*** As I've said before, I'll upload here only when the previous chapter atleast get a 100 votes. I don't believe it's that bad that it's not worth it 🤷 I'm also busy writing advance chapters for Patreon. Don't blame me if there's no update.
I don't want to say this every chapter. I'll accept it if you feel the story is bad and you'd rather support another story. Even this chapter shouldn't be uploaded as the minimum requirements for votes weren't met, but I just uploaded cz it's not fair for the folks who kept supporting. Now I get why premium stories have locked chapters.
It honestly makes me disappointed to see translations, stolen content, and R-18 stuff at top rankings here , while most original works don't get similar attention or support. Not to mention trolls and some talentless writers target original writers, then rip off their story later on. It wasn't like this before in 2020. Anyway, it is what it is.
Join the discord server below for story updates and information. I won't be here to read comments or respond mostly.
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I'm waiting till I rework my other stories and upload them as well. They were pretty decent I think and deserved better. Or maybe I'll just steal a translation and make money off it. I heard it profits well 🤷 ***
As the players returned from the tunnel, a hum of anticipation rippled through the Emirates. The air wasn't any warmer, but something had clearly shifted. Arsenal's goal just before the break had lit a fire—not just among the players, but in the stands too.
The fans rose to their feet as the whistle blew for the second half, voices raw from the first 45 minutes, but ready to roar again.
Arsenal emerged with intent. They pressed higher up the pitch, their lines more compact, the ball moving faster between feet. The tempo was unmistakably different. Whatever Arsène Wenger had said during the break, it was working. The urgency was visible in every pass, every tackle.
Martin Tyler's voice carried through the stadium feed, layered over the growing buzz. "Arsenal with renewed intent, Alan. You can sense they believe there's something here for them."
Alan Smith, sitting beside him, nodded in agreement. "That goal late in the first half shifted the momentum. City need to be careful—they can't sit too deep now."
On the pitch, Arsenal sought to turn belief into pressure. They pinned Manchester City back with sustained possession, pushing them deeper with every pass.
Sánchez and Walcott were central to it all—Sánchez staying by the left touchline, looking to isolate and beat Zabaleta one-on-one, while Walcott's bursts down the right constantly pulled Kolarov into emergency defending. Their speed and directness forced City's full-backs to hesitate before pushing forward, limiting their influence.
Mesut Ă–zil, operating in the space between City's midfield and defense, became increasingly involved. Drifting laterally, he found the ball in small pockets and looked to thread passes between the lines.
His awareness of positioning unsettled City's midfield—De Bruyne and Casemiro were forced to glance over their shoulders more often, disrupting their rhythm.
City, for their part, didn't panic. They knew the tide had shifted but adjusted with subtle intelligence. Adriano began to drop deeper in search of the ball, forming a temporary overload in midfield.
This allowed City to bypass Arsenal's first line of pressure—at least, that was the idea. Wenger responded by pushing Jack Wilshere further up, assigning him directly to Adriano.
The battle between the two became a focal point. Wilshere, aggressive and combative, didn't give Adriano time to settle. He snapped at his heels, cut off passing lanes, and tried to turn every moment on the ball into a confrontation.
But Adriano's class shone through. In the 52nd minute, under pressure just inside Arsenal's half, he received a fizzed pass from Touré. Wilshere was on him immediately. With a deft flick, Adriano popped the ball over Wilshere's outstretched foot, spun into space with elegance, and accelerated into the attacking third.
The crowd groaned at the audacity, then held their breath.
He lifted his head and launched a diagonal ball to Hazard on the left. The pass was inch-perfect, dropping just over Gibb's head. Hazard took it on his chest in stride, cut inside with his first touch, and drove hard at the retreating defender.
One quick step inside, a shift onto his right foot, and a low curling shot forced Szczęsny into action. The Polish goalkeeper dived low to his right, palming the ball away at full stretch.
"Lovely move," said Martin Tyler. "City are dangerous even without the ball."
Hazard's directness was mirrored by Salah on the opposite flank. Both wingers began making diagonal runs inward, pulling Arsenal's back four out of shape. Mertesacker and Koscielny found themselves being dragged wider than they preferred, trying to track unpredictable movement. Yet Arsenal kept coming.
The response from Wenger came in the 60th minute. He gestured toward the bench, and two substitutions were readied. Tomas Rosický replaced Aaron Ramsey in midfield—an attacking shift clearly aimed at increasing the tempo even further.
Ramsey had covered ground tirelessly but lacked the incisive final ball. RosickĂ˝, always eager to carry the ball and break lines, offered more creative risk.
Alongside him, Kieran Gibbs replaced Nacho Monreal. A change of pace and energy down the left—Nacho had been steady, but Gibbs' pace offered another outlet for overlaps with Sánchez.
The home crowd responded with a rousing cheer, sensing the shift in ambition.
Tyler spoke again. "Wenger making changes here—Rosický and Gibbs on. Fresh legs, and a signal of intent."
Alan Smith leaned forward. "Yeah, RosickĂ˝ especially. He'll drive at them. Arsenal are going for it now."
Moments later, Manuel Pellegrini made a change of his own. Sergio AgĂĽero, who had worked relentlessly for an hour, was withdrawn to polite applause from both sets of fans.
In his place came Harry Kane. At just 21, the England striker was a different kind of weapon. More physical, less mobile than AgĂĽero, but lethal in hold-up play and a threat in the box.
The away fans stood and applauded as Kane trotted on, clapping them back.
Martin Tyler called it. "And here's a change for City—Harry Kane replacing Agüero. Different profile, but one Arsenal's centre-backs won't relish."
Smith added, "Kane will challenge them aerially. He'll drop deep at times too, but not like Adriano. He'll be looking to stretch Arsenal and create space for the wide men."
And with that, the game entered a new phase. Both managers had played their cards, and the chess match on the pitch intensified.
The pace picked up immediately after the substitutions.
With RosickĂ˝ and Nacho bringing renewed energy to Arsenal and Kane adding a physical edge for Manchester City, the contest opened up. The midfield began to stretch, spaces started to appear, and both sides sensed that the next goal would be crucial. The Emirates, already loud, began to swell with tension.
Arsenal pressed forward with intent. Rosický, fresh and full of urgency, darted between the lines, always scanning, always moving. He didn't just offer energy—he brought momentum. Özil now had someone near him who understood his rhythm, someone who could keep the ball moving at pace and support his intricate play.
City, on the other hand, remained dangerous on the break. Hazard and Salah continued to make diagonal runs from out to in, trying to split Arsenal's centre-backs and exploit the space Kane opened by holding the line.
Adriano played deeper now, pulling defenders with him, laying off balls into space and trying to reset City's shape with every touch.
But Arsenal's pressure was building. Their passing, once methodical, now had bite.
RosickĂ˝ drove forward in the 68th minute, exchanging a quick one-two with Wilshere before slipping the ball into Ă–zil, who had found a rare pocket of space just outside the penalty area.
Ă–zil didn't hesitate. With one look up, he slid a perfectly weighted through ball to Giroud, who had finally peeled off Kompany and found a yard of space on the edge of the box. The Frenchman received the ball, turned sharply, and unleashed a low right-footed shot toward the far post.
Joe Hart reacted quickly, diving low to his right. He managed to get both hands on the shot and pushed it wide—an excellent save—but the danger wasn't over. The ball spilled into the box and bounced once.
Alexis Sanchez, charging in from the left, pounced. Without breaking stride, Sanchez struck the ball first-time with his right foot, aiming high.
BANG.
The net bulged.
"GOAL FOR ARSENAL! What a hit from Alexis!" Martin Tyler's voice rang out above the noise.
Alan Smith followed quickly. "That's clinical. Giroud's effort deserved better, but Sanchez—always alert—made sure of it."
The Emirates erupted. Red shirts surged toward the corner flag, where Sanchez had already slid to his knees, arms wide, face alive with fire. Walcott arrived first, leaping onto his back. Rosický wasn't far behind, punching the air. The crowd behind the goal was in chaos—scarves flailed, fists pumped, fans embraced.
Gooooaaalllll! 3–2. Arsenal is back in the game!
The comeback was real. Arsenal had overturned a two-goal deficit and were now just one goal behind. The noise inside the stadium was deafening. For a few moments, all anyone could hear was the roar of belief.
But it wasn't over.
As Arsenal regrouped, City were already trying to settle. Adriano clapped his hands sharply, calling out instructions, trying to drag his team back into focus. He turned to Kane, gestured to Hazard, pointed to the midfield. He wasn't shouting in frustration—he was organizing.
City's backline, however, looked shaken. Hummels barked at Mangala to push higher, but their body language told another story. There was hesitation now—uncertainty. Arsenal smelled it.
Just minutes after Sanchez's strike, Arsenal came again. This time it was RosickĂ˝ leading the charge. Picking the ball up in midfield after a heavy touch from Hummels, he surged forward through the centre. Ă–zil peeled wide, taking Casemiro with him, creating a channel. RosickĂ˝ drove into it and then clipped a delicate lofted ball over the top.
Giroud was underneath it, back to goal, just inside the penalty area. He raised his left foot to bring the ball down.
Then came the hit.
Mangala, arriving a fraction too late, thundered through him. Giroud's body twisted in the air before he hit the ground hard, clutching his ankle.
The whistle went instantly.
"It's a penalty! Mangala too rash there!" Martin Tyler shouted over the replays.
Alan Smith, grimacing as he watched the slow-motion replay, agreed. "No arguments. That was unnecessary. He never looked like getting the ball."
Inside the stadium, Arsenal fans screamed in joy and outrage at the same time. City fans buried their faces in their scarves. Mangala stood with his hands on his head. Kompany ran straight to the referee, but there was no protest—just a look of disbelief.
A yellow card was shown to Mangala, who shook his head as he backed away. Giroud, meanwhile, still on the turf, grimaced in pain. The physio was on the pitch, signalling to the bench.
Wenger didn't wait. Danny Welbeck was already warming up. The substitution was made quickly. Giroud limped off slowly, helped by staff, applauded by the crowd. Welbeck gave him a pat on the back and sprinted onto the pitch.
All eyes turned to the spot.
Alexis Sanchez, already on the scoresheet, stood calmly over the ball. He adjusted his socks, took a few steps back, and waited for the whistle. Joe Hart stood tall, bouncing on his line, trying to read him. The Emirates held its breath.
The whistle blew.
Sanchez took three short steps and struck it low and hard to Hart's left.
Hart dove the other way.
GOAL!
"3-3! Arsenal have come all the way back!" shouted Tyler.
The stadium exploded. Red flares lit up in the North Bank. Sanchez ran toward the fans, roaring, fists clenched. Ă–zil caught up and lifted him into the air. Walcott shouted to the crowd, raising both arms.
The equalizer had capped off a wild turnaround. From 3–0 down to 3–3, Arsenal had clawed their way back into the match with grit, belief, and attacking purpose.
Alan Smith's voice was full of admiration. "You've got to hand it to them. They've shown real character. Wenger's changes worked. Rosický has been brilliant since coming on. City, though… they've got to respond now."
Wenger remained calm on the sideline, arms crossed, but his eyes were sharp. He nodded slightly—a small sign of approval. His players had responded to his message, taken control of the narrative, and brought life back into a match that looked lost.
Back at the centre circle, Adriano clapped and shouted, urging to stay calm and push for attack. The game had swung again. The next 20 minutes were going to be chaos.
The equalizing Arsenal goal had barely settled the crowd when Manuel Pellegrini made his move. He wasn't going to wait for things to unravel. Mangala, already booked and now visibly shaken after conceding the penalty, was called off.
Matija Nastasić came in to replace him, tasked with bringing calm to a defensive line that had just been breached twice in quick succession.
It was a measured substitution—Pellegrini knew Mangala couldn't afford another misstep. One more rash challenge and City would be down to ten.
But that wasn't all. Casemiro, who had laboured through the second half and struggled to cope with the increased pace of Arsenal's passing, was also withdrawn. In his place came David Silva.
The Spaniard's arrival brought a ripple of recognition from the home crowd, who knew what he could do with the ball. This wasn't just a change of personnel—it was a change in philosophy. Pellegrini was swinging the pendulum back toward control and creativity.
On the other side, Arsène Wenger made a substitution of his own. Jack Wilshere, who had spent the last 20 minutes relentlessly chasing Adriano and disrupting City's buildup, was brought off. The home fans gave him a warm round of applause—his contribution had been immense.
In his place came Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain, a more dynamic presence, someone who could carry the ball forward at pace and offer a different kind of threat.
But Wenger's change had an unintended effect.
With Wilshere off, Adriano suddenly had more space to breathe. Chamberlain, still adjusting to the rhythm of the game, wasn't as positionally disciplined. He tried to close down the ball but often arrived a half-second too late.
The hole Wilshere left in midfield became more obvious with every passing minute—and Adriano, alert as ever, noticed.
It didn't take long for him to take advantage.
In the 76th minute, Arsenal lost possession high up the pitch after a quick combination between Sánchez and Rosický broke down. De Bruyne stepped in and nudged the ball forward to Silva, who had already found a pocket of space just inside the Arsenal half. He took a touch, scanned the pitch, and quickly fed the ball out to the right.
There, waiting with anticipation, was Adriano.
Oxlade-Chamberlain was closest and tried to close him down quickly, but the Portueguese maestro wasn't flustered. He waited until Chamberlain overcommitted, then used a drop of the shoulder and a deft feint to send him lunging the wrong way.
In one smooth motion, Adriano rolled the ball through Chamberlain's legs and exploded down the right touchline.
The Emirates collectively gasped.
BellerĂn saw the danger and sprinted across to cut him off near the byline. But Adriano, full of confidence, didn't slow down. He dropped his shoulder again, this time gliding around the outside. BellerĂn couldn't match the balance or footwork. The Brazilian skipped past him, toes dancing along the edge of the pitch, ball barely leaving his feet.
He reached the byline, looked up once, and with the outside of his right foot curled in a cross that was inch-perfect—arching just beyond Koscielny, dipping between Mertesacker and Gibbs.
In the middle, Harry Kane had timed his run to perfection. He pushed off Nacho's shoulder and launched himself into the air with power. His eyes never left the ball.
One solid connection with his forehead sent the ball thundering into the top left corner.
"GOAL! Kane with the finish! And look at that delivery from Adriano!" Martin Tyler's voice cut through the stunned silence of the home fans.
It was a textbook header. Szczęsny had no chance. By the time he launched himself toward it, the ball was already in the back of the net.
City's bench jumped to their feet in celebration. Pellegrini, normally calm, turned and clenched his fists. Adriano jogged toward the corner flag, pointing to the name on the back of his shirt. Kane met him there with a wide grin and a bear hug. Silva arrived next, leaping onto their backs. The City players piled in, a wave of blue and white erupting in the corner.
The scoreboard updated with a cold, brutal simplicity:
ARSENAL 3 – 4 MANCHESTER CITY
The away fans, who had been silenced since Arsenal's comeback, now found their voices. They stood in unison, waving scarves above their heads and chanting with renewed belief.
" Manchester City! King Adriano!"
The noise cut through the Emirates like a blade.
Meanwhile, the home crowd sat stunned. From euphoria to shock in minutes. The comeback had been inspiring, but now it was undone. The mood in the stands dipped sharply—nervous murmurs spread like ripples on a pond.
Wenger, on the touchline, folded his arms and looked toward the ground, processing what had just happened. There was no outburst, no animation—just a quiet shake of the head. He knew the danger of taking Wilshere off, but he had gambled for energy. City had pounced on the gap.
Alan Smith spoke in a lower, reflective tone. "That's the risk you take. Chamberlain gives you legs, but Wilshere was doing such a disciplined job on Adriano. You give a player like that room, and he'll punish you."
Martin Tyler added, "And how about that assist? We talk about Adriano as a goal threat, but that's a winger's delivery—absolutely world-class."
The game resumed, but something had shifted again. Arsenal now had to chase. The match had already gone through waves of control and chaos, but this latest twist brought a familiar weight: urgency. The sense that time was ticking away, and another response was needed.
In the technical area, Wenger spoke quietly to one of his assistants. Pellegrini, meanwhile, gave his players a thumbs-up and called out for shape—"Keep it up boys!" he yelled toward the midfield.
With under fifteen minutes to go, both teams knew what was at stake.
But for now, it was City's turn to breathe. And Arsenal's turn to find their way back—again.
Arsenal weren't done—not by a long shot.
Even at 4–3 down, with their energy drained and momentum disrupted, they pushed forward with everything they had left. The urgency was written all over the players' faces.
Wenger didn't have to shout; his players knew what was required. The crowd had fallen into a tense rhythm—groans at every miss, rising murmurs whenever the ball went forward, and the occasional roar of encouragement. There was still belief. Faint, flickering belief—but belief nonetheless.
In the 83rd minute, the Gunners carved out their first clear chance since falling behind again. It came from a burst of pace down the right. Walcott, who had been quiet for a stretch, suddenly found space after a sharp one-two with RosickĂ˝.
He surged past Kolarov and whipped in a low cross that skidded just behind the City centre-backs. The ball sliced across the six-yard box, too quick for Nastasić to react.
Welbeck, arriving at speed, lunged with his right foot—he got a touch, but not the one he needed. The ball skipped inches wide of the far post.
"Agonising!" Martin Tyler gasped, the tension clear in his voice. "So close from Welbeck. Arsenal knocking again, Alan."
Alan Smith sighed. "He knows that was a chance. Great ball from Walcott. Just needed a cleaner finish."
Welbeck sat up on the turf, staring at the post as if blaming it for moving. The fans behind the goal had already leapt to their feet when the ball left Walcott's boot, only to slump back down in disappointment.
Still, Arsenal kept pushing. Ă–zil began to drift deeper, looking to control the rhythm and find new angles. RosickĂ˝ moved higher up the pitch, constantly darting into half-spaces, dragging defenders with him.
In the 86th minute, it was Özil again—finding a pocket 25 yards out, taking a quick touch to shift the ball to his left before curling a shot towards the top corner.
Joe Hart saw it late but reacted like lightning. He leapt full stretch to his right, fingers just grazing the ball, tipping it around the post.
"What a save!" Martin Tyler shouted, rising with the drama. "That was heading in."
Alan Smith added quickly, "Mesut Özil at his best. Quick feet, perfect curl. But Hart—massive stop. Absolutely massive."
The Emirates roared again. A corner came and went. Then another. City defended deeper now, with Kane dropping back to help clear. Pellegrini barked from the touchline, waving his arms to keep the back line organised.
Then came the moment that killed the game.
With just under a minute of regular time left, City won the ball in midfield. Arsenal had committed numbers forward, and the home side was exposed.
David Silva picked up a loose pass near the halfway line and immediately turned, looking up with intent. His eyes scanned the flanks, and he spotted Hazard in motion.
Hazard had already pulled wide, giving himself a five-yard head start on Arteta who was tired. Silva didn't hesitate. One swift, slicing pass cut through the lines, evading two Arsenal players, curling into the path of the Belgian.
Hazard sprinted, eating up the ground with long strides. Chambers tried to catch up, but he was chasing shadows. As Hazard approached the edge of the box, Szczęsny came rushing out to narrow the angle. It was a gamble.
Hazard could've taken the shot, but instead, with perfect awareness, he clipped the ball across the face of goal toward the far post.
Adriano had ghosted in again.
No one tracked him—not Mertesacker, not Arteta. He had drifted quietly behind the line, unseen. And just as the cross arrived, he timed his jump and met it with a perfect header—leaning back slightly, nodding the ball over the advancing keeper and into the top corner of the net.
Goaallllll! 5-3 for Manchester City.
"GOAL! It's Adriano again! That's the knockout punch!" Martin Tyler's voice was practically roaring now, almost shaking with excitement.
Alan Smith didn't hold back either. "That's another world class display from Adriano—positioning, timing, and execution. Brilliant. Just brilliant."
Adriano jogged straight to the touchline, chest rising and falling but face calm—like a man who had done exactly what he planned to do. As he neared the corner, he raised his right hand to his lips and made the universal gesture—shush.
He held the pose for a few seconds, staring directly at the stunned Arsenal fans.
Then, slowly, he spread both arms wide and raised them to his ears, inviting the noise.
The away section erupted.
"The King is here!" they shouted in unison, voices booming. Some waved scarves. Others pounded the seats. The chant grew louder with each repetition.
His teammates swarmed him—Kane, Hazard, Silva, and even Nastasić joining the pile near the corner flag, bouncing together in a frenzy of light blue. Pellegrini applauded from the technical area, a proud smile breaking across his face.
Back near midfield, the Arsenal players were still frozen in place.
Nacho dropped to one knee. Mertesacker turned and walked slowly back toward his box, hands on his hips. Ă–zil stared at the turf. Wenger remained motionless near the dugout, arms crossed, watching with narrowed eyes. He said nothing. There was nothing to say.
The scoreboard updated once more:
ARSENAL 3 – 5 MANCHESTER CITY
It was cruel. Arsenal had clawed their way back into the match with courage, spirit, and moments of brilliance. But now, the match had slipped beyond their reach.
There were no more comebacks to be had.
Seconds later, the fourth official held up the board: +3 minutes.
They passed without incident.
A final Arsenal push ended with a loose pass from Oxlade-Chamberlain rolling harmlessly out for a goal kick. The City fans whistled and chanted for the full-time whistle. Szczęsny never left his area again.
Then the referee checked his watch—and blew his whistle.
As the final whistle pierced the North London night, there was a brief silence—a pause, as if the Emirates itself was still processing what had just unfolded. Then came the sounds. Some boos from home fans, some applause, and from the away end, a rising, almost deafening chorus of cheers.
Full time: Manchester City 5 – Arsenal 3.
The match was over.
A chaotic, breathless, high-octane contest. A game that tilted back and forth, where momentum felt like a wave crashing unpredictably from one end to the other. Eight goals, countless chances, moments of individual brilliance, mistakes, redemption.
And ultimately—a single figure who tipped the balance.
Adriano.
Martin Tyler's voice came back, now calmer but still carrying the weight of the game's drama.
"Well, what do you even say after that? Eight goals, two comebacks, and a performance that will be talked about for a long time—especially by the man in sky blue. Adriano, decisive once more."
Alan Smith exhaled. You could hear the respect in his voice.
"It was a game Arsenal had a foothold in. At 3–3, they looked the more likely. But City... they found another level. And when you've got a player like Adriano—capable of doing what he did tonight—it changes everything."
The match had unfolded like a story in chapters.
The Arsenal players trudged off the pitch slowly, sweat-soaked and silent. RosickĂ˝ clapped the fans, who offered polite applause in return. It was a show of appreciation, even in defeat. They had been entertained, even if heartbroken.
Wenger shook hands with Pellegrini and gave Adriano a nod as he walked past. It was respectful. Begrudging admiration. He had seen a great performance. He knew it.
Martin Tyler elaborated:
"When Arsenal made it 3–3, you felt the tide was shifting. But credit to Pellegrini. He didn't panic. He made the right changes. Silva gave them control again. Adriano—freed from Wilshere's close marking—was unleashed. And we saw what happened next."
Alan Smith nodded.
"And it wasn't just the goals. Adriano's movement created the gaps. His delivery for Kane's header—inch-perfect. His run for that last goal—untracked, unhurried, clinical. That's top-level football intelligence."
The Emirates, meanwhile, had fallen still.
The home fans weren't turning on their team. There were no mass walkouts, no fury. Just a kind of solemn understanding. They had watched their side give everything. They had mounted a comeback. They had dared. But in football, bravery sometimes isn't enough.
Wenger stood on the edge of the technical area, arms crossed, still watching the City celebrations with an unreadable expression. He'd seen enough of these kinds of nights to know how they go.
Pellegrini, meanwhile, wrapped an arm around Adriano as they reached the sideline. He said something into his ear—Adriano smiled and nodded, then turned to acknowledge the fans once more, raising both arms high.
Arsenal players began to drift toward Wengar one by one—exhausted, shoulders heavy. Some exchanged handshakes with opponents. Özil covered his face with his shirt. Giroud, now on the bench with ice strapped to his ankle, could only sit and watch.
City's bench, by contrast, was jubilant. Pellegrini embraced his staff. The substitutes and unused players poured onto the pitch to greet their teammates. Kane, Silva, Hazard—all grinned broadly. But all eyes returned to Adriano, who had just delivered another performance for the highlight reels.
Martin Tyler's voice returned once more, now laced with reflection.
"We've spoken about this player for a while now. The promise. The potential. But nights like these—that's when it becomes something more. Adriano didn't just influence the match. He owned it. Two goals, one assist, and a show of maturity beyond his years."
Alan Smith was quick to follow up.
"It's a tough one for Arsenal to take. You look back and think—what if Welbeck scores from that Walcott cross? What if Hart doesn't get a hand to Özil's curler? But it also reminds you—at this level, those fine margins are everything. And in those moments, City were just sharper."
The stats told part of the story, but not all of it.
Arsenal had more possession in the second half. More shots overall. More corners. They had pressed well, disrupted City's rhythm for long stretches, and scored three against one of the league's top defenses. But what separated the teams was execution in key moments—and a player who could make something from nothing.
Martin Tyler summed it up with a final thought as the camera panned to the away fans still singing, scarves aloft.
"It's nights like this that define title races. City had to survive a storm—and they did. Arsenal showed their heart, but in the end, they came up against a player in unstoppable form. Adriano... well, he's just written another chapter in what looks like a very special story."
The screen showed the final scoreboard again, one last time:
FULL TIME: ARSENAL 3 – 5 MANCHESTER CITY
The scoreline didn't feel like a true reflection of Arsenal's effort—but it captured the story of City's finishing. Of their control in the decisive moments. And of one player's stamp on the match.
The fans filed out slowly. Some City supporters lingered to chant long after the players had disappeared down the tunnel. For Arsenal, the dressing room would be quiet. Introspective. For City—celebratory, but perhaps also relieved.
Because Arsenal had pushed them. But Adriano had pushed back harder.
Martin Tyler let the moment breathe before offering his final thoughts.
"Adriano, the architect of destruction once again. What a performance. Two goals, one assist, and countless headaches for Arsenal."
Alan Smith gave a slow, thoughtful nod. "Arsenal were brave. No one can question their heart. But in the end, brilliance wins matches. And tonight—that brilliance wore sky blue."
The cameras panned over the away end, still bouncing, still chanting.
The final image lingered: Adriano, surrounded by teammates, clapping the fans, with the scoreboard glowing behind him like a headline.
 ARSENAL 3-5 MANCHESTER CITY
It would be remembered. So would the silence, the shush, and the king who made the Emirates his throne.