*** He's here, he's there
He's every fuckin where
Roy Kent!!!!
Watched so Ted lasso for ideas and motivation. Gonna have to co up with so chants for Adriano when the season starts lol. Have any ideas?
Next chapter will drop after another 100 stones, Bonus if we reach more than 600 stones.
600 stones= equal daily update, 7 chapters a week. Bonus chapters for every 100 stones after 700 stones.
***
The sun was just beginning to stretch its fingers across the sky when Adriano and Kate stepped out of their Manchester ho. The air was crisp, laced with the scent of dew and the faint promise of a warm day ahead.
Both held steaming mugs of coffee—hers with oat milk and cinnamon, his black, strong. Their bags were already in the trunk of the sleek charcoal-grey Range Rover parked in the driveway.
They weren't in a rush. There was no dia, no entourage, no assistant calling out the schedule. Just them. The plan was simple: drive down to Guildford themselves. No flights. No drivers. No noise. Just a quiet road trip.
Adriano slid into the driver's seat, adjusting the mirror. "You ready, co-pilot?"
Kate smirked as she buckled up. "Always. And I've got the tunes."
The mont they pulled out of the driveway and hit the open road, she tapped her phone and a playlist sprang to life—classic rock to start with, a bit of Queen and Fleetwood Mac, before slipping into so upbeat tracks from Linkin Park and Breaking Benjamin, and so punk rock- courtesy of Adriano, and the occasional guilty-pleasure pop song they'd both pretend to hate but secretly enjoy. (Really miss those days sigh)
As the Range Rover cruised along the M6, the city gave way to rolling countryside. Fields of green stretched for miles, frad by dry-stone walls and patches of morning fog that clung low over the hedgerows. The light was soft, golden, still waking up with the land.
Adriano leaned back, one hand on the wheel, sunglasses on, his hoodie pulled up just enough to shield his face. He bobbed his head to the rhythm, occasionally drumming his fingers on the wheel.
Kate turned her head, watching the landscape pass by. "This feels like a cheat day for life," she said.
Adriano grinned. "No caras, no crowds. Just us and your questionable taste in music."
"Excuse you. This is curated brilliance," she said, skipping to an early 2000s pop hit that made him groan.
Half an hour later, as they passed a wide-open field dusted with wildflowers and touched by golden morning light, Kate suddenly pointed. "Pull over! Right there. Look at that light."
He glanced at her. "You want a picture?"
"No. I want ten pictures."
He pulled off onto a small dirt shoulder. Kate was already out of the car, phone in hand, eyes scanning the horizon like she was scouting a fashion shoot. Adriano walked over behind her, sipping his coffee.
"Stand over there," she said, motioning toward the field.
"What, like this?" he asked, striking a dramatic pose.
"No, less magazine cover, more 'casually cool athlete admiring nature.'"
He rolled his eyes but obeyed. She snapped a few shots—so candid, so obviously not.
Then he grabbed the phone. "Alright, my turn. Go stand in the grass."
Kate smirked and stepped into the field, the wind tugging at her hair.
"Okay, now smile," Adriano called.
"Okay, Tyra Banks," she shot back. "You want to smize or give you 'model off-duty'?"
"Smize," he said seriously, then added, "but make it poetic."
They both cracked up laughing. After a few more snaps and so playful bickering about angles, they got back in the car and continued on.
Around mid-morning, they stopped at a small roadside café—nothing fancy, just a cozy spot with a few wooden tables outside, pots of flowers on the sills, and the sll of fresh pastries floating through the open door.
Inside, an older couple stood behind the counter, surprised to see custors this early. The woman had silver hair tied in a bun and wore a bright blue cardigan. The man wore a checkered apron and held a tray of warm scones.
"Well now, aren't you two up early," the woman said with a warm smile.
"Morning drive," Kate said, returning the smile. "And we couldn't resist the sll."
Adriano nodded. "We'll take two teas and… what do you recomnd?"
"Scones just ca out of the oven," the man offered. "And we've got these honey cakes she made yesterday." He nodded toward his wife.
"Both," Adriano said without hesitation. "This feels like a two-cake morning."
They sat at a corner table outside, the sound of birds and the distant hum of passing cars providing a peaceful backdrop. The couple joined them briefly, curious but respectful.
"I hope you don't mind saying," the woman said after a mont, peering at Adriano. "You look an awful lot like that Portuguese footballer my grandson's obsessed with."
Kate grinned. "He gets that a lot."
Adriano chuckled. "Does your grandson play FIFA?"
"Plays it like it's his job," she said proudly. "Always picks Malaga now, saying he will win once they add Adriano in the new roster."
"Well," Adriano said, taking a napkin and pen from the counter. "Smart kid."
He signed his na on the napkin with a small ssage: *To the future champ. Always believe in yourself and Keep scoring.*
The woman bead. "He's going to fra this. You've made his year."
Adriano nodded, finishing the last bite of his scone. "Tell him to keep practicing. Maybe I'll see him on the pitch one day."
They waved goodbye, got back in the car, and pulled onto the road again. No rush. No pressure. Just the simple joy of a quiet morning drive and a few unexpected mories made along the way.
When they finally reached the nondescript FIFA studio on the outskirts of Guildford, it was just after noon.
A clean, modern facility tucked between office parks and quiet trees, it had the sterile look of a research lab—but inside, the walls were adorned with iconic FIFA covers and signed jerseys from legends.
As soon as they stepped in, the receptionist's eyes lit up. She was a young Portuguese woman, maybe in her twenties, and her smile exploded when she saw Adriano.
"u Deus... é você smo," she said, stepping around the desk. "Adriano Riveiro? My family watches every match. Can I take a photo? My father will never believe this."
"Of course," Adriano said, slipping off his sunglasses.
After the photo, she bounced on her feet and promised to alert the shoot director imdiately. As she dashed off, Kate turned to Adriano, poked him in the ribs, and squinted.
"These are the monts that remind I'm dating an actual star athlete," she said.
Adriano raised both hands and spoke in mock seriousness, "Hey, hate the ga, don't hate the playa."
Kate rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder lightly. "You're so dumb."
Monts later, a man in his forties arrived, thin, bald, wearing a sharp turtleneck and a wireless headset. He had the calm, efficient energy of soone used to dealing with temperantal talent.
His na was Marcus, director of the FIFA promotional team.
"Adriano, welco, man," Marcus said, shaking his hand firmly. "And miss Kate—pleasure. We're all big fans of Adriano here. He might just be the poster boy for next generation."
After a bit of small talk, Marcus walked them through the day's plan. "Alright, we'll start with the action sequence. You'll recreate that insane goal in world cup—you know the one—rainbow flick, dribbling past defender and goalkeeper, the back heel finish staredown. We'll capture it from multiple angles."
Adriano nodded, already visualizing it.
"After the goal, the cara will turn to you" Marcus continued, "you'll strike a pose—hands on hips, relaxed but commanding. That's the hero shot we'll transition into the FIFA 15 title screen."
Kate looked impressed. "That actually sounds really cool."
Adriano smirked and tilted his head toward her. "Look who you're dating, babe."
She just shook her head, smiling.
They stepped into a massive green-screen room rigged with over a dozen motion-capture caras. A full-size miniature pitch had been built with turf and a small goalpost. The ball had tracking markers all over it, and Adriano was dressed in a neutral black kit with motion sensors strapped to his joints.
"Alright, you ready?" called the choreographer. "We'll do a dry run, then go live."
Adriano bounced the ball twice on his foot, then flicked it up and over an invisible defender. As it ca down, he pivoted, tid the dribble and turn, then back heeled in into the post.
"That's the one," said Marcus. "Let's do it again, slower for close angles."
After three takes—each cleaner than the last—they moved to the pose shot. A wind machine fired up lightly, giving Adriano's shirt and hair just enough motion to look cinematic. He stood with his hips squared, arms relaxed, chin tilted slightly—commanding, calm, the face of a new era.
Then ca the logo sequence. The cara zood in slowly, dramatic lighting falling across his face, before the image digitally transitioned into the FIFA 15 title screen mockup with his na embossed under the logo.
"Beautiful," said Marcus. "Got it in four takes. You're a natural."
"Better than my acting debut in that shampoo ad," Adriano quipped. (I'll add that in the rewrite lol)
Kate snorted. "You blinked at the cara like it was a sniper rifle pointing at you."
***
They shifted into a smaller studio tucked behind the main set—a controlled environnt styled to resemble a cozy football lounge.
A deep leather couch faced the caras, warm ambient lights casting a soft glow across the FIFA 15 banners hung on the back wall. Frad posters of past legends flanked the set—Zidane, Ronaldo, Ronaldinho, Henry, ssi, Ronaldo—watching from the sidelines.
Adriano sat down, resting his elbows on his knees as the crew made final adjustnts to mics and lighting. Kate stood behind the monitors in record room with a coffee in hand, quietly watching, headphones around her neck.
A caraman raised three fingers and counted down. "Three... two... one..."
The red light clicked on.
The smaller studio had settled into a quiet hum—caras rolling, lights soft and even, muffling the world outside. Adriano leaned into the plush couch, one foot resting casually over the other knee. Across from him, the interviewer scrolled through notes on a tablet while the screen behind them flickered with animated silhouettes.
"Alright, Adriano," the interviewer said, settling in with a smile. "Ti to put your football IQ to the test. Let's see how well you can guess your teammates' FIFA 15 ratings."
Adriano gave a half-smirk. "If I get any wrong, they'll never let live it down."
The screen lit up with a blurred figure and the faint outline of ginger hair.
"First one—Kevin De Bruyne. Take a shot."
Adriano squinted theatrically. "Vision? Off the charts. Passing's illegal at this point. I'll say... 86."
The card revealed itself with a soft chi: 85
He gave a slow nod. "Alright, fair. Still, he nutgged three defenders in a single drill yesterday. Should've added a bonus point for that."
The interviewer chuckled. "EA might've missed that one."
The silhouette changed—shorter fra, unmistakable low center of gravity.
"Next: Eden Hazard."
Adriano didn't blink. "Eighty-eight. No hesitation."
The card lit up. 88
He tapped the armrest lightly. "One of the slipperiest guys I've played against. Like trying to catch smoke."
"Alright," the interviewer continued, " Harry Kane, the British wonder boy your team just signed."
Adriano leaned back, considering. "Okay... big potential, but right now? Maybe... 81?"
The card revealed itself: 78
Adriano stared at it, then laughed. "Soone at EA must've been asleep. Man just dropped a hat-trick last week in training, and they gave him 78?"
The interviewer grinned. "He's probably sending angry emails as we speak."
A taller silhouette faded in, broad shoulders and cropped hair.
What about your other midfield partner, David Silva?
Adriano rubbed his hands. "Now you're talking artistry. Magic in tight spaces. I'm saying... 89."
The screen blinked: 88
He raised an eyebrow. "Eh. I'll allow it. But if anyone deserved 90 or so, it is Silva."
Next ca a lean, upright figure—rigid stance, commanding posture.
"Mats Humls."
Adriano narrowed his eyes. "Germany's wall. Great reader of the ga. Not the fastest, but solid. I'll go with 86."
The card lit up: 86
He pointed at the screen. "Finally got one bang on. Knew it."
The silhouette shifted—larger now, powerful fra, arms often crossed like a general at the back.
"Vincent Kompany."
Adriano exhaled slowly. "Captain Fantastic. Leadership, timing, physicality. I'm saying 87. Maybe 88."
The card revealed itself: 86
Adriano shook his head. "Too low. I'd bump that up. He holds this whole line together."
The final figure lood taller, broader—gloved hands, unmistakable stance.
"Joe Hart."
Adriano paused. "Great reflexes. Strong command of the box. In fifa 2015... 84?"
the lit up: 83
"Close," the interviewer said.
"Needs an extra point just for how loud he gets during set pieces," Adriano added, grinning.
Kate was quietly laughing behind the set. She mouthed "nerd" with a teasing smile.
Adriano shrugged in mock defiance. "What can I say? I do my howork."
"Alright," the interviewer said, tapping his tablet again. "We've ward up. Now it's ti for your teammates to return the favor. Before we reveal your rating, they've sent in so guesses of their own."
Adriano leaned forward slightly. "Oh boy."
The lights dimd slightly, and the main screen faded to black for a mont before a video cue rolled in. The FIFA crew had clearly gone all-in on production—cinematic music, stylish transitions, and playful slow-motion clips of Adriano in training, juggling the ball, or celebrating goals.
Then the screen cut to a handheld-style recording. The first face to appear was Eden Hazard, grinning as he stood outside the City training ground in his full kit.
"If he's below 85," Hazard said, pointing directly at the cara, "I riot. I'm serious. I'll march to EA headquarters with a banner and everything."
Laughter broke out in the studio. Adriano chuckled, shaking his head. "That man loves drama."
Next clip—Sergio Agüero, sitting casually on a bench, tossing a football between his hands.
"Let's see..." Agüero smirked. "He's still new to the league, but co on—he's a baller. I say... 87. Icon potential. Though Give him two seasons, and he's a 90 easy."
Adriano raised a brow at that. "Alright, I'll take that from Kun."
David Silva appeared next, arms folded, with that deadpan look he wore like armor.
"I say 88. But if they give him the long shot stat he deserves, maybe even 90. Have you seen his goals in training?"
Adriano gave a slow nod. "That's my guy. David gets it."
The screen then flipped to De Bruyne, sitting in a locker room, elbows on his knees.
"I'll say 88. But his dribbling should be like... 92. He does things with the ball that physics can't explain."
From behind the cara, soone shouted, "You an like you?"
De Bruyne laughed. "Hey, I don't flip the ball over defenders' heads and volley it into the top corner. That's his move."
Kate let out a soft laugh from the side.
The final guess ca from Vincent Kompany, arms crossed, looking like a father about to scold a kid.
"I'll go with 89. Great feet, great instincts... but let's see if EA respects the defense. They never rate the young guys properly. Should be higher."
The video faded to black again, and the interviewer leaned forward.
"You heard it—your teammates believe in you. But now, the mont of truth. Let's see what FIFA says." The interviewer chuckled. "Alright, now for the biggest one—your personal rating."
Adriano straightened up slightly.
The screen faded in with a burst of color and the card appeared:
Adriano Riveiro – FIFA 15
Overall: 83
Pace: 85
Dribbling: 80
Shooting: 85
Passing: 83
Defending: 48
Physical: 74
Adriano blinked at it ith surprise. Then smirked. "Oh Okay. Not half bad I guess. But 48 defending? That low? I expected overall tobe more than 85 to be honest."
The interviewer smiled. "You're not exactly known for your tracking runs."
"Fair," Adriano admitted. "But I've made at least one tackle this season. That should've counted for sothing."
The host held up a hand, suppressing laughter. "Hold on—don't get too comfortable. Actually… that was your legacy card we used in the FIFA 14 add-on pack. A little warm-up tease." The interviewer leaned forward theatrically.
Adriano turned toward him, confused. "Wait, what?"
Kate laughed in the recording room, " Oh, loved that bewildered look on him, send copy of that will you?" The Recording guy chuckled and nodded.
"Now, Here's your real FIFA 15 card—current, updated, and official." He paused for a mont to be dramatic.
The interviewer waved toward the screen again. "Let's show the real one guys."
The screen changed again. This ti, with a dramatic music , the gold trim around the card was more pronounced and dazzling. A higher-rated glow effect swept across the top as the numbers loaded:
Adriano Riveiro – FIFA 15
Overall: 94
Pace: 93
Dribbling: 95
Shooting: 92
Passing: 91
Defending: 61
Physical: 84
Stamina 88
Player Insight : One of the World's Best.
The studio went quiet for a second as Adriano stared at the numbers. Then he laughed, slowly, genuinely, in disbelief.
"Yo… ninety-four?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm framing that. That's going on my wall."
The interviewer laughed. "That's the highest-rated debut card ever in the FIFA series. You just made history, man."
After the cara stopped rolling, Kate walked over and leaned on the back of his seat, peering over his shoulder at the card. "Ninety-five dribbling. That explains why you dance past in the kitchen when I ask you to do dishes."
"I'm just trying to break your press," Adriano replied, still grinning.
The interviewer gestured at the screen. "Look at these numbers. That's not just elite. That's generational. You're our poster boy now."
Adriano leaned forward slightly, soaking in the card again. "Honestly? This is surreal. I grew up playing FIFA. Now I'm in it, with a 94. Feels like I hacked the simulation."
"Maybe you did," the interviewer said. "But we're not done yet. EA has a surprise waiting for you at the end of this campaign shoot. Consider this the teaser."
Adriano looked toward Kate, who raised a curious brow.
"What kind of surprise?" he asked.
The interviewer smiled and stood. "Let's just say... you'll want to wear your best boots tomorrow."
Adriano exchanged a glance with Kate. Whatever ca next, he was ready. But for now, he had a golden card, an unbelievable rating, and a place at the very top of the football world.
And the season hadn't even started yet.
After checking into their hotel near central London, Adriano and Kate freshened up and headed out for a few hours of sightseeing. The streets were crowded, the air busy with the usual city rhythm—tourists snapping photos, buses rumbling by, locals weaving through with purpose. But the energy was good, and they blended in well. Sunglasses on, hoodie up, head down—it wasn't exactly a disguise, but it worked well enough. Kate had tied a scarf around her hair and wore a low cap.
They started with the Tower of London, walking along the old stone walls as a guide gave a quiet lecture to a nearby group. Adriano glanced up at the sky, light fading into evening, and felt the weight of history in the air.
Next, they passed by Big Ben, the massive clocktower gleaming in the fading light. He pulled Kate closer for a quick photo. Then they took a slow drive past Buckingham Palace, windows up, staying just long enough to appreciate the grandeur.
A couple of sharp-eyed football fans across the street squinted in their direction. One whispered sothing to his friend and pointed. Adriano noticed, gave a small nod and a quick wave, then turned away before it turned into sothing bigger.
"I think they almost had you," Kate said as they reached the car.
"Almost," Adriano replied. "We'll call that a draw."
As they approached the lot where the car was parked, he spotted a small grassy field beside it. A group of kids—maybe ten or eleven years old—were playing a chaotic ga of football. No real formation, just energy and laughter.
A grin slowly ford on Adriano's face. He nodded toward the field. "Wait for in the car, babe. I'm gonna go give those kids a little surprise."
Kate gave him a look. "I'm not going anywhere. Especially if you're about to pull so nonsense. I'm recording this."
He chuckled and turned toward the kids. Most were in worn-out boots and oversized shirts, chasing the ball like their lives depended on it.
"Hey, kids," Adriano called out as he walked toward them. "Got room for one more?"
One of the older boys stopped dribbling and looked him over skeptically. Adriano still had his hood up and his face half-covered by a mask.
"You look kinda shady," the boy said bluntly. "My mum told not to talk to strangers."
Kate, now a few steps behind with her phone out, burst into laughter. "They're not wrong, honey. You do look shady."
Adriano shrugged. "Fair enough. How about this? One versus all of you. If I don't score, I take off the mask. Sound fair?"
Another kid stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Make it twenty pounds and we're in."
Adriano laughed. "Deal. But if I do score, you all switch to supporting Manchester City. No argunts."
A smaller kid near the back crossed his arms. "No way. Gunners for life."
"Spoken like a true Londoner," Adriano replied, grinning. "Let's do this."
The kids quickly spread out, giggling and bumping into each other while Kate set up a good angle on her phone.
"Don't lose to a bunch of school kids," she called out. "I'll never let you live it down."
Adriano nodded and stepped up to the ball. At the signal from one of the boys, he took off.
Two rushed him imdiately. He stepped through them with a smooth drag-back and spin, barely losing montum. Another pair tried to close him down, but he flicked the ball up and hit a rainbow over both, jogging forward with a smirk.
A third ca flying in for a tackle. Adriano slowed, feinted left, then cut right with a sharp sidestep. The kid went down, laughing at his own failed challenge.
One boy stood his ground in front of the goal. He wasn't big, but he watched Adriano's feet carefully.
"You're pretty good," he said.
"You too," Adriano replied. "Almost had ."
Then, with one slick Cruyff turn, he slipped past him. Two slide tackles ca in from behind—Adriano casually hopped over both, steadying the ball with a soft touch.
Now it was just him and the keeper. The boy in goal looked nervous.
"You a pro or sothing?" he asked.
Adriano gave a quick fake shot. The kid dove left. Adriano gently tapped the ball right and stepped past the line.
"You could say that," he replied.
The kids groaned and cheered all at once. One of them, shorter than the rest but sharp-eyed, ran straight at him.
"Wait—are you Adriano?" the kid said breathlessly. "No one else moves like that! I've seen all his gas. Every step-over. Every flick. You're him, aren't you?"
Adriano smiled. "You've got a good taste buddy. What's your na?"
"Jude, Jude Bellingham" the boy said, beaming.
Adriano paid close attention to the kid and was surprised to find one of the future stars of Midfield here of all places. He smiled under his mask.
He ruffled Jude's hair. "Well, Jude, you've got the instincts. Ever thought about playing for real?"
"All the ti," Jude replied, eyes wide.
Adriano took out a card from his wallet and handed it over. "That's for our academy up in Manchester. If you're serious, give it a shot. You've got sothing, I can feel it." He turned to the other kids, " Keep playing like that, you guys will be Pro's in no ti."
Jude clutched the card like it was gold.
As Adriano pulled off his mask, the rest of the kids gasped. One of them shouted, "It is him!" and suddenly he was surrounded—questions, hugs, laughter. A few parents near the field had their phones out, smiling as they recorded from a distance.
Adriano stayed with them for a few more minutes, giving small tips, posing for a couple photos, signing the back of soone's schoolbag.
Then he and Kate waved goodbye, walking back to the car hand in hand.
Back at the hotel later that evening, they sat on the balcony with a cup of tea each, the city lights flickering below.
Kate leaned her head on his shoulder. "That was nice."
He nodded. "It was."
No stadiums. No press. Just a bit of football in the grass and a reminder of what it was all about.
***
The next morning, Adriano and Kate arrived back at the FIFA studio in Guildford after a quiet night at a countryside hotel just outside the town. EA had asked them to return for a "special surprise," and while Kate was intrigued, Adriano remained cautious.
Surprises in football could an anything—from a PR stunt to a dia ambush. But this was EA. It probably wasn't a trap.
Still, as they pulled up to the studio gates again, he turned to her with a mock-serious tone.
"If they throw in a motion-capture suit and make dance for FUT celebrations, we leave."
Kate smirked. "If they make you dance, I'm filming it."
Inside, the receptionist from the day before greeted them warmly, and this ti with a curious smile like she knew sothing they didn't. She handed them visitor badges and led them past the familiar hallways toward a restricted area they hadn't seen yesterday.
"Upstairs," she said, holding the elevator for them. "Second floor. They're waiting."
As the doors opened, Adriano stepped out into a space that felt more like a polished tech lab than a studio—sleek LED lights, digital panels everywhere, large touchscreens showing live data, facial mapping renders, animations in progress.
The FIFA project director from the shoot was waiting inside with two others—an older man in a sharp navy suit and a younger developer wearing a FIFA-branded hoodie.
"Adriano," the director greeted with a handshake. "And miss Kate. Thanks for coming back. We wanted to show you sothing before it becos public."
He gestured toward a long touchscreen panel, where the developer tapped a few buttons.
The screen changed to a massive banner:
"FIFA 15 ICONS: INTRODUCING THE FUTURE ICON SERIES"
Below it, several large digital cards slowly rotated. Pele, Maradona, Cruyff, Gulit, Ronaldo Nazário, Ronaldinho, Zinedine Zidane, ssi , Ronaldo, And then—
Adriano Riveiro – Future Icon – Overall: 96
Adriano blinked. Kate leaned closer.
"Wait, is this…"
The man in the suit stepped forward. "We're launching a new initiative. For the first ti, FIFA will include active players in our special Icon pathway—those we believe are the next legends of the ga.
You, Ronaldo, ssi are the first of few we have chosen. We'll confirm more later, so stats might change later on as they are updatable."
Adriano stepped closer to the screen, examining the card. The stats were juiced. It looked unreal.
Pace: 96
Dribbling: 97
Shooting: 94
Passing: 92
Defending: 70
Physical: 87
He whistled low. "This doesn't even feel legal."
The developer grinned. "It might not be. But you earned it. The hat-trick on international debut, your unbelievable performance in world cup, the Etihad presentation, the preseason brilliance—we're not just betting on hype. At just 18 , You've shifted the ga already."
The director added, "We'll be making the announcent next week, but you'll get a special live reveal on FUT Launch Day. EA Sports wants you in our global marketing campaign. Interviews, billboards, promotional trailers. Think of it like the cover boy, without the cover."
Adriano looked toward Kate, who was now fully smiling.
"You're going to be on bus stops," she said. "On the side of buildings."
"I'm going to be a nu screen."
"And when I play FUT," she teased, "I'm subbing you off every match for stamina."
He turned back to the team, still absorbing the mont. "This is... a lot. But I'm honored. Honestly."
"We'll send you everything digitally," the director said, handing him a sleek USB stick. "Including early access, the reveal footage, and a few surprises for your Instagram. We'd love for you to post sothing when the campaign goes live. We have already discussed the financial matters and other details with your agent. He will re confirm with you after this."
Adriano pocketed it and gave one final nod. "You got it."
They chatted a few more minutes, shook hands, and soon left the building with smiles still lingering. The sky outside had turned soft grey, typical of the English south, and they strolled slowly back to the car, taking their ti.
As they settled in and started the three-hour drive north to Manchester, Kate took off her shoes and tucked her feet up onto the seat.
"So," she said, "FIFA Icon. nu screen. Promotional trailers. Feeling famous yet?"
Adriano turned the key in the ignition, the engine humming to life. "Famous is when your grandma brags to her neighbors about your passing rating."
Kate snorted.
He glanced over, grin playing on his lips. "But yeah. It's starting to feel real."
They stopped halfway through the drive to grab a bite in a small village pub—nothing fancy, just good chips and steak pies—and then got back on the road. The mood in the car was quiet now, the good kind of quiet. No pressure, no obligations. Just the calm after a whirlwind.
The sun was dipping behind the clouds as they entered Greater Manchester, lights beginning to flicker on in the distance. Adriano reached out and squeezed Kate's hand gently on the gearstick.
"Back ho," he sighed dramatically.
"Back to work," she replied, squeezing back.
He gave a slow nod, eyes forward on the road. The FIFA surprise had been bigger than he imagined. But this was only the start. The season was calling.
And he was ready.
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