As Málaga continued their sensational season, club president Sheikh Abdullah Al Thani knew that the team needed reinforcements if they wanted to compete for La Liga and the Copa del Rey.
The squad had been performing beyond expectations, but the club's depth and quality would be tested as the season progressed.
That's when Málaga set their sights on two future superstars—Antoine Griezmann and Jan Oblak.
Málaga had been searching for a long-term solution in goal. Their current keeper, Willy Caballero, was reliable, but he wasn't world-class.
They went with Adriano's recommendation, Jan Oblak, a promising young Slovenian goalkeeper playing for Benfica. De Gea was not for sale; they only offered loan options.
Málaga's scouts had been tracking him for months. At just 20 years old, Oblak was already showing signs of being a future great—quick reflexes, commanding presence, and composure under pressure.
Sporting director Mario Husillos flew to Portugal to finalize the deal.
Benfica, needing funds and with other goalkeepers available, agreed to sell Oblak for just €4 million.
It was an absolute steal in Adriano's eyes.
Oblak signed a five-year contract, and just like that, Málaga had secured their goalkeeper for the future.
While the Oblak deal went smoothly, signing Antoine Griezmann was much more complicated.
Griezmann, playing for Real Sociedad, was one of the most exciting young attackers in La Liga. Fast, technical, and lethal in front of goal, he had been on the radar of Europe's biggest clubs.
Málaga, sensing an opportunity, made a bold bid—€15 million.
But Sociedad refused.
They wanted €20 million.
Málaga's boardroom debated the deal.
Sheikh Al Thani was willing to pay, believing Griezmann would turn Málaga into an even stronger team. Husillos was cautious, knowing that Málaga had to be financially smart. Pellegrini was fully in favor, saying Griezmann would add more firepower to their attack.
After a week of negotiations, Málaga increased their offer to €18 million + performance-based bonuses for Griezmann .
Real Sociedad asked for time to consider.
Griezmann, meanwhile, was intrigued by the idea of playing with Adriano. He had seen Málaga's rise and was excited by their ambition.
Would the deal go through?
Málaga waited for Sociedad's answer.
While transfer negotiations continued, Málaga had an important match to focus on—their Copa del Rey Round of top 16 clash against Deportivo La Coruña.
As January rolled on, Málaga's soaring momentum in La Liga seamlessly carried over to the Copa del Rey. After a season of dominating performances in the league, every player was hungry to prove that their excellence wasn't confined to one competition.
Their next challenge was Deportivo La Coruña in the Round of 16—a match that carried the promise of history. If Málaga won, they would advance to the quarterfinals for the first time in over a decade, and for the fans, it was a dream long overdue.
For Adriano, the stakes were personal. He had become more than just Málaga's best player—he was now the hero in the eyes of an entire fanbase. And heroes need to lead the team all the way to the top.
La Rosaleda Stadium, Málaga
That evening, La Rosaleda didn't feel like just a stadium.
It felt like a coliseum. A kingdom.Every seat was filled, and every voice belonged to a believer.
The Málaga faithful had come not just to witness a match—but to follow a rising myth. Blue and white flags waved like ocean tides, and flares lit the sky in soft orange hues. The chants thundered in waves:
"¡Rey Adriano! ¡Rey Adriano!"
And beneath it all, the hum of anticipation, sharp as lightning in a summer storm.
From the first touch of the ball, Málaga played with purpose. Their passes sliced through space like blades. No hesitation. No nerves. Just unity.
Deportivo, no strangers to the Copa's demands, tried to weather the storm. But there was no shelter on this pitch tonight.
Adriano floated through the midfield like a conductor among instruments. Calm. Clinical. Calculating.
He wasn't chasing the game. He was shaping it.
The breakthrough came like a perfectly composed crescendo.
Joaquín, a blur of energy on the right, received a driven pass and paused just long enough to lift his head. He saw Adriano making a ghost-like run, arriving late into the box—timing it to perfection.
The cross came in fast and low, curling like a dagger across the face of the goal.
Adriano was surrounded—two defenders closing in, breathing down his neck.
But pressure is where diamonds are made.
He took the ball on the bounce, lifted it over the nearest defender with a flick so smooth it seemed choreographed. Then, without breaking stride, he struck the falling ball with his left foot—his weaker foot.
BOOM.The ball screamed into the top corner.
No chance for the keeper.No chance for doubt.
GOAL. Málaga 1-0.
The crowd didn't cheer—they roared. The sound thundered from the concrete, a collective explosion of joy and disbelief.But Adriano? He didn't gloat. No knee slide. No fist pump.
He simply turned and pointed to Joaquín.Silent respect. Warrior to warrior.
Málaga smelled blood. Their press was suffocating now, forcing error after error.
Then came the moment.
A hesitant back pass from Deportivo's center-back—too slow, too soft. Adriano read it before the defender even turned his head.
He stole it in stride, the ball clinging to his boots like a spell. One touch to set. Another to curl.
Twenty yards out, he unleashed a low, curling drive that bent just beyond the keeper's dive and tucked neatly into the bottom left corner.
GOAL. Málaga 2-0.
He sprinted to the corner flag, this time cupping a hand to his ear.
La Rosaleda responded in a fury.
"¡EL REY ESTÁ AQUÍ!" — THE KING IS HERE!
Adriano slammed a fist to his chest. The noise? Deafening.His teammates engulfed him, but even they could sense it—he was somewhere else tonight. Somewhere higher.
Deportivo returned from the break with fire in their veins, but it was too late. They pushed forward, but Málaga was ready—calm under pressure, resolute in shape.
Adriano adjusted with the flow of the game, dropping deeper, collecting the ball like a general inspecting the front line. His influence never faded.
With Deportivo pressing high, gaps began to open.
Adriano seized the moment.A sharp pass from Recio arrived at his feet just outside the circle. He held the ball, allowed the defense to collapse in—
Then, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, he backheeled it through two defenders.
Juanmi was already in motion, the pass perfectly weighted.
One touch. Shot.Next.
GOAL. Málaga 3-0.
Another explosion of sound. Another flash of brilliance from the King—not in scoring, but in seeing what no one else could.
The final blow came when Deportivo, broken and disjointed, failed to clear a routine cross. The ball dropped at Joaquín's feet with the goalkeeper stranded.
He didn't miss.
GOAL. Málaga 4-0.
The stadium lost itself. Flags waving, shirts flying, fans dancing in the aisles.
This wasn't just a win. It was a statement.
As the whistle blew, Adriano walked off the pitch like a warrior returning from battle—sweat-soaked, eyes distant, but head held high.
The crowd didn't let up.
"King Adriano! King Adriano!"
He gave a brief wave. A single nod.
Behind him, the scoreboard glowed: MÁLAGA 4 – 0 DEPORTIVO(Adriano 18', 31', assist 67')
Malaga had stepped into the quarterfinals.And with each match, his legend grew.
Not just as a player.But as the crown jewel of La Rosaleda.
After the match, the media swarmed around Adriano like bees to honey. Reporters lined up, their cameras flashing, eager to capture the brilliance of the hero of the day.
"Another fantastic performance, Adriano," one journalist remarked, his voice full of admiration. "You've scored four goals in two matches this week. How does it feel"?
Adriano, his brow still glistening with sweat , smiled . "It feels great," he replied, his tone measured. "But at the end of the day, it's all about the team. We're here to win trophies, not just matches."
Another reporter leaned in: "With Málaga now in the quarterfinals, do you believe you can go all the way?"
Without a moment's hesitation, Adriano's eyes shone with quiet resolve. "Why not? We've beaten great teams before. We'll fight for this trophy until the final whistle."
The answer resonated deeply with the fans, who left the stadium buzzing with optimism and pride.
Beyond the roar of the stadium and the accolades on the field, Adriano's star was beginning to shine in other arenas as well. His latest Nike sponsorship deal had already made headlines, further cementing his status as one of football's rising icons.
And now, as if scripted by fate itself, a fresh opportunity beckoned—a collaboration with none other than Lamborghini.
The commercial concept was simple yet alluring: a fusion of raw athletic power and luxurious elegance, a mirror image of Adriano's own game.
He was to be filmed driving the latest Lamborghini Huracán, the embodiment of speed and precision.
Although it is necessary to be 18 for getting the license, they managed to work it out with the bureau as he would be 18 in a few weeks. Adriano already knew how to drive, so it was sorted out quickly as he took the test.
His co-star was Blanca Suárez, one of Spain's most beloved actresses and models, whose beauty and charm needed no introduction. The idea was that luxury meets talent—a seamless blend of two worlds that rarely intersected.
The shoot took place on a closed racing circuit just outside Madrid, where the adrenaline of speed met the calm of high art. Adriano arrived on set dressed in a sleek, jet-black Lamborghini jacket, his presence imposing despite his age .
Across the set, Blanca was already waiting by the Lamborghini, a striking figure in a form-fitting red dress that accentuated her confident poise. The polished lines of the car contrasted sharply with the bold color of her dress, making her look like she belonged in a world of high glamour and high stakes. As Adriano approached, their eyes met, and Blanca greeted him with a playful, teasing smile.
"So, you're the big star everyone's been talking about?" she said, her tone light and slightly mischievous.
Adriano adjusted his gloves and offered a small shrug, his expression composed. "I just play football," he replied simply.
Blanca laughed—a clear, musical sound that filled the space around them. "That's a pretty straightforward answer," she teased. "Not one for great speeches, are you?"
Before they could continue bantering, the director called them over for the first shot. Adriano stepped into the frame, walking confidently toward the Lamborghini. He slid on his sunglasses with a practiced ease, and as he climbed into the driver's seat, the engine roared to life with a deep, thrilling growl. The camera captured every movement as he skillfully navigated high-speed curves, executing sharp turns and drifting gracefully around tight corners. Each action was recorded, promising a sequence of adrenaline-filled scenes to be edited later with stunt doubles for the more dangerous moments.
Throughout the shoot, Blanca remained seated in the passenger area, her eyes never leaving Adriano. She alternated between a relaxed, almost nonchalant demeanor and moments of genuine admiration for his driving finesse. Between takes, she leaned over toward him, her voice soft yet imbued with excitement.
"That was impressive," she said during one quiet break. "Watching you drive is almost as thrilling as watching you on the pitch."
Adriano chuckled quietly. "Maybe I missed my calling," he replied, a small smile playing at his lips as he kept his eyes briefly on the monitor.
Their playful exchange continued until the final scene was set. With the car slowing to a stop and the engine's roar easing to a gentle purr, Blanca turned toward Adriano. Her smile grew coy as she asked, "So, what's your next move?"
Adriano's response was immediate and resolute. "Always forward," he answered, his voice steady and clear.
At that moment, the Lamborghini logo and the tagline "For those who never stop moving forward" flashed across the screen, perfectly capturing the day's theme of relentless progress and determination.
When the director finally called out, "Perfect! That's a wrap!" the energy on set shifted. While the crew began to pack up and the cameras were switched off, Blanca moved quietly to a corner of the set where a prop car stood in gentle shadows.
She approached Adriano, who was still reviewing some final details on his script. Leaning casually against the prop, she said, "Adriano, you always seem so focused on the game. Is there more to you outside of it?"
He glanced up briefly, offering a polite, measured smile before returning to his script. "Right now, football is what matters most," he replied evenly.
Blanca raised an eyebrow. "That's what I keep hearing—always so driven. But don't you ever find time for anything else? I mean, there must be more to your story than just playing football."
He chuckled softly, his eyes flickering with a trace of amusement before he looked away. "I appreciate your interest, Blanca, but I tend to keep things simple. I focus on the field and what I have to do to perform well."
Her smile faltered, and a hint of frustration mixed with intrigue appeared in her eyes. "You're not making it very easy for me to figure you out," she said quietly. "I'm beginning to suspect there's a lot more to you than you let on."
He offered a small, apologetic shrug. "Maybe there is—but I'm not ready to share it all right now."
Blanca gave a slow nod, her curiosity deepening as she stepped away, leaving Adriano to his thoughts. The tension in their brief exchange lingered—a blend of challenge and unspoken promise that there was more beneath the surface.
For a heartbeat, silence stretched between them as Blanca regarded him, her initial irritation melting into an even deeper curiosity. "This guy is really interesting. I should invite him to my party." She muttered softly.