The dream continues

** From this chapter, I'll try to make some key interactions from 1st person PoV as well trying to make it more immersive . Not really easy to do and I have to do it manually word by word which makes me less likely to write like before or be in the mood.

Since some of you want better quality and immersion , and I have to work extra hard for it, don't blame me if I upload slow**

Adriano returned for his final checkup in team medical centre. Pellegrini arrived immediately after hearing he was back. He patted his shoulder and asked how he was feeling.

Adriano PoV

I replied with a smile , "I'm feeling much better coach. There's a little stiffness in the ankle , But it should not be an issue."

Coach Pellegrini was still worried and asked, " Are you sure? I don't want you to rush into returning before getting fully healed. We still can wait till next week."

I shook my head, " That's too late coach. I want to play in the Copa Del Rey semifinal in 3 days."

We walked to the doctors office where he performed various scans and tests on my leg. With a relieved sigh he announced the results, " The injury is fully recovered, but the leg needs more rest. I'd say you can play in the La Liga match this week ."

I shook my head and spoke with determination, " I want to play in the next match, we are so close to the cup, and I don't want to miss out the chance."

Coach Pellegrini rebuked from side, " Absolutely not! If you suffer another injury because you rushed to play, the team will suffer more than a loss. Don't forget, you have the world cup in a few months. Don't take any risks."

I sighed and replied, " You know how stubborn I am coach, so make your second offer."

Coach sighed and shook his head, with a helpless smile, " Really, Adriano, you should stop taking on so much pressure."

I smiled and replied, " I just don't want to have any regrets later."

The doctor tried speak on behalf, " He can still play for 20-30 minutes or so without much trouble, but if he is tackled badly again…."

Pellegrini silenced him with his hand, " Alright, alright! I get it ! Seriously doc, you should be discouraging him rather than pushing."

Doctor gave a helpless shrug, " My wife will make me sleep on the couch if Adriano doesn't play and we lose. You know she's a die hard fan of Malaga and him."

We both laughed at his dilemma. Then with a sigh, Pellegrini found a compromise, " You'll be on the bench, and only play if it's really necessary. If we are winning, you have to stay in bench without a peep."

I could only agree as this was better than not playing at all.

*Pov end*

The streets of Málaga were alive with anticipation and jubilation. Everywhere one looked, fans spilled out onto sidewalks, their voices raised in unison, their cheers echoing off the ancient walls of the city.

The fans all gathered even in the cool evening air as the news spread like wildfire: Adriano was back.

For days, whispers of his return had floated through the fanbase, and now that the Copa del Rey semifinals against Valencia loomed, the timing could not have been more perfect.

To the people of Málaga, the return of their star was a symbol of hope—a reminder that the magic of their team was not lost but only momentarily sidelined.

At the final training session before the match, the atmosphere at the training ground was electric. Fans had gathered along the fences, a sea of blue and white, their chants and cheers reverberating off the concrete walls. "¡Vamos Adriano!" they shouted, while others declared with unbridled passion, "¡El mago ha vuelto!"

The message was clear: the magician was back, and with his return came the promise of a turning tide. Though Manuel Pellegrini had made it clear that Adriano would not start the match, the mere presence of the maestro in the squad lifted everyone's spirits. His recovery had infused the team with an intangible psychological edge, a renewed belief that their season was far from over.

Every player on the bench and on the pitch felt it—a sensation that they were one step away from fulfilling their destiny.

Matchday arrived with an intensity that matched the fervor of the fans.

The historic Mestalla Stadium in Valencia was transformed into a battleground, charged with tension and determination. Valencia, desperate for a piece of silverware and eager to silence their critics, knew that this was their final opportunity for glory.

Their supporters, too, were resolute, making sure that every corner of the stadium echoed with their determination. Yet, even in the hostile environment of the Mestalla, Málaga's traveling supporters made their presence felt.

they filled sections of the stands, waving flags and singing songs of support that transcended the distance between their home and the away ground.

As the teams lined up for the national anthems, the atmosphere was a blend of ritual and raw emotion. The cheers of the Málaga fans reached a fever pitch, while the Valencia supporters, confident in their team's home advantage, responded with raucous shouts of challenge.

The tension was palpable. Both sets of fans, united by their love of football, knew that every second on that pitch would be etched into memory.

The referee's whistle pierced the air, and the match began. Valencia, anticipating a measured, cautious game, settled into a defensive posture from the outset. They pressed high and compactly, hoping to absorb Málaga's early pressure and then launch a counteroffensive.

Their strategy was to frustrate their opponents, to force them into making hurried passes, and to eventually break down a defense that they believed would crumble under the right pressure.

However, Pellegrini's Málaga had other ideas. From the very first moment, they attacked with purpose and precision. The ball moved quickly from one end of the pitch to the other as the players sought to exploit even the slightest gap in Valencia's setup.

It was an offensive display fueled by belief—a belief that they had learned through hardship and that now, with Adriano's return looming on the horizon, they could win any battle.

In the 4th minute, the breakthrough came.

A rapid sequence of passes down the left flank caught Valencia off guard. Joaquín, known for his blistering pace and innate ability to beat defenders, received the ball and exploded forward.

With a deft change of pace that left his marker trailing in his wake, he drove into the attacking third.

As he neared the penalty area, his eyes locked onto the passing lane. With precision borne of countless hours of practice, Joaquín slipped a crisp pass into the box. The timing was impeccable.

Griezmann, ever the opportunist, arrived at the perfect moment. He took a single touch to control the ball—a touch that felt like an extension of his will—and then unleashed a thunderous strike into the bottom corner of the net.

The impact was instantaneous. The stadium erupted in a collective roar as Málaga's faithful celebrated the opening goal. On the pitch, Valencia's players paused, their expressions a mix of shock and disbelief.

Gooaallll! 1-0 Malaga! They are one step closer to the finals!

They had planned for a cautious, incremental battle, and now they were facing a sudden deficit.

The early goal set the tone. As the minutes ticked by, Málaga's confidence swelled. They pressed forward relentlessly, the early setback fueling an insatiable hunger to dominate. Valencia's strategy, once so carefully orchestrated, began to falter under the weight of Málaga's determination.

The opening goal was more than just a numerical advantage—it was a psychological blow that sent ripples through the opposing team.

By the 30th minute, the dynamics had shifted noticeably. Valencia, having been forced to react to the early onslaught, began to push forward in search of an equalizer.

Their midfielders scrambled to regain control, sending a series of crosses into the box and testing Málaga's keeper, Caballero, with long-range efforts. The pressure was relentless, and for a time, Málaga found themselves retreating into a more defensive posture.

Demichelis and Weligton rose high to challenge every aerial ball, while Jesús Gámez and Monreal combed the flanks, ensuring that no dangerous run went unchecked.

Despite the mounting pressure from Valencia, Málaga's defense held firm. The composure of the back line, a blend of seasoned defenders and resolute newcomers, kept the visitors at bay.

Every clearance, every tackle, and every well-timed interception was a testament to their resolve. As the first half drew to a close, the scoreline still read 1-0 in favor of Málaga—a slender but significant lead that had withstood the early storm.

During halftime, the narratives in the stadium and on television shifted. Analysts and journalists, who had once predicted a cautious affair favoring Valencia, now marveled at the resilience of Málaga.

The match had taken on the appearance of a high-stakes poker game, where every move was calculated, and every decision or bluff carried the weight of future triumphs or heartbreaks. For the players, the break was a brief respite—a moment to gather their thoughts, rehydrate, and return with renewed vigor for the second half.

The second half began in much the same vein as the end of the first. Valencia, undeterred by their earlier struggles, resumed their offensive with renewed determination.

Their intent was clear: they would not allow Málaga to dictate the entire game. Instead, they pressed higher up the pitch, seeking to disrupt Málaga's rhythm and force turnovers in dangerous areas. The intensity of their attacks put the Málaga defense to the test, and for a while, it appeared that the visitors might carve out a chance on the counter.

Málaga, however, were not content to simply defend. They had tasted the sweetness of victory in the first half and were determined to maintain their advantage. In moments of counterattack, the synergy between Joaquín and Griezmann was palpable.

The duo, having displayed chemistry earlier in the match, continued to orchestrate moves that threatened to turn the game on its head. Each sprint, each pass, and each flick of the foot carried the promise of further glory.

Then, in the 67th minute, the equilibrium was shattered. Valencia, having gradually worn down the Málaga defense, found a moment of vulnerability. A dangerous cross came in from the right flank—a ball delivered with the kind of precision that only comes from desperate determination.

In the midst of the chaos in the penalty area, Roberto Soldado, Valencia's ace striker, managed to find space. With his head as his weapon, he met the cross with a powerful, precise header that left Caballero with no chance. The ball soared past the keeper and into the back of the net.

Goaallll! The match is level again! 1-1 ! It's still anybody's game.

The reaction was instantaneous. The roar of the crowd in Mestalla reached a fever pitch as Valencia's fans celebrated what they believed was the equalizer.

On the pitch, the mood among the Málaga players shifted. For a brief moment, frustration flickered in their eyes. They had controlled the early proceedings and now saw the lead evaporate into a deadlock. The score was level at 1-1, and with only 20 minutes remaining on the clock, the pressure mounted on both sides.

As the clock continued its relentless march, both teams understood that a single goal in the remaining minutes could decide the outcome. The match evolved into a tense, affair, with every pass and every tackle laden with significance.

Málaga's midfield, led by the tireless efforts of Griezmann and Juanmi, sought to reclaim the initiative. They tried to hit on the counter, launching rapid breaks that promised sudden bursts of brilliance, but Valencia had adjusted their strategy, closing down spaces and forcing Málaga to work for every inch.

In the 81st minute, a moment of drama unfolded that underscored the high stakes of the encounter. Valencia's midfielder Éver Banega unleashed a long-range shot from outside the box—a thunderbolt that soared towards goal. The ball, traveling with menacing speed, forced a spectacular save from Caballero, whose acrobatic dive kept the score level.

The stadium held its breath as the ball skidded away, but the danger had passed. For a heartbeat, it seemed that Valencia might seize the momentum, but Málaga's resilience shone through.

Then came the defining moment—the final push that would etch this match into the history books of Malaga.

In the 86th minute, with the game finely balanced and time running out, Málaga won a free kick from just 30 yards out. The ball was placed on the penalty arc, and a hush fell over the crowd. It was a dangerous distance, but in that moment, everything hinged on one decision.

Pellegrini, who had been watching intently from the touchline, made a decisive gesture. He turned toward the bench, nodded firmly, and signaled for a substitution that sent ripples through the stadium. Adriano, whose presence had been a beacon of hope throughout the week, rose from his seat. The sight of him jogging onto the pitch electrified the Málaga supporters. His return was not just a substitution—it was a statement.

In that instant, the entire atmosphere shifted. The traveling fans roared even louder, their chants echoing across the Mestalla as if to remind the opposition that the true spirit of Málaga had returned.

Adriano PoV

I slowly walked to the sidelines as Samuel walked quickly towards me. He gave me a hug grinned, " Welcome back buddy! Go and grab us the win, drinks will be on me!"

I chuckled as I slapped his back , " Don't forget it, We will drink so much that you'll go broke, making him laugh.

I jogged towards the free kick spot as I breathed in the air filled with passion and excitement. The fans cheering wildly, the opposition looking at me with dread, and my teammates beaming with smiles, their tension almost vanishing as I came on.

This is why I love football, the game brings out our passion and makes us feel emotions we don't know existed. I calmly walked to the referee as he handed me the ball . Joaquin joked, " I have placed my entire savings on us winning kid, don't let sleep in the streets."

calm and composed, I placed the ball on the spot. The weight of expectation of the entire club rested on my shoulders, but in my eyes there was nothing but focused determination. I took three measured steps back, inhaling deeply as if to gather all the energy and passion of my teammates and supporters.

Then, with a fluid motion that captured the pressure of the moment, I struck the ball cleanly .

The free kick was a masterpiece of technique and vision. The ball curved gracefully over the defensive wall, its trajectory bending in a mesmerizing arc. Valencia's defenders, caught out by the audacity of the strike, could only watch as the ball sailed past the outstretched arms of the goalkeeper and nestled into the top right corner of the net. The goalkeeper closed his eyes in pain as the ball just inched past his outstretched gloves.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Then the Mestalla erupted.

"GOAL! 2-1 , Malaga! ADRIANO SCORES! He doesn't look like someone who left for a month! He came, he kicked, he conquered! Who can stop Malaga now that their King is back! " The announcer's voice boomed, reverberating throughout the stadium as fans leaped to their feet.

In that instant, the noise was deafening—a blend of jubilation, relief, and sheer, unbridled passion. Málaga's traveling supporters, their faces lit with ecstatic joy, cheered with voices that seemed to shake the very foundations of the stadium.

Meanwhile, on the pitch, I sprinted toward the corner flag, arms outstretched as if to embrace every ounce of the adoration . My teammates converged on me excited smiles and tears, their celebrations a mixture of jubilation and gratitude for the moment I had delivered. I just got us to the Copa del Rey finals!

Pov End

As the final minutes ticked away, Valencia threw everything they had forward, desperate to salvage a draw. Waves of attackers surged into the penalty area, and every clearance, every desperate slide, became a frantic battle for survival.

But Málaga's defense, now energized by the surge of confidence from Adriano's strike, held firm. Demichelis, Weligton, and the rest of the back line repelled every onslaught with determination and discipline. The clock continued its inexorable countdown, and with each passing second, the hope of a Valencia comeback diminished.

When the referee finally blew the whistle, sealing the result at 2-1 in favor of Málaga, an overwhelming sense of triumph spread through the stadium. The away section, though their team had fallen short, acknowledged the brilliance of the performance.

But for Málaga, the victory was historic. Not only had they secured a hard-fought win against a determined Valencia side, but they had also paved the way to the Copa del Rey final—a dream that had seemed distant just weeks before.

Back in Málaga, the celebrations began almost immediately. In the days that followed, the city transformed into one giant festival. Streets filled with dancing, singing, and the waving of flags. Fans spilled out of homes, cafes, and public squares, united by the joy of witnessing a match that had reignited hope for their club.

Television screens in bars and public spaces replayed every moment of the game—the precision of the early goal, the tension of the equalizer, and finally, the sublime free kick by Adriano that had sealed the victory.

For the players, the match was more than just a win, they had made it to the finals for the first time! In the dressing room after the game, emotions ran high. Teammates embraced each other, their faces streaked with sweat and tears of joy.

Pellegrini, ever the composed leader, allowed himself a rare, broad smile. "That is how you become a champion boys, You have to believe in yourself and keep fighting till the end." he said, his voice thick with emotion as he looked around at the men who had fought with every ounce of their being.

Griezmann, still radiant from the game's magic, fielded questions from the reporters with a mixture of humility and pride. "It feels incredible to reach the finals on my first season here," he said, wiping sweat from his brow, "but what matters is that we played as a team. We know the importance of every single player, and tonight, every one of us stepped up. And do I even need to mention Adriano? He's always the anchor that holds Malaga." His words resonated not only with the media but with every fan who had witnessed the transformation on the pitch.

Then the reporters swarmed Adriano, "Adriano, how are feeling after coming back from injury and scoring the winning goal ?"

I calmly replied, " It felt great to show the world that we are not done yet. The last few weeks, I have seen the criticism and hate we received, so I had to prove that no matter how much you guys push us down, we'll rise back again. I'll thank the fans who stuck by us in this darkness, this win is for you guys. See you guys in the finals." He excused himself to get some rest as the coach insisted on sending him home to rest for next match.

In Valencia, despite the loss, the local supporters were forced to acknowledge the brilliance of Málaga's performance. Yet, the sting of defeat was palpable, and the Valencia players, bruised in both pride and spirit, were left to ponder what could have been.

The tension in Mestalla, once so confident and raucous, gave way to a subdued introspection as the reality of the result set in. Malaga was on their way to make history. They are in number 1 position in league, now they are also in the Copa Del Ray finals.

Malaga might very well be lifting a spanish double for the first time in their history, winning both trophies for the first time ever. And the fans didn't hold back on cheering for the person who made it possible.