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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
This wasn't just a celebration of what they had done. It was a celebration of who they were, which is together as one and that is as Arsenal.
The closer the bus rolled toward the stadium, the more it felt like the entire city was breathing in unison.
Red smoke drifted across the streets.
Flags stretched from lamppost to lamppost.
Every window, every balcony, every rooftop seemed to hold someone in an Arsenal shirt, waving, singing, filming, celebrating.
And at the center of it all, rising like a monument to everything they had built together, stood Emirates Stadium.
The bus slowed.
Then slowed even more.
The crowd thickened around the approach roads, a living wall of red and white that parted only just enough for the vehicle to move forward inch by inch.
Security lines held the path, stewards guiding the flow, but the noise… the noise was uncontrollable.
It rolled like thunder.
"Arsenal! Arsenal! Arsenal!"
Francesco stood at the front rail, Cheddar now calm again in his arms, Leah beside him with her phone lowered for the moment, simply taking it all in with her own eyes.
"You can feel it," she whispered.
Francesco nodded.
"I can feel it."
The bus made its final turn, coming around the stadium's outer ring.
And then they saw it.
The main entrance.
The red carpet laid out.
Club staff lined up to welcome them.
Media cameras already set up.
Security guiding them through the final approach.
The driver slowed to a stop.
For one brief moment, there was a pause.
Like the entire day held its breath.
Then the doors opened.
And the sound outside flooded in completely.
"Alright!" one of the Arsenal staff called out from the stairs. "We're here, let's bring it home!"
The players laughed, cheered, clapped each other on the shoulders.
Francesco shifted Cheddar gently back into Leah's arms so he could move more freely, brushing a quick kiss against her temple as he did.
"Stay close," he said softly.
Leah smiled. "Always."
They stepped toward the stairs together.
One by one, the players began to descend from the top deck.
The moment Francesco's foot hit the ground, the roar outside the stadium gates surged again.
Even here, beyond the main walls, thousands of supporters had gathered just to catch a glimpse of them arriving.
Phones in the air.
Scarves raised.
Children sitting on shoulders.
The celebration wasn't just inside the stadium.
It was everywhere.
Francesco lifted a hand, waving as he walked forward with Leah at his side, Cheddar nestled safely in her arms again.
Confetti still drifted in the air, sticking to jackets, to hair, to the pavement beneath their feet.
Arsène Wenger stepped down behind them, still holding the Champions League trophy, the weight of it somehow looking both heavy and effortless in his hands.
Per and Koscielny carefully lifted the Premier League and FA Cup behind him, guarding them like something sacred.
Because they were.
Together, the team began to move toward the players' entrance.
The tunnel.
The familiar path they had walked countless times before on matchdays.
But today felt different.
Today there was no tension.
No nerves.
No opponent waiting on the other side.
Only celebration.
Only pride.
Only home.
As they walked down the tunnel, the sound inside the stadium began to filter through the concrete walls.
At first it was a low rumble.
Then it grew.
And grew.
And grew.
Until it became a thunder that echoed through the tunnel itself.
Leah looked at Francesco, eyes wide.
"That's inside?" she asked, almost in disbelief.
Francesco nodded slowly, a small, emotional smile forming.
"That's inside."
They reached the end of the tunnel.
And then they stepped out.
The sight hit them all at once.
The pitch.
Perfect, green, pristine.
And at the center of it, a large stage had been built.
Red and white.
Arsenal banners hanging from every side.
Three pedestals stood at the heart of the stage.
Three.
Each one designed to hold a trophy.
The Premier League.
The FA Cup.
The Champions League.
The treble.
But even more overwhelming than the stage…
Was the stands.
The stadium was full.
Completely full.
Every seat taken.
Every aisle filled.
And more.
Because today, it wasn't just the official capacity.
Officially, the stadium held 60,704.
But today?
It was more.
Seventy thousand.
The club had opened additional sections.
Allowed standing spaces.
Let fans gather wherever they could.
And they had filled it.
Every single space.
Because when the announcement was made, the fans had said the same thing again and again:
"We don't mind standing."
"We just want to be there."
"We want to celebrate with them."
And now they were.
Seventy thousand voices inside one stadium.
Singing.
Shouting.
Crying.
Celebrating.
The moment the players stepped onto the pitch, the roar exploded again that louder than anything they had heard all day.
It rolled around the stadium, bouncing off the stands, rising up into the sky.
Francesco felt it in his chest.
In his throat.
In his eyes.
He swallowed hard, emotion catching him for a second as he looked around.
At the North Bank.
At the Clock End.
At every section of supporters who had followed them all season long.
Leah stood just behind him, her hand finding his back gently, grounding him.
Cheddar peeked out from her arms again, ears twitching at the sheer volume of noise.
Francesco turned slightly, offering Leah a small, grateful smile.
Then he looked forward again.
Toward the stage.
Toward the three pedestals.
Toward the final step of this journey.
"Come on," one of the staff members called out. "Let's get you all up there."
The team began to move across the pitch together, a single unit, walking side by side.
Some players held hands with their children.
Others walked with their partners.
Some simply took in the moment alone.
But all of them moved forward.
Together.
Francesco walked at the front, alongside Wenger and the rest of the senior players.
As they reached the stage, the Per with Koscielny and Wenger carefully began to position the trophies.
First, the Premier League.
Lifted gently and placed onto the center pedestal.
The crowd roared.
Then the FA Cup.
Placed beside it.
Another wave of cheers.
And finally, the Champions League trophy.
Set onto the third pedestal.
The loudest roar yet.
Three trophies.
Side by side.
A season immortalized in silver and gold.
Francesco stood there for a moment, staring at them.
Every training session.
Every injury.
Every recovery.
Every goal.
Every tackle.
Every sacrifice.
All of it led to this.
He felt Leah's presence beside him again.
He felt his teammates around him.
He felt the energy of seventy thousand supporters lifting them up.
And in that moment, standing in the center of the pitch at the Emirates, surrounded by everything they had built together.
The lights suddenly shifted.
As a soft musical swell rolled through the speakers placed around the stadium, rising slowly like the opening of a film that everyone already knew the ending to, but still wanted to relive again.
At the edge of the stage, a host stepped forward, microphone in hand, dressed in a dark suit with a red tie that caught the sunlight.
He waited.
Waited just long enough for the noise to settle into a steady roar rather than a chaotic one.
Then he raised the microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen…"
The crowd answered immediately, a wall of sound rising to greet him.
"…welcome home, champions!"
The stadium exploded again.
"Today," the host continued, smiling wide as he turned in a slow circle, taking in the sight of seventy thousand Arsenal supporters filling every inch of the stands, "we celebrate something that no one in the history of football has ever achieved before."
He paused.
He let the anticipation build.
"You have watched it. You have lived it. You have sung through every minute of it."
His voice rose.
"You have witnessed your club or our club that defending the treble!"
The reaction was instant and deafening.
Scarves lifted into the air.
People hugged each other.
Some cried openly.
The host nodded, letting the emotion settle before he spoke again.
"The Premier League champions… again."
A cheer.
"The FA Cup winners… again."
Another roar.
"And champions of Europe… again."
The loudest one yet.
"Defending all three titles in the same season… becoming the first team in football history to do it."
The words hung there for a second.
Heavy.
Unreal.
Historic.
Francesco felt it settle into his chest all over again, with the weight of what they had done.
Around him, his teammates shifted slightly, some smiling, some shaking their heads in disbelief, some just looking out at the supporters who had carried them through every step of it.
The host stepped slightly to one side, gesturing toward the team.
"But today… this is not about speeches from me."
He smiled.
"This is about them."
The crowd cheered again.
"So we're going to hear from every single one of the men who made this happen."
A ripple of excitement moved through the stadium.
The host glanced down at his card.
"And we start with one of your captains in defense… a warrior who has given everything for this badge…"
He turned.
"Laurent Koscielny!"
Koscielny stepped forward, looking almost bashful at the reception he received. The cheers rolled across the stands, chants of "Kos! Kos! Kos!" echoing around the bowl.
He took the microphone, clearing his throat.
"I don't like speaking too much," he admitted, smiling softly, his accent thick with emotion. "But I will say this… I love this club."
The crowd roared.
"I love these players. I love these fans. Every day we fight for you. Every day we give everything."
He glanced at the trophies.
"To win this… once is special. To win it twice… to defend it… it is because of all of us together."
He lifted his hand toward the stands.
"Thank you for believing."
The cheers followed him as he handed the microphone back.
Next came Petr Čech.
The veteran stepped forward calmly, raising a hand in greeting. The respect in the stadium was immediate that deep, appreciative.
"It has been an honor," Čech said, his voice steady. "To stand behind this defense. To play for this club. To be part of history with all of you."
He nodded toward the younger players behind him.
"And to see the future of Arsenal already so strong… makes me proud."
David Ospina followed, smiling warmly.
"We are a family," he said simply. "And this family never stops fighting."
Nacho Monreal spoke next, thanking the supporters for their constant belief even in difficult matches.
Héctor Bellerín followed, full of energy.
"This is our home," he said, gesturing around the stadium. "And nobody comes here and takes what belongs to us."
The roar that followed shook the stands.
Andrew Robertson laughed as he took the microphone, joking about still not believing he was part of this team.
"From Hull City to this," he said, shaking his head. "Best decision I ever made."
Virgil van Dijk stepped forward next, calm, composed, commanding even in celebration.
"This team has mentality," he said firmly. "We don't stop. We don't settle. And we will not stop here."
N'Golo Kanté received one of the warmest cheers of the day.
He looked almost shy, smiling as he adjusted the microphone.
"I am very happy," he said softly, prompting laughter and affection from the crowd. "We worked very hard. And… thank you for supporting us always."
Kyle Walker followed, grinning wide.
"Fast runs, clean sheets, trophies… not a bad season, eh?"
The fans laughed and cheered.
Granit Xhaka stepped up next, voice strong and proud.
"This badge means responsibility," he said, thumping his chest lightly. "And we carry it with honor."
Aaron Ramsey spoke about belief and unity.
Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain spoke about resilience and brotherhood.
Serge Gnabry spoke about growth and proving himself.
Then came Olivier Giroud, who blew a kiss toward the stands before speaking.
"This club gave me everything," he said. "And I give everything back."
Alexis Sánchez followed, passion in every word.
"We are winners," he said. "And we will keep winning."
Theo Walcott spoke about loyalty.
Alex Iwobi spoke about growing up at the club and living his dream.
Mesut Özil spoke about creativity and joy in football.
Santi Cazorla, smiling as always, thanked the fans for their love through his injuries.
Mohamed Elneny spoke about hard work and belief.
Then the host's voice rose again.
"And now… your captain."
The noise began before the name was even finished.
"Francesco Lee!"
It rolled across the stadium like a wave.
"Francesco! Francesco! Francesco!"
Francesco took a breath.
A real one.
Then stepped forward.
The microphone felt heavier than usual in his hand.
Not because of nerves.
But because of what this moment meant.
He looked out at them.
Seventy thousand people.
All of them part of this story.
He swallowed once, then smiled.
"I don't have a long speech," he began.
The crowd laughed lightly.
"I just want to say… thank you."
He gestured around him.
"To these players. To the staff. To the manager."
He turned, pointing gently toward Wenger with a respectful nod.
"And to all of you."
The crowd roared again.
"You have been with us every step," Francesco continued. "In every match. Every tough moment. Every big night."
His voice softened slightly.
"And when we were tired… you gave us energy."
He glanced at the three trophies behind him.
"We didn't win this alone."
He placed a hand over his heart.
"We won this together."
The noise that followed was immense.
He smiled, stepping back, handing the microphone away.
The host nodded, his own voice now softer with emotion.
"And finally… we come to a man who has been more than just a player for this club."
The stadium quieted slightly, anticipation building.
"A leader. A mentor. A professional in every sense of the word."
A pause.
"A World Cup winner."
Another pause.
"And today… he says goodbye."
The crowd began to murmur.
Then the name rang out.
"Per Mertesacker!"
The reaction was immediate.
Not just loud.
Emotional.
A standing ovation rolled around the stadium as Per stepped forward slowly, his eyes already glistening slightly as he took the microphone.
He took a moment.
Just looking.
Looking at the fans.
At the pitch.
At the stadium that had been his home.
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, but filled with feeling.
"When I arrived here," he said, "I knew Arsenal was a big club."
He smiled gently.
"But I did not know how much it would mean to me."
He looked back at his teammates.
"At these players… I found brothers."
He turned back to the crowd.
"And in you… I found family."
The stands erupted again, many fans already wiping tears from their eyes.
Per's voice softened further.
"I said at the beginning of the season… this would be my last."
He nodded once.
"And I cannot imagine a better way to say goodbye than this."
He gestured toward the three trophies.
"To win the treble once… is incredible."
He smiled.
"To defend it… is something I never dreamed of."
He took a breath, steadying himself.
"Thank you for every chant. Every cheer. Every moment you stood with us."
He placed a hand over his heart.
"I will always be a Gunner."
The stadium rose to its feet.
Every single person.
Applause.
Cheers.
Chants of "Per! Per! Per!"
Francesco stood just behind him, clapping, his jaw tight as he watched one of the leaders of this team say goodbye the right way with dignity, with pride, with love.
And as the applause continued, as the sun shone down on the pitch, as seventy thousand voices honored a legend and celebrated a team that had just made history.
The applause for Per didn't fade quickly.
It lingered.
It rolled around the stadium like a tide that didn't want to go back out, like the fans themselves were holding onto the moment for just a little bit longer.
Francesco could feel it in his chest.
The rhythm of the clapping.
The emotion in the air.
He glanced sideways at Per, who had stepped back now, wiping lightly at the corner of his eye before smiling again at the supporters. Even in that moment, there was something composed about him with something steady, something that had always defined him as a leader in that dressing room.
Leah shifted just behind Francesco, one hand resting lightly against his back again, Cheddar nestled quietly in her arms, his small head poking out as if he, too, was watching something important without fully understanding why it mattered.
Francesco reached back for a second, brushing his fingers gently against Leah's wrist with a silent, grounding gesture.
Then the host stepped forward again.
He didn't rush it.
He allowed the applause for Per to slowly settle, to become a hum rather than a storm.
When he finally raised the microphone again, his voice carried a different tone now that one layered with respect, with history, with something that stretched beyond just this one season.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said softly, "we have heard from the players… from the men who fought on the pitch."
He paused.
"But now… it is time to hear from the man who built the foundation they stand on."
The crowd reacted instantly.
A ripple first.
Then a surge.
People already knew.
They knew the name before it was even spoken.
The host smiled, looking out across the sea of red and white.
"The man who took this club… and made it one of the greatest in the world."
The noise rose.
"The man who, in the years when money was not what it is today…"
More cheers.
"…kept this club in the top four with courage, with intelligence, with belief."
The noise grew louder still.
"…who carried the weight of the club's future on his shoulders… even when it meant losing captains… losing stars… year after year… to make sure this club survived and grew."
Now the stadium was already roaring.
The host didn't need to wait anymore.
He lifted his arm toward the side of the stage.
"Please welcome… the manager of Arsenal Football Club…"
A beat.
"Arsène Wenger!"
The explosion of noise that followed felt almost physical.
It hit like a wave crashing into the stage.
Seventy thousand people on their feet.
Scarves lifted.
Hands clapping above heads.
Chants rising from every corner of the ground.
"Arsène Wenger! Arsène Wenger! Arsène Wenger!"
Francesco turned instinctively, watching as Arsène Wenger stepped forward.
There was something different about Wenger in that moment.
Not the composed figure pacing the touchline.
Not the analytical mind studying the game from the bench.
But a man… taking in what his life's work had become.
He looked out at the crowd for a few seconds before even taking the microphone.
Just looking.
Just absorbing.
And for a brief moment, Francesco saw it clearly at the emotion in Wenger's eyes.
Then Wenger lifted the microphone.
The noise slowly softened that not fully, as it was never fully but enough.
"My dear Arsenal family," he began.
His voice was calm.
Measured.
But there was a softness there that didn't always show itself on matchdays.
"Today… is a day of joy."
The crowd responded with a cheer.
"But also… a day of reflection."
He paused.
"I arrived at this club many years ago, with ideas… with dreams… and with a belief that football could be played in a certain way."
A murmur of appreciation moved through the stands.
"We did not always have the biggest resources," Wenger continued, a faint smile touching his lips. "We did not always have the most expensive players."
Some laughter.
"But we had something more important."
He looked around at the players.
"At the people around the club."
"At you."
The crowd roared again.
"We had belief."
He nodded slowly.
"Belief that with hard work… with discipline… with unity… we could compete with anyone."
His gaze drifted for a second toward the three trophies on the pedestals.
"And now… I look at what this team has achieved…"
His voice softened slightly.
"And I feel… immense pride."
The crowd's reaction was immediate.
"Because these players," he continued, gesturing toward them, "they have not only won… they have honored the values of this club."
He turned slightly toward Francesco and the others at the front.
"They have shown courage. They have shown intelligence. They have shown togetherness."
He looked back at the supporters again.
"And they have given you joy."
The fans answered with a thunderous roar.
Wenger allowed himself a small, warm smile.
"I want to thank every player who has worn this shirt under me… every staff member… every supporter who has stood by us through the years."
He took a breath.
"And I want to say… that what we celebrate today… is not just trophies."
He gestured around the stadium.
"It is identity."
Another pause.
"It is history."
And then, more quietly:
"It is love."
For a second, there was a stillness.
A shared understanding.
Then the applause rose again, louder, deeper, filled with gratitude.
Wenger lowered the microphone slightly, as if ready to step back but the players didn't let him.
It started with a glance.
Francesco looked at Per.
Per looked at Koscielny.
Koscielny looked at Ramsey.
A silent agreement passed between them in less than a second.
Then suddenly, movement.
"Gaffer!" someone shouted with a grin.
Before Wenger could fully react, Francesco and a few of the senior players stepped forward, gently but firmly taking hold of him as one at his shoulders, another at his legs.
Wenger's eyes widened in surprise.
"What are you doing?" he asked, half-laughing already.
The crowd realized what was happening.
The noise surged again.
"Up!" Ramsey called out.
And with that, they lifted him.
The first throw.
Wenger rose into the air, coat fluttering slightly, arms instinctively lifting as he laughed in genuine surprise.
The crowd roared.
He came down, caught safely.
"Again!" someone shouted.
The second throw.
Higher.
Louder cheers.
The third.
Even louder.
The fourth.
The entire stadium was on its feet now, chanting his name in rhythm with each lift.
The fifth.
The highest one yet.
"ARSÈNE! WENGER!"
They caught him again, lowering him carefully back onto his feet.
Wenger stood there for a moment, laughing, slightly breathless, shaking his head in disbelief at the affection pouring out from both his players and the fans.
He adjusted his jacket.
Took a small step back.
And then looked up toward the stands again.
And that was when it happened.
At the North Bank.
A ripple of movement.
Then a massive red banner began to rise.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Until it stretched across an entire section of the stand.
A giant tifo.
On it has an image of Wenger.
Full body.
Standing on the touchline.
One arm extended forward as if directing play.
The other resting by his side.
The expression on his face calm, focused, visionary.
And beneath it, in bold white letters across the red background:
THANK YOU ARSÈNE!!!
The reaction was immediate.
A collective intake of breath.
Then an eruption of emotion.
Some fans cried openly.
Others sang.
Others simply stood there, staring at the image, trying to take it all in.
On the pitch, Wenger saw it.
He saw the tifo.
He saw the message.
And for a moment… he didn't speak.
He just looked.
Francesco watched him closely.
The slight tremble in Wenger's jaw.
The way his eyes softened.
The way he pressed his lips together briefly, steadying himself.
Then Wenger lifted one hand toward the North Bank.
A small wave.
A gesture of gratitude.
The stadium answered with one of the loudest cheers of the entire day.
And in that moment…
Under the sunlight.
Surrounded by seventy thousand voices.
Standing beside the players he had guided, mentored, and believed in.
Arsène Wenger wasn't just a manager. He was part of the club's soul, and everyone in that stadium knew it.
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Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 18 (2016)
Birthplace : London, England
Football Club : Arsenal First Team
Championship History : 2014/2015 Premier League, 2014/2015 FA Cup, 2015/2016 Community Shield, 2016/2017 Premier League, 2015/2016 Champions League, Euro 2016, Premier League Champion 2016/2017, and 2016/2017 Champions League.
Season 16/17 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 55
Goal: 87
Assist: 5
MOTM: 14
POTM: 1
England:
Match: 1
Goal: 1
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
Season 15/16 stats:
Arsenal:
Match Played: 60
Goal: 82
Assist: 10
MOTM: 9
POTM: 1
England:
Match Played: 2
Goal: 4
Assist: 0
Euro 2016
Match Played: 6
Goal: 13
Assist: 4
MOTM: 6
Season 14/15 stats:
Match Played: 35
Goal: 45
Assist: 12
MOTM: 9