegrini began, voice filled with warmth. "Back then, you were just a shy, stubborn teenager who wouldn't stop asking to play with the main team."
Adriano laughed, memories rushing back. "You yelled at me once for sneaking into the tactical meetings."
"Because you weren't supposed to be there!" Pellegrini said, laughing too. "But now… you're the face of a club, maybe of football itself soon. The cars, the deals, the headlines, this life can get distracting."
Adriano nodded slowly, understanding the message beneath the words.
"I'm not worried," Pellegrini added, "but I've seen others lose their way chasing everything except the ball. You have something special, Adriano. Don't let the spotlight blind you from what matters."
It was quiet for a moment.
Then Adriano leaned back in his chair, face calm, but his voice held that firm conviction Pellegrini recognized.
"I'm not going anywhere, boss. Not in my head, not in my heart. This—football—is everything to me. The rest? The money, the cars… they're fun, sure. But they're not who I am."
Pellegrini smiled, a proud glint in his eyes. "Good. Because I still need my midfield general to run this army."
Adriano smirked. "So what's the plan, Boss?"
Pellegrini stood up and grabbed a whiteboard marker from the tray. "Let's talk shape. I'm thinking we run more rotations this year, depending on who we're facing. Two holding midfielders when we need security—Yaya and Casemiro. But if we want to dominate possession, maybe you and Kevin behind Silva."
Adriano nodded, instantly engaged. "We can even push Dybala into a hybrid role when needed. He links well with the wide players."
"Exactly," Pellegrini said, drawing arrows across the whiteboard with a teacher's precision. "And with Son, Salah, and Hazard on the flanks—we've got speed and width."
Adriano grinned. "This is going to be a fun season."
Pellegrini nodded. "One for the history books, if we stay disciplined."
Adriano stood up and offered his hand. Pellegrini took it, firm and warm.
"Thanks for everything, boss," Adriano said sincerely. "You've always had my back."
"And I always will," Pellegrini said. "Now get out of here. Go make sure the locker room hasn't burned down without you."
Adriano chuckled and opened the door. "No promises."
As he stepped out of the office, the buzz of the training ground filled the air once again. The squad was beginning to gather on the field, boots thumping, laughter rising. The season hadn't started yet—but it was already alive.
And Adriano was ready.