The King Of Arsenal

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With that, he closed his eyes, his mind settling into a state of calm determination. Within moments, he was asleep, the echoes of family laughter and the anticipation of the match blending into dreams of success and joy.

The alarm buzzed sharply at 8 a.m., pulling Francesco from a deep, dream-filled sleep. He reached over groggily, silencing the sound, and lay still for a moment, the warmth of his blankets tempting him to stay in bed a little longer. But the thought of the match stirred him into action. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and stretched, a sense of purpose replacing his lingering drowsiness.

The chill of the winter morning hit him as soon as he stepped out of bed. Francesco grabbed a fresh towel and headed to the bathroom for a hot shower. The steaming water cascaded over him, washing away the last traces of sleep and replacing it with a sense of alertness. He took his time, letting the heat seep into his muscles, easing away any tension. Afterward, he dried off quickly, dressed in warm layers—a thermal shirt, a wool sweater, and jeans—and slipped on a pair of cozy socks. Winter outside was unforgiving, but he was ready to face it.

Grabbing his pre-packed bag, Francesco slung it over his shoulder and headed downstairs. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon greeted him as he entered the kitchen. His parents, Mike and Sarah, were bustling around, setting the table, while his uncles and aunts chatted in the dining area. His younger cousins were already seated, nibbling on pieces of toast and giggling over an inside joke.

"Morning, superstar!" his dad greeted him with a wide grin, holding up a cup of coffee. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah, thanks, Dad," Francesco replied, setting his bag down near the door. "Looks like a proper feast this morning."

Sarah turned from the stove, her smile warm and affectionate. "You've got a big day ahead, so we wanted to make sure you're well-fed. Sit down; breakfast is almost ready."

Francesco joined his cousins at the table, exchanging playful banter with Luca, who was still buzzing from last night's gaming session. Within minutes, plates of scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, buttery croissants, and fresh fruit were passed around. Everyone dug in, the lively chatter making the kitchen feel even cozier.

"Remember your promise, Francesco!" Luca reminded him between bites of toast. "You owe me a celebration when you score!"

Francesco laughed. "Don't worry, Luca. I haven't forgotten. Just make sure you're watching."

After finishing his meal and thanking his mom for the breakfast, Francesco excused himself. He grabbed his bag, donned a thick coat, gloves, and a scarf, and headed outside. His bicycle waited for him in the shed, its frame slightly frosted from the cold. He brushed it off, climbed on, and pedaled toward the Arsenal Training Centre.

The winter air bit at his cheeks as he rode, the city quiet in the early morning light. Despite the cold, the ride was invigorating, and Francesco's mind began to focus on the task ahead. The match against Southampton wasn't just another game—it was a chance to build momentum and prove their mettle in the league.

When he arrived at the training center, the scene was already bustling. His teammates were gathered near the entrance, their breath visible in the frosty air as they chatted and joked. The team bus loomed large in the background, its engine humming softly. At the front of the group stood Arsène Wenger, his sharp eyes scanning the players as the coaching staff checked names off a list.

Francesco parked his bike and jogged over to join the group, greeted by a chorus of cheers and playful ribbing from his teammates.

"Morning, Francesco," said Olivier Giroud, clapping him on the shoulder. "Ready to bag some goals today?"

"Always," Francesco replied with a grin. "But only if you're ready to give me the assists."

Theo Walcott laughed, shaking his head. "Don't worry, mate. We'll make sure you get your moment."

Wenger, spotting Francesco in the lineup, gave him a nod of approval. "Good to see you, Francesco. Let's stay sharp today—we'll need everyone at their best."

"Yes, boss," Francesco replied earnestly.

Once the headcount was complete, the team boarded the bus. Francesco settled into a window seat near Jack Wilshere, who was already scrolling through his playlist, one earbud in place. The atmosphere on the bus was a mix of focus and camaraderie; some players were deep in conversation about tactics, while others relaxed with music or lighthearted jokes.

The drive to the airport was smooth, and upon arrival, the team quickly moved through the terminal, escorted to their chartered plane. The staff had ensured everything was prepared, and within minutes, the players were seated and ready for takeoff. Francesco leaned back in his seat, gazing out the window as the plane ascended, the city of London shrinking below them.

As the flight progressed, Wenger and the coaching staff moved through the cabin, discussing strategy with small groups of players. When it was Francesco's turn, Wenger leaned in, his expression thoughtful.

"Southampton will press hard in the midfield," he said. "They'll try to disrupt our rhythm and force mistakes. Francesco, I need you to be decisive today. Find the spaces and exploit them. You've got the vision—use it."

Francesco nodded, absorbing every word. "I'll do my best, boss."

Wenger patted his shoulder before moving on, leaving Francesco to visualize the game in his mind. He pictured the movements, the runs, the passes, and the finish—a precise shot curling into the top corner of the net.

By the time they began their descent into Southampton, Francesco felt ready. The anticipation built as the plane landed smoothly on the tarmac, the team quickly disembarking and boarding another bus to their hotel. From the warmth of the bus, Francesco glanced out at the city, the gray skies and cold air a stark reminder of the challenge ahead.

As they approached the hotel, Wenger stood at the front of the bus, addressing the team. "Rest well this afternoon. We'll have a light training session later to familiarize ourselves with the pitch. Stay focused—this match is crucial."

Francesco exchanged a determined look with Jack and Theo. "Let's make it count," he said, his voice firm.

Jack grinned. "Oh, we will."

The team arrived at the hotel, where they were greeted warmly by the staff and quickly shown to their rooms. Francesco unpacked his gear, laying out his cleats and jersey with care. As he sat on the edge of his bed, he allowed himself a moment to breathe, the weight of the day both exhilarating and grounding.

At 2 p.m., the team gathered in the hotel lobby, their duffel bags slung over shoulders and earbuds plugged in as they mentally prepared for the game ahead. Francesco felt the hum of anticipation growing as he joined his teammates. The coaching staff and Wenger were already at the front, ensuring everyone was accounted for before they boarded the team bus.

The ride to St Mary's Stadium was quiet, a stark contrast to the banter-filled journey earlier in the day. Now, focus and determination had taken over. Francesco leaned back in his seat, his eyes fixed out the window as the streets of Southampton rolled past. He felt a familiar buzz of adrenaline coursing through him, the excitement of game day mixing with a steady resolve.

When they arrived at the stadium, they were ushered into the locker rooms, a clean and functional space where the Arsenal crest had been subtly placed on the walls. Francesco set his bag down at his assigned spot and began unpacking. The energy in the room was electric but disciplined; each player had their pre-game rituals to go through. Francesco slipped into his team training suit, the fabric snug and comfortable, designed for optimal performance.

"Alright, lads," Wenger's calm but commanding voice broke through the background noise. "Out to the pitch for a 45-minute warm-up. Keep it sharp, keep it focused. Let's get a feel for the atmosphere."

The team filtered out of the locker room and onto the pitch, where the winter sun hung low, casting long shadows over the pristine grass. The cold air hit Francesco's face, but the sight of the stadium—gradually filling with fans, their voices creating a low hum of excitement—sent a rush of warmth through him. Across the field, the Southampton players were going through their own warm-up routine. The tension of competition was already palpable.

Francesco jogged out with his teammates, joining a circle for passing drills to get their legs moving. The ball zipped between players with increasing speed, each touch a reminder of the precision they'd need on the field. After that, they split into smaller groups for sprints, quick turns, and shooting drills. Francesco's footwork felt sharp, his shots on target. The rhythm of the warm-up set the tone, and by the time they wrapped up, he felt locked in.

They filed back into the locker room, where Wenger was waiting for them. A tactical board stood beside him, markers in hand as he explained their strategy.

"We'll be playing in a 4-2-3-1 formation today," Wenger began, his tone measured but firm. "Wojciech Szczęsny will be in goal. For the back line: Kieran Gibbs on the left, Laurent Koscielny and Per Mertesacker in the center—Per, you'll captain us—and Mathieu Debuchy on the right."

He paused to ensure everyone was following before continuing. "In the midfield, Francis Coquelin and Calum Chambers will take the holding roles. Santi Cazorla will operate as the central playmaker. On the wings, Francesco Lee on the left and Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain on the right. Alexis Sánchez will lead the line as our striker."

Wenger's gaze swept over the room, landing on each player. "This is a strong formation for us. Southampton will press hard and look to disrupt our rhythm, but we have the tools to control the game. Trust each other, play to our strengths, and stay disciplined."

He gestured to the substitutes. "On the bench, we have Emiliano Martínez, Nacho Monreal, Héctor Bellerín, Ainsley Maitland-Niles, Joel Campbell, Theo Walcott, and Danny Welbeck. Be ready to step in and make an impact when called."

The room was quiet except for the sound of breathing and the occasional rustle of gear being adjusted. Francesco felt a swell of pride at being named in the starting XI. He exchanged a glance with Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain, who gave him a confident nod. This was their time to shine.

"Any questions?" Wenger asked. When none came, he clapped his hands once. "Good. Let's finish getting ready."

Francesco returned to his spot, slipping into his match-day jersey, the iconic red and white of Arsenal. The weight of the crest on his chest felt heavier today, a reminder of the legacy he was now a part of. He laced up his cleats with deliberate care, tightening each knot with precision. The noise outside the locker room was growing louder as fans filled the stadium, their chants and cheers bleeding through the walls.

The team huddled together for a final moment of unity before heading out. Wenger spoke again, his voice quieter now but no less powerful. "Play with heart. Play for each other. Play for the badge."

As they walked down the tunnel, the sound of the crowd hit them like a wave. The Arsenal fans were out in force, their voices loud and passionate, red-and-white scarves waving in the air. Francesco felt his pulse quicken as they stepped onto the field, the floodlights illuminating every corner of the stadium. The smell of fresh grass, the buzz of anticipation, and the weight of thousands of eyes watching—it was a feeling unlike any other.

The referee called for the captains, and Per Mertesacker strode forward confidently to exchange pleasantries and flip the coin with Southampton's captain. Francesco took his position on the left wing, bouncing lightly on his toes to keep warm. As the whistle blew to start the game, all the preparation, strategy, and nerves melted away.

The referee's whistle pierced the air, signaling the start of the game. The roar of the crowd swelled, a backdrop of chants and cheers that fueled the players on both sides. Francesco took off down the left flank, already scanning the field for open spaces, his mind racing to stay one step ahead of the Southampton defense.

Southampton came out strong, pressing high and aggressively challenging for every loose ball. Their midfielders were relentless, cutting off Arsenal's passing lanes and forcing quick decisions. Within the first two minutes, a sharp interception from Southampton's Victor Wanyama sent the ball zipping toward their winger, Dusan Tadic, who sprinted down the right side. Tadic squared up against Kieran Gibbs, trying to outpace him, but Gibbs held his ground, timing his tackle perfectly to win the ball back. The Arsenal fans erupted in cheers at the defensive effort.

Francesco positioned himself wide, waiting for the transition. Gibbs spotted him and sent a precise pass up the line. The ball skidded across the damp grass, and Francesco took it in stride, his first touch clean and purposeful. A Southampton defender closed in fast, but Francesco shifted his weight, feinted right, and cut left, leaving the defender chasing shadows.

He looked up, scanning the box for options. Alexis Sánchez was making a darting run toward the near post, while Santi Cazorla lingered at the edge of the box, ready for a cutback. Francesco whipped in a low cross, the ball skimming past two defenders, but Southampton's goalkeeper, Fraser Forster, reacted quickly, diving to smother it before Alexis could connect.

The game continued at a frenetic pace, neither side willing to cede control. Southampton tried to exploit Arsenal's backline with quick counterattacks, relying on the speed of their forwards. In the 10th minute, Graziano Pellè received a long ball near the halfway line, using his strength to hold off Laurent Koscielny. Pellè laid it off to James Ward-Prowse, who threaded a clever pass into the path of Sadio Mane. Mane burst into the box, forcing Per Mertesacker to track back at full speed. Per stretched out his long leg just in time, deflecting Long's shot wide for a corner.

The resulting corner was dangerous. Ward-Prowse curled it in with precision, aiming for the crowded penalty area. Szczęsny came off his line, punching the ball away under pressure, but it landed just outside the box at the feet of Steven Davis. Davis struck it first-time, a powerful volley that seemed destined for the top corner. Francesco, who had tracked back to defend, threw himself into the path of the shot, deflecting it wide with his chest.

The clearance reignited Arsenal's attack. Calum Chambers collected the loose ball and found Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain on the right wing. The Ox wasted no time, using his blistering pace to surge past his marker. He delivered a looping cross toward the back post where Francesco was arriving. Francesco jumped, twisting his body mid-air to meet the ball with a header. It was well-directed, but Forster was alert, tipping it over the bar for a corner.

The Arsenal players rallied, sensing an opportunity to shift the momentum. Santi Cazorla took the corner, his delivery sharp and targeted. The ball swung toward the penalty spot, where Koscielny rose above the crowd, his header thundering toward goal. Forster, again, was the hero for Southampton, pulling off a stunning save to deny the opening goal.

As the clock approached the 20-minute mark, the intensity hadn't let up. Arsenal began to settle into their rhythm, their passing becoming more fluid. Francis Coquelin and Calum Chambers anchored the midfield, breaking up Southampton's attempts to push forward and distributing the ball with calm precision. Francesco could feel the tide beginning to turn in Arsenal's favor. The team's patience and discipline were starting to wear down Southampton's high press.

The crowd roared in approval as the players continued to battle, every tackle, pass, and run carrying the weight of expectation. The opening twenty minutes had been a showcase of fierce competition, but Francesco knew this was just the beginning. The game had only just started, and Arsenal were gearing up to take control.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 16 (2014)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal First Team

Championship History : None

Match Played: 3

Goal: 8

Assist: 2

MOTM: 3