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The locker room at halftime was a swirl of tension and purpose. As the City players filtered in, many of them caught their breath, sweat trickling down flushed faces.
Kimmich slapped hands with Hummels, shaking his head in disbelief. "They're reading everything, Mats. Every pass, every move," he muttered. Hummels nodded, grabbing a water bottle and taking a long drink. "That back line...it's like hitting a brick wall," he replied, his voice low and steady.
Adriano walked in last, trailing slightly behind the group. His hands rested on his hips, head down, his breathing still heavy. He threw his head back, exhaling sharply before grabbing a towel from the bench and draping it over his head. Harry Kane sat beside him, nudging him with his elbow.
"They got you boxed in, mate," Kane said with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.
Adriano pulled the towel from his face, managing a grin. "They're like bulldogs...they don't let go," he replied, shaking his head.
Pellegrini entered a moment later, his presence immediately commanding attention. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp, calculating. He waited a beat for the chatter to die down, then stepped forward, holding up his hands. "Alright, listen up," he began, his tone even but resolute. "We're not breaking through because we're playing into their hands. Juventus want us narrow, they want us trying to force passes through the middle. It's exactly what Allegri planned for."
He turned to the whiteboard behind him, where the formation was drawn up. He pointed to Hazard and Salah's positions. "We need to stretch them. Hazard, Salah—I want you wider. Isolate Lichtsteiner and Chiellini. Force them to defend one-on-one, drag them out of their comfort zones."
Hazard leaned back in his seat, nodding slowly, already envisioning it. Salah sat forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on Pellegrini. "When you get the ball, I want you running at them. No hesitation. Get to the byline, make them sweat," Pellegrini continued.
He turned to Adriano, his gaze firm. "Adriano," he called, snapping the midfielder's attention. "You need to drop deeper. Right now, Chiellini and Bonucci are eating you alive up there because you're sitting in their pockets. I want you collecting the ball earlier, right around Pirlo's space. Make him defend. Pull those centre-backs out of position and force mistakes."
Adriano nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Got it, boss," he replied, his voice determined. Kane reached over and slapped his back. "You pull 'em out, I'll finish it," Kane added with a grin. Adriano smirked. "Just be ready," he shot back.
Pellegrini continued, his eyes scanning the room. "De Bruyne, Silva—I want more movement off the ball. Juventus are sitting tight, but if we can get them to shift, we'll find those gaps. Be patient, but be precise. This isn't about forcing it—it's about stretching them until they break."
The room murmured with agreement, heads nodding in sync. Pellegrini stepped back, clapping his hands together. "We're not losing this. Not at home, not against them," he stated firmly. "We stay disciplined, we stay sharp, and we keep pushing. One goal changes everything. Make it happen."
Around the room, players exchanged glances of determination. Hazard stood up, stretching out his legs. "Let's get to work," he said, voice steely. Kimmich cracked his knuckles, nodding at Hummels. "We close them out, and we hit them hard," he muttered.
On the other side of the stadium, the Juventus dressing room was calm, almost serene. Allegri stood in the middle, arms crossed over his chest. "We are controlling them," he began, his voice smooth and confident. "Pirlo, keep dictating the tempo. Vidal," he turned to the Chilean midfielder, "make sure Adriano doesn't get a clean touch. If he drops deeper, you follow. If he moves wide, you follow. He doesn't breathe without you knowing it."
Vidal nodded, a fierce grin spreading across his face. "He's not going anywhere," he said confidently. Pirlo gave a nod of approval, his hands resting calmly on his knees, as if unbothered by the storm raging outside the locker room doors.
Allegri pointed to Morata and Pereyra. "We wait for our moment. They will get frustrated, they will push numbers forward. When they do, we hit them. Fast. Pirlo, find the channels. Rômulo, Pereyra—you run at them. One chance, one strike. That's all it takes."
The players nodded in unison, confidence brimming in their eyes. Buffon leaned back against the wall, his gloves still on, nodding approvingly. "Let them come. We'll be waiting," he said, his voice low and assured.
As the teams prepared to head back out, Pellegrini took one final moment with his squad. "This is where we show them," he said, voice rising. "We show them what Manchester City is. Not just a club—but a force. Now go out there and take it."
Adriano met eyes with Kane and Hazard, nodding firmly. "They're gonna feel this," he muttered. Hazard grinned back. "Let's make them remember it," he replied.
With that, the players rose as one, clapping hands, tapping each other's backs, and steeling themselves for the second half. Pellegrini gave Adriano a pat on the back as he walked past. "You know what to do," he said simply. Adriano met his gaze with a confident nod. "I've got it," he replied, eyes blazing with focus.
As they stepped back out into the tunnel, the noise of the crowd roared back to life, echoing through the concrete walls. Juventus waited on the other side, calm and collected, but City's resolve was set. This was their half. This was their time.
****
The referee's whistle echoed through the stadium, and the second half was underway. Manchester City, now attacking towards the South Stand, moved with clear intent. Pellegrini's halftime adjustments were evident right from the restart. Silva and De Bruyne operated with more width, stretching Juventus' rigid defensive lines, while Hazard and Salah hugged the touchlines, forcing Lichtsteiner and Chiellini to cover more ground. Adriano, playing with newfound purpose, dropped deeper into the midfield to collect the ball, linking up with Silva and disrupting Juventus' organized structure.
The tempo was electric. City pressed high, suffocating Juventus' attempts to play out from the back. In the 47th minute, Kimmich intercepted a careless pass from Marchisio, immediately feeding it to Adriano. He turned sharply, glancing up to spot De Bruyne making a run into the space left by Pirlo. One flicked pass later, De Bruyne was surging forward, 25 yards out from goal. He took a touch to steady himself before unleashing a vicious, swerving strike.
The ball rocketed through the air, Buffon barely flinched as it whizzed past him, but the Etihad's collective gasp was cut short as the ball crashed against the top of the crossbar and ricocheted out of play. Hands flew to heads, groans rippled through the stands, and De Bruyne crouched momentarily, hands on his knees, staring at the goal in disbelief.
"That was inches away, Martin," Alan Smith exclaimed, voice alive with excitement. "De Bruyne caught that sweetly, and Buffon was rooted to the spot!"
Martin Tyler chimed in, "City are getting closer, but as long as Buffon's back there, it's going to take something special. The Italian's experience is unmatched."
De Bruyne jogged back to his position, shaking his head with a grin. Adriano gave him a quick pat on the back. "Next one's going in," Adriano said confidently. De Bruyne smirked. "If it doesn't rattle the bar first," he quipped.
City continued to pile on the pressure. In the 52nd minute, Hazard received the ball out wide, shimmying past Lichtsteiner with a sharp turn. He darted towards the byline, cutting the ball back across the box. Kane lunged in, stretching every inch of his frame, but Chiellini got there just in time to hook it away for a corner.
"That was world-class defending from Chiellini," Martin Tyler noted. "He read that cutback like a book."
The corner was whipped in by Silva, finding the head of Mangala, who towered above Cáceres. His header was firm but straight at Buffon, who caught it comfortably, his gloved hands wrapping around the ball with practiced ease. Buffon took a moment, letting his defense reset before launching a long throw to Pirlo.
Juventus weren't just sitting back; their counter-attacking threat remained real. In the 57th minute, Pirlo orchestrated one of those breakaways, chipping a delightful ball over the top for Morata. The Spanish forward surged ahead, shrugging off Mangala's challenge. He squared the ball to Pereyra, who took a touch and fired low. Joe Hart reacted instantly, diving to his left to push it wide.
"That's a superb save from Joe Hart!" Alan Smith shouted. "Pereyra hit that well, but Hart was sharp and alert."
Pellegrini clapped his hands on the sideline, yelling encouragement. "Keep pushing! Keep moving it!" His voice was nearly drowned out by the rising chants from the Etihad faithful.
In the 61st minute, City surged forward again. This time, it was Salah who found himself with space down the right. He cut inside on his left foot, curling a cross towards the back post. Hazard ghosted in behind Lichtsteiner, rising to meet it. His header was firm and low, destined for the bottom corner, but Buffon was there again, sprawling to his right to palm it away.
The City players threw their hands up in disbelief. Adriano slapped his thighs in frustration, pacing back towards midfield. "We need to be quicker! Move it faster!" he barked to De Bruyne and Silva. Both nodded, understanding the urgency.
Moments later, Juventus committed a cynical foul. Vidal, trailing Adriano, lunged in late as the Portuguese star spun away from him. Adriano hit the ground hard, the referee's whistle piercing the air. Vidal protested, arms raised, but the yellow card was out before he finished his first word. Adriano stood up, brushing off his shorts and sharing a look with Vidal. "That all you got?" he muttered. Vidal just smirked.
Martin Tyler chuckled. "Well, there's no love lost there. Adriano's been on the receiving end of a few crunchers tonight."
"Vidal won't back down, that's for sure," Alan Smith replied. "But Adriano's giving it back just as much. You love to see that kind of fire."
The free kick was positioned just outside the box. De Bruyne and Silva stood over it, conferring quietly. De Bruyne took a step back, lining up his approach. The wall was set, Buffon barked instructions, his arms waving. De Bruyne curled it beautifully over the wall, but once again, Buffon was equal to it, diving to his left to tip it away.
City's frustration was growing, but the chances were coming. Pellegrini urged them forward from the touchline, waving his arms to keep the tempo high. Juventus' defense was bending, but not yet breaking.
The Etihad roared in approval, sensing the momentum was building. City pressed higher, moved quicker, and the Juventus back line looked increasingly stretched. Adriano glanced around at his teammates, nodding to Hazard. "Next one," he said confidently, voice barely audible over the noise. Hazard grinned back, wiping sweat from his brow. "Next one's ours."
The tension was thick, the stakes even higher. Juventus had held firm, but City were knocking, pounding even, at the door. The breakthrough was close—you could feel it in the electric hum of the stadium.
And City were determined to find it.
The tension at the Etihad only grew as Juventus held firm under Manchester City's relentless pressure. Chiellini continued his relentless shadowing of Adriano, the two locked in an ongoing physical duel that saw elbows, shoves, and the occasional smirk exchanged. Bonucci joined in, closing down spaces with ruthless efficiency, his communication with Chiellini almost telepathic. Every flick, every turn Adriano tried was met with a wall of black and white.
In the 65th minute, Adriano finally found a glimmer of space. De Bruyne slipped a clever pass through the lines, and with one delicate flick, Adriano spun away from Bonucci, his first real escape of the night. He surged forward, but before he could even lift his head, Vidal crashed in with a thunderous but fair tackle, sending the ball rolling back to Pirlo.
The veteran midfielder barely even looked up before spraying a perfect 40-yard pass out wide to Rômulo, who sprinted down the flank, instantly relieving the pressure. Pellegrini clapped his hands on the sideline, urging his players back into position.
"They are so well-organized, Alan," Martin Tyler observed with admiration. "It's like watching a wall move as one. There's not a yard of space for City to breathe."
Alan Smith agreed, shaking his head slightly. "That's the Italian way. It's not always pretty, but it's effective. City needs something unpredictable to crack them open. Right now, it's just too structured, too readable."
City kept pressing. In the 68th minute, a looping cross from Kimmich found Hazard at the back post. He rose above Lichtsteiner, nodding it back across the face of goal, but Buffon, ever the watchful guardian, plucked it from the air with ease. Hazard slapped the turf in frustration, glancing back at Adriano, who gave him a nod of encouragement.
"Keep going, Eden. We'll get them," Adriano called out, his voice barely audible over the roar of the Etihad.
Two minutes later, Juventus almost struck back. Pogba, freshly introduced for Marchisio, gathered the ball in midfield, brushing off De Bruyne with a powerful stride. He slipped a pass through to Rômulo, who squared it low into the box. Llorente, towering over Mangala, met it with a powerful header that skimmed just wide of Hart's left post.
"That was close!" Martin Tyler exclaimed. "Llorente's height is already causing problems. City need to be careful."
Pellegrini, sensing the shift, sprang into action. Around the 70th minute, he signaled for changes. Yaya Touré replaced Silva, his imposing frame and long-range prowess a clear attempt to add physicality and unpredictability in the middle of the park. Moments later, Milner came on for Salah, adding fresh energy and defensive cover down the right flank. Milner jogged on, slapping hands with Salah. "Let's shake it up a bit," he said, nodding to Adriano.
Adriano smirked back. "Time to wake them up."
Allegri responded with his own adjustments. Pogba, already causing trouble in his few minutes on the pitch, looked energized. Llorente's introduction was equally bold—a clear statement that Juventus were not just here to defend. Allegri's intent was clear: control the midfield, dominate the air, and find the killer blow on the break.
In the 73rd minute, the new arrivals nearly paid off. Yaya Touré picked the ball up 30 yards from goal, shrugged off Vidal with his sheer strength, and unleashed a thunderous drive. The ball swerved violently, dipping late, but Buffon, ever the maestro between the sticks, got a strong hand to it, tipping it just wide of the post.
"My word, what a strike from Yaya Touré!" Martin Tyler shouted. "That was going in the top corner if not for Buffon!"
Alan Smith chuckled. "We talk about his age, Martin, but Buffon's reactions are still razor-sharp. City are getting closer, but they're going to need something truly special to beat him tonight."
The ensuing corner saw chaos in the box. Hummels rose highest, nodding it back across the face of goal. Kane lunged for it, stretching every inch, but Cáceres got just enough of a touch to clear it away. Kane slammed the ground in frustration, rising to his feet and shaking his head. "Next one, lads! Next one!" he shouted, rallying his teammates.
City's pressure was mounting, and Juventus showed signs of cracking. In the 77th minute, Milner, full of energy, darted down the right flank, whipping in a dangerous low cross. Adriano met it with a deft flick, but the ball was blocked by Bonucci's outstretched leg. It spun out to Hazard, who took a touch and tried to bend it into the far corner. Buffon once again threw himself across, palming it away. The crowd roared in appreciation, the Etihad now alive with belief.
"Buffon is putting on a masterclass tonight," Tyler noted. "How many times has he denied them? This is vintage stuff."
Smith nodded. "It's like he's 25 again. City are banging on the door, but Buffon's refusing to let them in."
Back on his feet, Adriano clapped his hands together, nodding at Hazard. "Keep at it, Eden. He can't save everything."
"Hope you're right," Hazard replied, panting heavily but smiling back.
Juventus tried to slow the tempo, Pirlo taking his time with every pass, every free kick. His precision was masterful, each ball played with purpose, draining seconds off the clock. Vidal continued his aggressive approach, cutting down passing lanes and clattering into challenges. He earned a yellow card in the 80th minute for a late lunge on De Bruyne, who grimaced but shook it off, tapping his shin pads with a grin. "Could've been worse," he laughed, dusting off his shorts.
As the clock ticked past 82 minutes, City poured forward again, the Etihad chanting with renewed energy. Yaya Touré picked out Adriano, who spun away from Chiellini, slipping it out wide to Milner. The cross came in low, Kane stretched for it—and the flag went up.
"Offside! Oh, he won't want to see that one again," Martin Tyler groaned. "It was tight, but the linesman had it right."
"That's the kind of moment City need to get right," Alan Smith added. "It's fine margins now, Martin. One slip could be the difference."
The clock continued to wind down, but City's momentum was building. Adriano glanced at Yaya, nodding with resolve. "Next one," he muttered, voice steely with determination. Yaya cracked a smile. "Let's make it count."
The next phase would decide everything. Pellegrini's adjustments were working, Juventus were bending, and City's belief was only growing stronger. The breakthrough was coming—you could feel it in the electric hum of the stadium.
The clock struck the 81st minute, and the atmosphere at the Etihad was electric with anticipation. City had been knocking on the door for much of the half, pressing higher and committing men forward in search of the elusive breakthrough. Pellegrini's gamble to press Juventus deeper up the pitch seemed logical; City had dominated possession, but the final touch continued to elude them.
But Juventus, wise and opportunistic, saw their chance. Pirlo, with his ageless vision, spotted the slightest gap in City's backline. Kolarov had drifted a few yards too high, leaving space behind him—space that Pogba, fresh-legged and brimming with energy, eagerly exploited. Pirlo's pass was trademark elegance: a lofted ball that dropped like a feather at Pogba's feet. The Frenchman controlled it with his first touch, cushioning it perfectly as if the ball were glued to his boot. Instantly, he turned into the gap, his eyes scanning the options.
"Kolarov's caught out here, Martin!" Alan Smith shouted. "Pogba's got acres of space!"
Martin Tyler's voice rose with anticipation. "He's seen it! The gap is there...Pogba slips it through..."
Pogba's pass was inch-perfect, threaded between the scrambling Mangala and Hummels. Llorente, who had been hovering on the last man's shoulder, made his run at the perfect moment. He powered forward, his strides long and purposeful, the ball rolling into his path with unerring accuracy.
Joe Hart came rushing out, arms wide, eyes locked on the Spaniard. The crowd held its breath, the hum of anticipation rising to a crescendo. Llorente barely looked up; his touch was deft, a delicate lift that sent the ball arching gracefully over Hart's outstretched body. Time seemed to pause as the ball hung in the air, then dipped just under the crossbar and into the net.
The Etihad fell silent for a split second before the realization hit. Hands went to heads, groans rippled across the stands. Meanwhile, the Juventus section erupted in unrestrained joy, flags waving and fists pumping.
GOAL ANNOUNCER:GOOOOOAAALLLL! LLORENTE FOR JUVENTUS! THEY'VE BROKEN THROUGH AT THE ETIHAD!
The Juventus players mobbed Llorente near the corner flag, shouting and clapping him on the back. Pogba was first to reach him, jumping onto his back with a grin plastered across his face. Lichtsteiner and Chiellini joined the pile, fists clenched in triumph. Allegri punched the air in satisfaction on the sidelines, his face beaming with pride. He turned to his bench, nodding in approval.
On the City bench, Pellegrini rubbed his forehead, the lines of frustration etched deep. He clapped his hands sharply, barking instructions. "Get your heads up! Get your heads up!" His voice cut through the noise, rallying his players back into focus.
Adriano, standing near the center circle, slammed the ground with his fist, then immediately turned back to his teammates. "Come on, we're not done! Heads up! Let's go!" His voice was sharp, commanding, and his eyes burned with determination. Hazard jogged over, giving him a firm slap on the back. "We'll get it back. Just need one good ball."
De Bruyne joined them, rolling his shoulders. "They're sitting deeper now. We need to be quicker. One-touch, no holding it."
Adriano nodded. "We press. Hard. All the way." He locked eyes with Kane, who gave him a firm nod of agreement. "They want to park it now," Kane said, glancing toward the huddling Juventus players.
City reset quickly, and the energy on the pitch shifted. Pellegrini made signals from the sideline, pushing his hands forward. "Go! Go!" he shouted, demanding more aggression. Milner raised his hand to signal the press, and City responded with fervor.
But Juventus, bolstered by the goal, closed ranks. Chiellini and Bonucci became walls of defiance, cutting off every angle and meeting every cross with towering headers. In the 85th minute, City nearly found a way through. Hazard slipped past Lichtsteiner, whipping in a low cross that Kane met on the volley. His strike was true, but Buffon, with reflexes that defied his age, palmed it away at full stretch.
"Buffon again! He's been immense tonight!" Martin Tyler exclaimed."That's why he's still one of the best in the world, Martin. He's practically unbeatable!" Alan Smith added.
Adriano clapped his hands together, urging his teammates on. "Keep it coming! One more! One more!" he shouted, jogging back into position. Yaya Touré called out from midfield, "We're pushing! All the way now!"
The clock ticked forward, but City kept coming. In the 88th minute, De Bruyne threaded a pass into the path of Milner, whose cross was met by Mangala at the back post. His header flew just over the bar, the crowd gasping in unison. Mangala slapped his forehead, shouting to himself as he jogged back into position.
City's press grew more frantic, bodies piling forward. In the 90th minute, Adriano found space on the edge of the box. He squared up with Chiellini, who stood firm, waiting for the move. Adriano feinted left, cut right, and unleashed a shot—but it cannoned off Bonucci's chest and out for a corner.
"Juventus are standing tall right now, Martin," Alan Smith noted. "They've been under siege, but they're not cracking."
Martin Tyler's voice echoed the urgency. "City are throwing everything at them, but is it too little, too late?"
The fourth official raised the board—Four minutes of added time. The Etihad roared in defiance, sensing a final opportunity to level the tie. Adriano grabbed the ball, placing it on the corner spot himself. His eyes met Yaya's, then Kane's. "One chance," he shouted. "One chance is all we need!"
The ball curled into the box, bodies clashing, hands reaching, the Etihad holding its breath. City were throwing everything they had, desperate for that equalizer that just wouldn't come. Juventus stood tall, disciplined and resolute, inches away from securing a famous away victory.
****
The final moments of the match approached, and Manchester City, desperate for an equalizer, threw everything forward. Pellegrini's shouts from the sideline grew more animated, arms waving as he urged his players to press higher, to take risks. The crowd responded, voices rising with every surge forward, every hopeful ball whipped into the box.
Adriano, visibly frustrated by the constant tight marking from Chiellini and Bonucci, took matters into his own hands. In the 89th minute, he dropped deeper to collect the ball from Yaya Touré, spinning away from Marchisio with a deft flick of his right foot. He turned sharply, accelerating into the open space left by a tiring Juventus midfield.
"He's taking it on himself, Martin!" Alan Smith called out as Adriano powered forward.
"He's got that look about him, Alan. You can see the determination!" Martin Tyler added, his voice tinged with excitement.
Cáceres stepped up to challenge, but Adriano rolled the ball to his right with a delicate touch, leaving the Uruguayan lunging at thin air. Chiellini came barreling in next, arms wide and body leaning aggressively into the challenge. But Adriano saw it coming. He planted his left foot and spun away, Chiellini stumbling forward as he grasped at empty space.
Adriano surged into the penalty area, Bonucci now the last line of defense. The Italian defender stepped up, his stance low and wide, eyes locked onto the ball. Adriano faked right, nudging the ball left with his instep. Bonucci, desperate, lunged in with a crunching tackle, catching more of Adriano's shin than the ball. Adriano tumbled forward, clutching his ankle as the Etihad erupted in unison.
The referee wasted no time, blowing his whistle and pointing straight to the spot. City fans exploded with cheers, the roar shaking the stadium walls.
Martin Tyler: "PENALTY! He's given it! Adriano, absolutely sensational there—he's danced through that defense like it wasn't even there!"
Alan Smith: "That's what he's capable of! Bonucci just couldn't deal with him. You can see the frustration; he lunged in, and that's always a risk."
Bonucci stood with his hands on his head, pleading with the referee. "I got the ball! I got the ball!" he shouted, but the official was unmoved, brandishing a yellow card as the Italian continued to protest. Chiellini shook his head, muttering under his breath as Buffon adjusted his gloves and took his position.
Adriano, still down, clutched his ankle as the medical team rushed onto the field. Pellegrini watched with a furrowed brow, signaling for a substitution. Adriano was helped to his feet, the Etihad faithful standing and applauding as he limped off the pitch. He nodded to the fans, giving them a thumbs-up, though the pain was evident in his expression.
Before leaving the pitch, Adriano clapped Hazard on the shoulder. "You've got this. Put it away," he urged, his voice resolute. Hazard nodded, determination set in his eyes.
Sinclair came on to replace Adriano, but the focus was entirely on the penalty. Hazard stepped up to the spot, placing the ball carefully and taking a deep breath. Buffon stood tall, stretching his arms, eyes locked onto Hazard with a glare that spoke of decades of experience.
Martin Tyler: "It's Hazard versus Buffon. A chance to pull City level at the death. Can he hold his nerve?"
Alan Smith: "Buffon's saved so many of these in his career, Martin. This won't be easy."
Hazard began his run-up, stutter-stepping to throw Buffon off, before striking the ball low and hard to the left. Buffon, age-defying and agile, flung himself to his right, fingertips brushing the ball just enough to send it skimming past the post. Gasps erupted from the crowd, followed by a collective groan of disbelief. Buffon rose to his feet, pounding his chest as his teammates rushed over to congratulate him.
Martin Tyler: "Buffon saves it! That's a world-class stop! How many times has he done that in his career, Alan?"
Alan Smith: "Too many to count, Martin! That's the experience of a legend right there. Absolutely incredible."
Hazard stood frozen for a moment, hands on his hips, shaking his head. Yaya Touré jogged over, slapping him on the back. "Keep your head up, mate. We go again," he urged, but the weight of the miss lingered.
Juventus smelled blood. With City still reeling, Pirlo collected the loose ball near the center circle and lifted his head, eyes scanning the field. Pereyra darted down the right flank, his hand raised. Pirlo's pass was a masterpiece—arched perfectly over Kolarov's head, dropping with precision onto Pereyra's stride.
Martin Tyler: "Look at that pass from Pirlo! Pinpoint accuracy... Pereyra's through here!"
Alan Smith: "Hummels is struggling to get back... it's one-on-one!"
Hummels gave chase, legs heavy with fatigue, but Pereyra was fresh, sprinting clear. One-on-one with Hart, the Argentine kept his composure, hammering the ball low and hard into the bottom corner. The net rippled, and the away section exploded with euphoria. Pereyra slid on his knees towards the corner flag, fists clenched as his teammates mobbed him.
GOAL ANNOUNCER:GOOOOOAAALLLL! JUVENTUS DOUBLE THEIR LEAD! PEREYRA MAKES IT TWO!
The City fans slumped back into their seats, the reality setting in. Two goals down at home with only seconds remaining—it was a mountain to climb heading to Turin. Pellegrini stood at the touchline, hands on his hips, his expression a mix of disbelief and frustration.
Kolarov shook his head, muttering under his breath, "We fell asleep. That's on us." Hummels approached Hart, offering a hand. "Next one's ours," he said firmly, but his eyes betrayed the doubt creeping in.
As the final whistle blew, Juventus' players celebrated as if they'd already qualified. Allegri embraced his staff, nodding in satisfaction. City's players trudged off slowly, heads low, disbelief etched on their faces. Pellegrini clasped his hands together, his mind already racing towards the second leg in Turin.
But the biggest concern lingered on Adriano. He sat on the bench, ice strapped to his ankle, his face set in grim determination. Juventus had struck a heavy blow, and City would need more than just belief to turn it around in Italy. They would need a miracle.
The Etihad, once roaring with confidence, now echoed with silence and concern.
****
The corridors of the Etihad buzzed with tension as journalists gathered for the post-match press conference. Cameras flashed, microphones were tested, and the low hum of anticipation filled the room. Manuel Pellegrini walked in with a measured stride, his expression guarded but composed. He settled into his seat, nodding politely at the assembled media before leaning into the microphone.
"Tough result tonight, Manuel," began James Ducker from The Telegraph. "How much of a blow is this going into the second leg?"
Pellegrini straightened up, hands folded in front of him. "It's always disappointing to lose at home, especially in the Champions League," he replied calmly.
"Juventus are a very experienced team. They defended well, took their chances, and made it difficult for us. But the tie is not over. We believe we can still go to Turin and get the result we need."
A hand shot up from the back. It was Simon Mullock from the Mirror. "What's the update on Adriano? He looked in considerable pain after that challenge from Bonucci."
Pellegrini's eyes flickered for a moment before he responded. "Adriano has gone for a scan. From what we understand, it's not as serious as it looked. He took a heavy knock, but the early signs are positive.
We are hopeful he'll be available for the second leg in a couple weeks." His words were measured, designed to temper concern but not give away too much.
" Do you believe Allegri and Juventus found a way to stop Man City's strategy that has been successful lately? " Another reporter from an Italian mdeia asked.
Pellegrini kept his composure, " We are missing some key players due to injury and have new players adjusting to the squad. It takes time. We have some amazing players, so we have been able to cover that.
But Football is always changing, and our high pressing tactics failed against Juventus because they defended only for the most of match and waited until we tire out to actually attack.
That means they are afraid of us at our best, as they should be. And we'll show why in the second leg."
The questions continued—why City struggled to break down Juventus' back line, what adjustments were needed, and how the team would prepare for the return fixture. Pellegrini handled each question with the same composed demeanor, refusing to show signs of panic.
Meanwhile, in the medical room, Adriano lay back on the examination table, his ankle elevated and wrapped tightly. The physio team surrounded him, discussing the scans as they flicked through images on the screen.
Dr. Michael Stevens, City's head physio, leaned over with a reassuring smile. "Good news, Adriano," he said, patting Adriano on the shoulder.
"There's no fracture, just some heavy bruising and a bit of ligament strain. You're going to be sore, but with proper rest, you should be good to go for the second leg in a couple weeks."
Adriano let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "So... I'm good?" he asked, his eyes brightening.
"You're good," Dr. Stevens confirmed. "But—and this is important—you need to rest a week or more . No training, just light recovery work. We want you sharp for Turin."
Adriano sat up, wincing slightly as he moved his leg. "I can do that," he said confidently. His mind was already back on the pitch, already picturing the roar of the Italian crowd and the chance for redemption.
"Listen to the doc, mate," Kolarov chimed in from the doorway, a grin on his face. "We're gonna need you fresh. Bonucci won't know what hit him."
Adriano smirked. "He didn't this time either. He had to foul me to stop me."
The room chuckled, tension easing just a little. Pellegrini stepped in a moment later, nodding approvingly at the sight of Adriano sitting upright. "You rest up, son," the manager said firmly. "We're going to need you at your best in Italy."
Adriano nodded, his expression resolute. "I'll be ready."
The atmosphere in the room shifted, the weight of the loss still present, but the fire of determination burning brightly. The challenge in Turin awaited, and Adriano planned to meet it head-on.
In the days that followed, Adriano committed himself to recovery with the same intensity he brought onto the pitch. Light exercises, physiotherapy sessions, and tactical analysis filled his days.
The media buzzed with updates on his progress, speculating whether the Portuguese star would truly be fit for the second leg.
In interviews, Pellegrini remained firm in his optimism. "Adriano is recovering well," he stated confidently. "We expect him back, stronger and ready."
Adriano, meanwhile, kept his head down and his mind sharp. The thought of facing Bonucci and Chiellini again fuelled his determination.
"I'm not missing this," he told Kolarov during a light recovery session. "I owe them one."
Kolarov laughed, stretching his hamstring. "Just make sure you're fit enough to give it back."
The countdown to Turin had begun, and Adriano's fire was only growing stronger.
****
Current Stats of Adriano:
Premier League
Matches: 18
Goals: 24
Assists: 16
Current top scorer of Premier League, and top on Assists list.
*
Champions League
Matches: 7
Goals: 15
Assists: 5
Current top scorer, 2nd in Assists
*
FA Cup
Matches: 1
Goals: 2
Assists: 2