From Reject to Legend

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***

Three Days Before the Champion's League Quarter-Final – Barcelona vs Manchester City

The heartbeat of Barcelona pulsed louder with each passing hour. It wasn't just another Champions League night approaching—it was something weightier. A test of identities. Legacy vs Uprising. As kickoff loomed, the city felt alive in a different rhythm, one shaped by the tension of legacy meeting ambition.

Las Ramblas was a blur of color and language. City fans had begun arriving in waves, gathering in small clusters with sky blue shirts and travel scarves wrapped tight against the spring breeze. Some walked with quiet confidence, clicking photos beside fountains and street performers.

Others spoke in hushed tones, trying to suppress the anxiety of what lay ahead. You could overhear it in the cafés: "If we keep it tight…" "If Adriano gets space…" "If Messi's quiet…"

Locals watched them with amusement. Many Catalan supporters still remembered the last time an English club came here brimming with confidence—and left humbled.

In souvenir shops, Messi's No.10 shirts dominated the walls, as always. But tucked between them, a different shirt had emerged: the sky blue of Adriano's number 10 jersey, complete with the golden crown insignia. Shopkeepers had noticed the shift. They weren't just selling shirts—they were selling a rivalry being born in real time.

"It's strange," one café owner said, setting down cortados for two tourists. "He's not even one of ours. But there's something about him. It's like he belongs on this stage."

At the foot of the Camp Nou, a group of teenagers debated animatedly near the club store entrance. One wore a retro Ronaldinho shirt, another had this season's Suarez kit.

"Adriano's fast, but Piqué and Mascherano can handle him," one insisted in Spanish.

"Piqué's too slow, and Mascherano might not play due to injury." another replied. "If Adriano gets past the midfield line, he's gone."

Meanwhile, across the channel in England, the mood was restless. Manchester buzzed with anticipation that carried through offices, pubs, and radio shows. City had just demolished Liverpool 4–0. They were coasting toward the Premier League title with an 11-point lead. But as fans were quick to admit, Barcelona was something else.

"It's the real benchmark," said one caller on BBC Radio Manchester. "We've got the team now—Hazard, Kane, De Bruyne, Silva, Adriano, Hummels. But Camp Nou's a different place. "

TalkSport had back-to-back call-ins from supporters who couldn't agree.

Caller one: "We're better than them on paper. Messi's not invincible anymore."

Caller two: "It's not about paper. It's about the occasion. Barcelona live for this. We haven't done it yet—not really."

Social media was flooded with speculation and graphics: Adriano vs Messi, Casemiro vs Busquets, Guardiola watching from afar. On Twitter, hashtags like #KingInCatalonia and #CampNouClash were trending across Europe.

***

The Sky Sports Night Panel aired with unusually high viewership for a Tuesday. The tone was serious—measured, not hyped.

Martin Tyler opened with his usual quiet authority. "It's the tie of the round. Barcelona—iconic, imperious at home. But Manchester City arrive with confidence. The form, the fitness, the firepower."

Jamie Carragher leaned back in his seat. "It's a proper test. City's battered Liverpool, they've steamrolled the league—but this is different. Camp Nou humbles teams. You get caught watching instead of playing."

Thierry Henry, eyes locked on the camera, broke it down in typical precision. "Barcelona are still dangerous. But they're not untouchable anymore, despite their strong form. They depend on that front three—Messi, Neymar, Suarez—to do the magic.

The midfield? Not what it was. If you press them, there's space. And City can press. Hazard between the lines. Kane holding up. Adriano off the shoulder. It's not just hype. They can hurt you. Just look at Juventus. "

Carragher nodded. "It comes down to midfield. That's where games like this are won or lost. Busquets and Iniesta—they've done it all. But Silva and De Bruyne are in top form.

And don't forget—City brought in Casemiro for depth. That's a physical warrior in the middle. That's not a luxury signing. That's a plan to stop teams from attacking, and you can see the performance and stats."

Gary Neville had waited his turn, then leaned forward with a half-smirk. "Let's be honest. If City wants to go toe-to-toe at Camp Nou, they need more than a plan. They need nerve. The home crowd will do their best to unnerve them.

You don't win here unless you play without fear. This isn't about tactics—it's about character. This is where you find out: are you European contenders—or just England's best team?"

There was a long pause, filled only by the faint hum of the studio lights. Tyler turned back to the camera.

"Three days to go," he said. "Barcelona hosts Manchester City. The king returns to Spain. And the world will be watching."

***

As the Champions League quarter-final drew near, tension crackled in the air across two footballing capitals. In Barcelona, the streets swelled with pride and anticipation. In Manchester, nerves blended with belief. The tie had been billed as a clash of eras—Barcelona's legacy versus City's surge. But to fans and players alike, it felt more personal. More defining.

****

The discourse online was relentless.

On Twitter, the threads were overflowing:

@CityZenBobby:

"This is it. Forget the Prem. If we beat Barca over two legs, we've ARRIVED at the top of Europe. I want this more than the league."

@ViscaCatalunya:

"City's good in England. Cool. But this is Messi's house. We don't lose big UCL nights at home. You're not ready."

@NeutralObserver:

"Kane vs Piqué. Adriano vs Vermaelen. Hazard vs Alba. This tie is going to be explosive."

@MCFCPride:

"All I'm saying is: if Adriano scores at Camp Nou and we win, I'm getting his face tattooed on my calf."

@BarcaLegacy:

"This isn't the old City. They've got composure now. Casemiro and Hummels made them a different beast. We better be sharp."

On Reddit, the match thread had already reached thousands of comments. Tactics, player matchups, historical context—everything was dissected.

"Can City press Busquets without leaving space for Messi to drop in?"

"Will Pellegrini go aggressive or play conservative for the first leg?"

"How will City deal with Camp Nou atmosphere when it turns hostile?"

***

The Odds – Betfair, 72 Hours to Kickoff

Barcelona to win 1st leg: 1.80

Manchester City to win 1st leg: 3.90

Draw: 3.40

Anytime goalscorer – Messi: 1.65

Anytime goalscorer – Adriano: 0.85

To qualify overall – Barcelona: 1.60

To qualify overall – Manchester City: 2.25

The bookmakers leaned slightly towards Barcelona, especially at home. But City's form made the overall tie harder to call. Pundits were split. The fanbase was divided between nervous caution and defiant hope.

Surprisingly enough, the odds for Adriano scoring was pretty high. After all, he had scored every time he faced Barcelona before. Beating Barcelona with a weaker Malaga was no fluke. All eyes were on him to see if he can do the same.

****

Player Interviews

Lionel Messi, speaking to Catalunya Radio, struck a respectful tone:

"Manchester City have improved a lot. They're more organised now, and their attackers are fast, clever. We'll need to be perfect at home, and our supporters will give us the edge."

Gerard Piqué, asked about his likely battles with Harry Kane and Adriano:

"Kane is physical, smart. Adriano? He's got something special. I've watched his games. A moment of magic from him can turn a match. We respect them. But we are a strong team with home advantage. We'll win."

Neymar, typically more brash, gave Mundo Deportivo a different tone:

"Adriano is nothing special. Scoring against some weak teams is fine, but let's see how he deals with us at our home turf."

His comment didn't go unnoticed. Back in England, Adriano was shown the quote in a Sky Sports segment. He barely reacted, just shook his head and chuckled.

"He should be in a hospital to check his head," Adriano said flatly. "Because I'm pretty sure he was there when I defeated Barcelona at Camp Nou with Malaga. Maybe I'll do it again to jog his memory."

Then, more seriously:

"Barcelona was my dream as a boy. La Masia taught me some lessons, both good and bad. I've beaten them before. But tonight, I wear blue. No nostalgia. Only focus. We're not here to admire—we're here to compete and win."

Kevin De Bruyne, in an interview with BT Sport, was blunt:

"Everyone talks about Messi, Neymar, Suárez. We talk about our plan. That's the only thing that matters. We'll fight until the final whistle and win."

David Silva, interviewed by El País, offered a more measured tone:

"We respect them—Messi is Messi. But we've played against world-class players all season. What matters is staying calm, executing what we've trained. If we play our football, we can hurt them."

Then he paused and added," Everyone keeps forgetting, in both goals and assists, it's not Messi who's at the top of Europe now, it's my friend, Adriano. So don't count us out anytime soon."

Eden Hazard, appearing on RMC Sport, smiled when asked about his duel with Jordi Alba.

"He's fast. I'm faster. I like these nights—when the pitch is big, the crowd loud, and everything is on the line. It's why I came to City. " He then jokingly said, " If I get one good ball Adriano, Silva, or Kev, I'll show them who's better."

In Barcelona, you could feel the buildup in the streets. Restaurants had menus themed for "La Gran Noche." Taxi drivers offered their predictions without prompting. Camp Nou staff were prepping the lights, the banners, the ceremony.

In Manchester, the buzz was quieter—but intense. At the Etihad Campus, City fans gathered to see the team off. Dozens waited at the gates with blue smoke flares, waving flags, chanting.

"BRING IT HOME," read one banner.

"ADRIANO, MAKE THEM REMEMBER," read another.

At this point, everyone knew: this wasn't just a quarter-final. This was an identity check.

Three days to go. No more talk soon. Only football.

****

TALKSPORT WITH LAURA WOODS & DANNY MURPHY

The studio had a calm hum, the kind that comes just before a major storm in football. Laura Woods leaned forward at the desk, earpiece in, a stack of notes in front of her.

Opposite her sat Danny Murphy, relaxed, sleeves rolled up, watching the monitor replay clips from City's 4–0 dismantling of Liverpool.

Laura exhaled slightly. "Danny, City going to Camp Nou—it feels like more than just a match, doesn't it?"

Murphy nodded. "It's a rite of passage. You go there, and you don't freeze? You compete, You win.That's when people stop saying 'potential.' That's when you're in the club—the real one. The elite."

She tapped her pen. "Do you think they can get something there? A result?"

"I do," he replied. "Look, this isn't a City side from five years ago. They've got structure now. Adriano—he changes everything. He scores, reads danger, breaks play, keeps it ticking with chances created. That gives De Bruyne and Silva the license to do damage further up the pitch. That's dangerous, especially against a Barcelona midfield that isn't quite what it used to be."

Laura nodded. "We've got to talk about Adriano. He's the name everyone's talking about again."

Murphy smiled. "Yeah, he's—he's different. Some players you can plan for. You can close space, double up, funnel them wide. But Adriano doesn't follow patterns.

One minute he's hugging the left touchline, next minute he's dropping between the lines, then he's pressing your goalkeeper. He's unmarkable when he's in rhythm."

Laura raised an eyebrow. "If he scores at Camp Nou again?"

Murphy chuckled. "Then that's it. I'll hold my hands up. That kid's got another fan for life."

THE SPANISH MEDIA

Over in Spain, the media had shifted tone. This wasn't casual coverage anymore—this was full coverage.

Mundo Deportivo's front page ran in bold gold and black:

"EL REY LLEGA: ADRIANO RETURNS TO SPAIN"

The King Arrives: Adriano Returns to Spain

The article underneath focused on his previous La Liga stint, his turbulent rise at La Masia, the goals at Málaga, the falling-out, and now the return. The narrative wasn't hostile. It was wary. Respectful. And headline-worthy.

Marca, never one to miss the story within the story, led with:

"MESSI VS ADRIANO: WHO DECIDES IT?"

Inside, the coverage was split down the middle: one column dissecting Messi's importance in controlling tempo, the other tracing Adriano's impact in transition and his ability to pull centre-backs out of shape. An entire tactics section broke down both players' goal maps from the season—every run, every zone, every shot trajectory.

On Spanish football shows like El Chiringuito, the mood was divided.

Pedrerol slammed the desk mid-broadcast. "Adriano has the confidence, yes—but does he have the discipline to do it again at Camp Nou when it really matters?"

Quim Domènech responded calmly, "He's done it before. And this isn't just a kid with flair. He's part of a system now. Pellegrini's City isn't reckless. If they score first, things get very uncomfortable for Barcelona."

By late evening, the city had begun to shift into matchday mode. Not just posters, but murals were being painted in some parts of the Gothic Quarter—Messi's face on one wall, the Camp Nou skyline on another.

The metro stations near Les Corts had Champions League branding over the turnstiles. You could hear the buzz in the markets, cafes, and even in the queues outside small bakeries.

In a corner café near Passeig de Gràcia, two older Barça fans sat reading Sport. One pointed at the photo of Adriano. "El traidor," he said flatly.

The other shrugged. "He's just doing his job. But I don't like that he's smiling."

Near Las Ramblas, a group of travelling City fans gathered outside a pub, quietly singing. Not rowdy, not overconfident—just present. One of them, wearing an AR10 shirt, was being interviewed by a local station.

"Just here to see us hold our own," he said. "Anything more than that, I'll lose my mind."

As the sun dipped behind the buildings of central Barcelona, the sky turned the same deep blue as City's away strip. Camp Nou stood in the distance, quiet for now, but almost humming with expectation.

The grounds crew were already out checking the pitch condition. The Champions League signage was being prepared in the tunnel. Even the seats had been cleaned twice over.

This wasn't just another fixture.

One leg of the journey.

One cathedral of football.

One chance to show they belonged.

****

The wheels of the chartered flight touched down at El Prat Airport just after midday. The Barcelona sky was overcast—a dull, heavy grey that hung over the tarmac like a curtain.

The Manchester City squad disembarked in silence, most of them with headphones in, focused, dressed in navy-blue tracksuits, bags slung over their shoulders. There were not many waving fans or friendly greetings. The air was still, but the tension was unmistakable.

By the time they reached the team hotel near Les Corts, the mood had shifted from muted to hostile.

A crowd had gathered outside—nearly a thousand or more. Mostly Barcelona supporters. Not celebratory, not welcoming. They were armed with chants, signs, and voices sharpened by pride and resentment.

The boos began as soon as the City team bus turned the corner and came into view. It was a low, guttural sound at first, then grew into a coordinated wave of whistles and jeers. A few fans banged the barriers. One older supporter spat toward the curb as the door of the bus swung open.

Fernandinho stepped off first, quickly followed by Eliaquim Mangala and Mohamed Salah. Then came Yaya Touré. The noise doubled.

Some of the fans broke into chants of "Traïdor!"—traitor—while others shouted obscenities in Catalan. One man yelled, "You turned your back on the badge!"

Touré kept his gaze forward, expression unreadable. But as a particularly ugly chant escalated into racial abuse from a small section, he slowed slightly. James Milner was just behind him, and without saying a word, he put a firm hand on Yaya's back, nudging him ahead.

"Don't give them the satisfaction," Milner muttered under his breath.

Touré didn't look at him. "Didn't know they would target me of all people," he said quietly. "We'll answer on the pitch."

A few steps behind them, Hummels walked with measured pace, head scanning the scene like a sentry. He adjusted the collar of his jacket and spoke clearly enough for the rest of the squad to hear: "Stay close. Stay sharp. This is their noise—not ours."

Eden Hazard came off next. The crowd shifted attention. Chants of "Mercenario!" rang out. A teenager in a Messi jersey hurled a plastic cup toward him, which landed harmlessly near the door. Hazard kept walking. One man shouted, "You flop when it matters!" Another screamed, "Keep diving, Eden!"

Hazard just just shook his head and muttered, " man, these guys suck."

Kevin De Bruyne followed. The insults weren't as pointed, but still barbed. One voice in the crowd yelled, "Bundesliga doesn't count here!" Another: "You froze at Wolfsburg, you'll freeze again!" KDB didn't respond. He kept his focus straight ahead, hands in pockets, mouth set in a line.

But when Adriano stepped down, the energy in the crowd shifted.

There were boos—yes—but they were scattered. Uncoordinated. Even confused. A few held signs referencing his infamous comment: "I wouldn't join Barça even if hell freezes over." One fan raised a hand-painted banner that read:

"HOW'S HELL, ADRIANO?"

But there was no venom in the delivery. Not really. Adriano had after all beatwn them with a weaker team, then went on break all records and win the world cup, ending Messi's journey. Even now, he was top performer in Europe.

On top of that, he was someone who grew up in La Masia, their very own grounds. It was not him who left Barcelona, but their management who cut him off. Most were heartbroken rather than hateful when their academy talent shined brighter than any star wearing another teams jersey.

A group of Málaga supporters stood behind the larger crowd, holding their flags high. One held up a weathered photo of Adriano celebrating in blue and white in front of the Camp Nou scoreboard. Another waved a homemade banner that read: "¡El Rey Adriano! ¡El alma de Málaga!" — King Adriano! The soul of Málaga!

A few started singing. Softly at first, but it rose:

"El Rey Adriano, nuestro campeón..."

Adriano paused just slightly, scanning the crowd with slightly nostalgic eyes. He spotted the Malaga colors, nodded, and raised one hand and fisted his chest in acknowledgment, and smiled . He didn't react too eagerly. He didn't gloat. Just a simple strong gesture.

Walking beside him, David Silva chuckled. "Still got your fan club here, eh?"

Adriano kept his eyes forward. "They remember. That's enough."

Silva smirked. "You sure Neymar does?"

That drew a rare grin from Adriano. "He'll remember after tomorrow."

Then came the shout.

"You beat them once, Adriano! You'll beat them again!"

It came from a middle-aged man in a Málaga scarf. Adriano met his gaze, nodded again. That line stuck.

Because it was true.

Because for Adriano, none of this was new. The last time he walked through this city as an underdog, he was wearing Málaga colors—limping slightly on a sore hamstring, playing in front of more than 60,000 fans and facing a Barcelona side with Messi and Neymar in full flight.

And he'd beaten them.

That day, with a weaker team, a smaller budget, and no expectation, Adriano had scored a stunner and assisted the match-winner. Now, he returned not as a struggling academy reject—but as a global icon, a World Cup winner, a Ballon d'Or nominee, and the face of City's renaissance.

****

The players gathered quietly in the hotel lobby, some still carrying their overnight bags, others leaning against pillars or low-backed sofas. The tension from outside had followed them in, but Pellegrini's voice cut through it.

He stood near the centre of the room, hands calmly clasped in front of him. His tone was composed, but direct.

"They will try to make this personal," he began, scanning the room slowly. "The crowd, the noise, the signs—you've seen it already. That's their plan. Emotion over tactics. Don't let them pull you into that."

No one spoke. Players stood or sat in a half-circle around him—still alert, still simmering from the hostile welcome.

"They think they have the advantage because of the stadium," Pellegrini continued. "Because of history. But what they don't have is what we've built—what you've built. Unity. Trust. You don't need to prove anything to them. Just to each other."

Adriano stood by the wall near the lift, arms folded across his chest, shoulder to shoulder with Aguero. He didn't react outwardly, but his eyes stayed fixed on Pellegrini.

Harry Kane was slouched on a couch nearby, one booted foot propped up on the armrest. He glanced up, half-thinking aloud. "Do we really need them to believe in us?"

Adriano answered without shifting his weight. "No," he said, almost offhand. "We just need them to fear us."

That made a few heads turn. No one laughed. It didn't feel like a quip. Just a fact.

Pellegrini gave a slow nod and turned toward the lift. "Get your rest. Meetings at nine. Lights out by eleven. You know what this is."

As the squad dispersed toward the lifts or up the stairs, quiet conversations broke out in pairs. Milner and Hummels walked side by side, whispering about the press conference the next morning. Casemiro and Fernandinho exchanged thoughts in Portuguese about the midfield duels ahead.

Adriano lingered for a moment. His gaze drifted to the darkened window at the end of the corridor, the city lights reflecting faintly in the glass.

Silva nudged him gently. "You alright man?"

"Yeah," Adriano replied. "I've been here before. Different colours. Same game."

***

Across the UK, sports bulletins cut to footage of Manchester City's arrival in Barcelona. Slow-motion replays captured Adriano passing the now-viral banner: "NO HISTORY, NO HEART."

The pundit desk offered quick takes, but most of the noise came from social media.

@MCFCVoice: "No class from the Barca fans. Especially towards Yaya. Disgraceful."

@ElPundit: "Adriano really built different. The boos quiet down when he walks by. You can hear it."

@MálagaEterno: "We'll never forget what Adriano played for us, our homegrown talent. We still love him. Barcelona made a mistake letting him go."

Clips of Yaya brushing off the racial abuse circulated widely. A still frame of James Milner's subtle gesture—his hand on Touré's back—went semi-viral for a different reason.

Pundits debated Adriano's presence more than anything else. His return to Spain wasn't just a football story—it had the shape of unfinished business.

RADIO CATALUNYA – FAN CALL-IN SHOW

The late-night show took a turn when the host opened the lines to Barcelona fans.

"He's a traitor," said the first caller, voice harsh and nasal. "He left with nothing. Now he acts like he's bigger than the club. Arrogant."

The host tried to steer him back to tactics, but the next caller didn't let it go.

"No. The club failed him," the voice said, deeper and more tired-sounding. "We dumped him after his injury. Everyone knows it. He could've played next to Messi. We picked Neymar instead. Big mistake."

A pause followed. Even the host didn't disagree. "A lot of people are saying that now," he muttered.

***

Upstairs, long after dinner, the player's lounge was dimly lit. Most of the squad had gone to their rooms. A few staff members filtered in and out, but the space was mostly quiet.

Adriano sat on a low couch, a laptop balanced on his knees. David Silva leaned back on another sofa with a water bottle in hand. Kevin De Bruyne was sitting cross-legged on the floor, elbows resting on his knees.

The screen showed clips from Barcelona's last few matches—pauses, rewinds, slow replays of their back line pushing up the pitch.

"There," Adriano said, pausing a frame. "If Piqué steps too early to cover Kane, that whole channel opens up."

De Bruyne leaned in closer. "You make the run, I'll spot it. Doesn't even need to be a clean touch. Just break the line."

Silva nodded. "I'll pull Busquets away. Make him chase me. He hates running backwards."

The three sat in silence for a moment, watching the same clip again. The atmosphere had changed. No distractions. No nerves. Just precision.

"Ter Stegen's aggressive," Silva added. "Likes to step out early."

"I know," Adriano replied. "He flinches when the shot's tight to the near post."

De Bruyne grinned faintly. "You've done your homework."

"I lived here," Adriano said quietly. "I remember how they think. Valdes left after the trauma I gave him. Hopethis guy doesn't follow."

Downstairs, the noise of the street had faded. The press would keep circling. The fans would keep jeering. But none of that reached this floor.

The game was close now. There were no motivational speeches. No bravado.

Just analysis. Calm. And the weight of what was coming.

For Adriano, it wasn't fear. It wasn't nostalgia.

Camp Nou didn't intimidate him.

It sharpened him.

***

Adriano's phone rang at that time . Hazard spoke lazily from the side, "Did you get a call from Enrique to request us to go on easy them?" That elicited a round of laughter .

Adriano checked the caller id and smiled, " Sorry boys, nothing that exciting. Kate's calling to check up on me."

Kane shouted from the side," Don't get to too romantic now. We need you in bloodthirsty tiger mode, not cuddle seeking kitty mode !"

De Bruyne almost fell from his seat laughing, while Silva remarked, " If this guy is not playing well, we all will need cuddles from our partners after match."

Adriano just chuckled and walked out to the balcony to recieve the video call. " Hey babe, have you reached the hotel yet? "

Kate's tired voice came from the phone , wearing an oversized T shirt and shorts and lying on a bed, " yeah babe, just freshened up and laid down. Today was exhausting. The whole city is blocked with traffic and there are bunch of people making noises outside. I couldn't get a suite in your hotel, so had to go to the next one. Even that was full.

Thankfully, A City fan named Marvin helped me out. When he saw me and Raul, he came to ask if I needed any help, and even gave up his room saying he'll crash at a friends place. I might have have promised him you'll sign a jersey for him once we are back in Manchester."

Adriano laughed, " Really now, selling me out for a room ? I hope Raul got his contact info. I'll have to thank him later."

Kate giggled, " You can take advantage of my fame in USA. But in Europe, I'm making full use of yours. Raul was telling me there's cafe in Malaga that serves people for free if they wear your jersey. Might visit there later."

Adriano sighed, " I wish I could make a visit, but I have to train . Enjoy being a tourist, but be careful out there. If they see the girlfriend of the man who's their main threat for Champion's League glory, they might even kidnap you."

Kate shivered," Yeah, now I don't feel like going out at all. I'm going straight to venue then flying back. I don't suppose you can swing by to keep company tonight?" She winked .

Adriano shook his head, " The moment they see me outside, it'll be chaos. Might even start a stampede."

Kate smiled, " Don't worry Adri, I'll be fine on my own. Just focus on Playing well. I can't take another suspense thriller match like Juventus, my poor heart might give out ."

Adriano chuckled, " Understood. You better get your cheering energy out there, I'll go all out ."

She laughed, " I'll be watching. Remember, score a hat trick for your reward."

Adriano gave a mock salute, " Yes ma'am."

As he hung up, Adriano let out a relived sigh. Everything was set, Now only the match remained. And he was looking forward to it.

He had a promise to keep after all.