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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
The quiet peaceful morning from an hour ago felt like it belonged to another lifetime, and the storm had only just begun.
The living room felt colder now.
Not physically colder.
But emotionally.
The same place that had been filled with quiet warmth an hour earlier now carried a heavy silence that pressed against the walls.
On the television, the news cycle continued to replay the same image over and over again.
Francesco standing in the nightclub.
Sofia leaning against him.
The camera angle making it look like something intimate.
Something scandalous.
Something the world was now convinced had happened.
Francesco stood there in front of the TV for a long moment, his jaw tight, his hands resting on his hips as if he were trying to hold himself together.
Every time the picture flashed on the screen, his frustration grew stronger.
"That's not what happened," he muttered quietly.
Upstairs the bedroom door remained closed.
Leah hadn't come out.
He could feel the distance between them already forming like a wall.
And the worst part was knowing she was hurting because of something that wasn't even true.
He ran his hands through his hair again.
The phone in his hand vibrated suddenly.
Another call.
He looked down at the screen.
It was Alexis Sánchez.
Francesco answered immediately.
"Sanchez."
The voice on the other side sounded tense.
"Mate… I just saw the news."
Francesco let out a tired breath.
"Yeah."
There was a brief pause before Sanchez spoke again.
"I'm sorry."
Francesco frowned slightly.
"For what?"
"For inviting you out last night," Sanchez said quietly. "If you weren't there none of this would have happened."
Francesco leaned back against the kitchen counter.
"It's not your fault."
"It kind of is."
"No," Francesco replied firmly. "I made the decision to go."
"But still…"
Francesco could hear genuine guilt in Sanchez's voice.
"I didn't think something like this would happen."
"Neither did I."
Sanchez sighed.
"Listen, the boys are already talking about it."
"What do you mean?"
"Walker, Robertson, Giroud, Oxlade… everyone saw what happened."
Francesco's eyes lifted slightly.
"And?"
"They're furious," Sanchez said. "They know she's lying."
Francesco felt a small flicker of relief hearing that.
"They saw her almost fall?"
"Yes," Sanchez confirmed immediately. "Walker even joked about it right after you caught her."
Francesco nodded slowly.
"Good."
"We'll back you up," Sanchez continued. "Every single one of us."
Francesco appreciated that more than he could explain.
"Thanks."
Sanchez wasn't finished.
"I'll talk to the media if I have to."
"Don't do anything yet," Francesco said quickly. "Jorge told me to wait."
"Right."
"But I'm not letting you get destroyed over a lie," Sanchez added.
Francesco closed his eyes briefly.
The loyalty meant everything.
"Thanks, brother."
There was another pause.
"How's Leah?" Sanchez asked carefully.
Francesco looked upstairs toward the bedroom door.
"She locked herself in the room."
"…shit."
"Yeah."
"She'll calm down," Sanchez said gently. "She knows who you are."
Francesco wanted to believe that.
But the image on the TV kept flashing in his mind.
"I hope so."
"Call me if you need anything," Sanchez said.
"I will."
The call ended.
Francesco lowered the phone slowly.
For a brief moment he stood there in silence again.
The house suddenly felt enormous.
Empty.
Cheddar padded quietly across the living room floor and sat beside him, looking up.
Francesco knelt slightly and scratched behind the dog's ears.
"Not a great morning, huh?"
Cheddar wagged his tail gently.
As if trying to comfort him.
Francesco exhaled slowly.
Then his phone rang again.
Another call.
He glanced at the screen.
This time the names made his chest tighten slightly.
Mike Lee
Sarah Lee
His parents.
He answered immediately.
"Hello?"
His mother's voice came through first.
"Francesco?"
"Yeah, Mom."
Her tone wasn't angry.
It wasn't accusing.
It was calm.
Concerned.
"We just saw the news."
Francesco rubbed his forehead.
"I figured."
His father spoke next.
"What's going on, son?"
There was no judgment in his voice.
Just genuine curiosity.
Francesco took a breath.
"Nothing happened."
"Tell us," Sarah said gently.
So he did.
He explained the nightclub.
The team.
The moment Sofia stumbled.
How he caught her so she wouldn't fall.
How he left early.
How the photo made it look completely different.
He told them everything.
When he finished there was a short silence.
Then his father spoke.
"Well… that sounds like you."
Francesco blinked slightly.
"What?"
"Helping someone who almost fell," Mike said. "That's exactly the kind of thing you would do."
Sarah spoke next.
"We know you."
Francesco felt his chest loosen slightly hearing that.
"You believe me?"
"Of course we do," she replied immediately.
"You're our son."
Mike chuckled softly.
"And you've never been good at lying."
Francesco laughed faintly despite everything.
"Thanks, Dad."
"But the media is brutal," Sarah added gently. "You know that."
"Yeah."
"And Leah?" she asked.
Francesco's smile faded.
"She's upset."
"Understandably," Mike said carefully.
"She locked herself in the bedroom."
Sarah sighed softly.
"She's hurting."
"I know."
"But this will pass," his mother continued. "Just give her time."
"I will."
Mike spoke again.
"And we're here if you need anything."
"Thanks."
"Always."
The call ended shortly after.
Francesco set the phone down slowly.
The living room was quiet again.
The TV continued its endless loop of speculation.
The house suddenly felt heavier with every minute.
He sat down on the couch.
His elbows resting on his knees.
For the first time since the news broke…
The exhaustion began to hit him.
Not physical exhaustion.
Emotional.
The kind that drains every ounce of energy from your body.
He stared at the floor.
Trying to process everything.
The photo.
The lies.
Leah's reaction.
The media storm.
And the strange feeling of losing control over his own story.
Minutes passed.
Then suddenly, He heard footsteps upstairs.
Francesco lifted his head immediately.
The bedroom door opened.
The sound of a suitcase wheel rolling across the hallway followed.
His heart sank instantly.
"No…"
Leah appeared at the top of the stairs.
Her eyes were red.
Her face pale.
And in one hand she held a suitcase.
In the other…
She carried Cheddar.
The corgi looked confused.
Francesco stood up immediately.
"Leah…"
She walked down the stairs without looking at him.
Each step slow but determined.
"Leah, wait."
She reached the bottom step.
Still avoiding his eyes.
"Where are you going?"
She walked straight past him toward the front door.
Francesco moved quickly to stand in front of her.
"Leah please."
Finally she looked at him.
Her eyes were full of pain.
And anger.
"I need space."
"Don't leave," he said quietly.
"I have to."
"Please just listen to me."
"I already heard enough," she snapped.
"Those are lies!"
Her voice cracked.
"Then why does it look so real?"
"Because someone set me up!"
She shook her head.
"I can't do this right now."
Francesco's chest tightened.
"Leah…"
She adjusted Cheddar in her arms.
"I'm going to my parents' house."
His eyes widened slightly.
"For how long?"
"I don't know."
"Please stay."
"I can't."
Her voice trembled now.
But her anger kept her moving forward.
"I need time to think."
Francesco stepped closer.
"I love you."
She closed her eyes for a brief moment.
As if the words hurt to hear.
"I know."
"Then please—"
But she walked past him.
Out the door.
Francesco followed quickly.
"Leah wait!"
Outside the driveway sunlight reflected off the parked cars.
Including the one she was heading toward.
His old Honda Civic.
She placed the suitcase in the trunk.
Still holding Cheddar.
Francesco reached her again.
"Please don't go like this."
Her voice rose sharply.
"I said I need time!"
The pain in her voice was undeniable now.
"I need to get away from this."
"It's not true!"
"I don't know that right now!"
Her eyes filled with tears.
She placed Cheddar gently in the passenger seat.
The corgi whined softly.
Francesco felt his chest tighten again.
"Leah…"
She got into the driver's seat.
He stood beside the door.
"Please."
She looked at him one last time.
Anger.
Sadness.
Confusion.
All tangled together in her eyes.
"I'll call you when I'm ready."
Then she closed the door.
The engine started.
Francesco stepped back slowly.
The car rolled down the driveway.
Then turned toward the road.
And disappeared.
Leaving him standing alone in the driveway.
The morning sun still shining.
The world still moving.
But his life suddenly feeling like it had been ripped apart in a single day.
The driveway remained quiet long after the car disappeared.
For a few moments, Francesco didn't move.
He just stood there in the sunlight, staring at the empty road where Leah had driven away.
The world around him continued as if nothing had happened.
Birds still chirped from the tall trees.
A light breeze moved through the hedges that surrounded the property.
Somewhere in the distance a car passed by on the street.
But for him, time felt like it had slowed to a crawl.
His chest felt hollow.
The silence left behind by Leah's departure was heavier than anything the news or the media had thrown at him so far.
Because the media storm was noise.
But losing her, even temporarily was something deeper.
He slowly exhaled.
Then turned and walked back toward the house.
Each step across the driveway felt heavier than the last.
When he stepped inside, the mansion felt different.
Not physically different.
But emotionally empty.
The living room still had the breakfast plates sitting on the table.
Two cups of coffee, half finished.
The TV still playing the same endless cycle of speculation.
But the house no longer felt like home.
Not without her there.
Francesco picked up the remote and muted the television.
The silence that followed was almost overwhelming.
He sat down slowly on the couch again.
His mind racing with everything that had happened in just a few hours.
The photo.
The lies.
The media frenzy.
Leah leaving.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
For the first time in years, he felt completely powerless.
He had faced roaring stadiums.
Champions League nights.
Title races.
Injuries.
Pressure from millions of fans.
But this...
This was something entirely different.
You couldn't dribble past a rumor.
You couldn't tackle a lie.
You couldn't score a goal against a scandal.
Hours passed slowly.
The morning turned into afternoon.
Sunlight shifted across the living room floor as the day moved forward.
Francesco barely noticed.
His phone kept buzzing occasionally with notifications.
Messages.
Missed calls.
Headlines.
But he ignored most of them.
Then finally, sometime in the early afternoon…
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway broke the silence.
Francesco lifted his head.
He walked to the front window and looked outside.
A black car had stopped near the gate.
The driver's door opened.
And out stepped Jorge Mendes.
Francesco wasn't surprised.
If there was a crisis in football, Jorge Mendes was usually never far away.
Within a minute, the doorbell rang.
Francesco opened the door.
Jorge stepped inside quickly.
He was dressed sharply as always, though his expression was serious.
"Long day already," Jorge said.
Francesco gave a tired nod.
"You could say that."
Jorge looked around the living room briefly.
Then his eyes settled on Francesco.
"Where's Leah?"
Francesco looked away for a moment.
"She went to her parents' house."
Jorge sighed softly.
"That bad?"
"She needed space."
Jorge nodded slowly.
"I understand."
Then he shifted into business mode almost immediately.
"Alright. Let's fix this mess."
Francesco gestured toward the living room.
They both sat down.
Jorge pulled a tablet and a folder from his briefcase.
"I've already spoken with the club's media department," he said.
"And?"
"They're backing you."
Francesco expected that.
But hearing it still helped.
"They know your reputation."
Jorge leaned forward.
"But reputation alone won't stop this story."
Francesco nodded.
"I know."
"So we need to control the narrative."
Jorge opened the folder.
Inside were printed screenshots.
News articles.
Social media posts.
Photos.
Some of them were brutal.
Headlines calling him a cheater.
A playboy.
A liar.
Jorge tapped the photo of Sofia.
"She's escalating the story."
"I saw."
"She's giving interviews now."
Francesco's jaw tightened.
"She's lying."
"I know," Jorge said calmly.
"But lies spread faster than truth."
Francesco leaned back slightly.
"So what do we do?"
Jorge's expression hardened slightly.
"We fight back."
He slid another document across the table.
"First, a public statement."
Francesco picked it up.
Jorge had already drafted most of it.
"We keep it calm," Jorge explained.
"Professional. Clear. No emotional outbursts."
Francesco read the document.
It explained that the situation had been misrepresented.
That he had simply helped someone who almost fell.
That no romantic interaction had occurred.
That the claims being spread were false.
Francesco looked up.
"Will people believe it?"
Jorge shrugged slightly.
"Some will."
"And the others?"
"That's where the second step comes in."
Jorge pulled another paper from the folder.
Legal documents.
Francesco frowned slightly.
"What's that?"
"Your legal team."
Jorge tapped the document.
"We're preparing a defamation lawsuit."
Francesco raised an eyebrow.
"Against Sofia?"
"Yes."
Jorge's tone became sharper.
"She lied publicly. That damages your reputation."
Francesco looked back at the TV screen.
Muted headlines still flashing.
"This could get ugly."
Jorge nodded.
"It already is."
Francesco thought for a moment.
Then slowly nodded.
"Do it."
Jorge smiled slightly.
"That's the spirit."
He began typing on his tablet.
"I've already contacted the lawyers. They're gathering evidence."
"What kind of evidence?"
"Witness statements."
Francesco frowned slightly.
"From who?"
Jorge looked up at him.
"Your teammates."
At that exact moment, Francesco's phone buzzed again.
He glanced at the screen.
Social media notifications.
Dozens of them.
Jorge gestured toward it.
"Check it."
Francesco opened the first notification.
It was a post from Alexis Sánchez.
Sanchez had posted a message publicly.
"I was there last night. Francesco helped someone who almost fell. That's it. Stop spreading lies."
Francesco blinked slightly.
Then another notification appeared.
A post from Kyle Walker.
"Media twisting things again. I saw it happen. She slipped. He caught her. End of story."
Another one.
Olivier Giroud.
"People love scandal more than truth. Francesco did nothing wrong."
And then another.
Andrew Robertson.
"The internet needs to calm down. We were literally joking about her nearly falling."
Francesco stared at the screen in silence.
More posts kept appearing.
Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain.
"I was there too. The story being told right now is nonsense."
Jorge leaned back slightly.
"See?"
Francesco looked up.
"The truth is starting to speak."
The posts began spreading quickly.
Fans started sharing them.
Comment sections filled with debates.
Some people were still skeptical.
But others began questioning the original story.
Francesco leaned back in his chair.
For the first time all day, a small amount of hope appeared.
"They're really backing me."
Jorge smiled.
"That's what teammates do."
Francesco looked back at his phone.
More posts were appearing.
More voices speaking up.
The storm wasn't over.
Not even close.
The media would continue digging.
Sofia would likely keep pushing her story.
And Leah was still gone.
But the truth had begun to fight back.
The living room stayed quiet for a long time after that.
The muted television continued flashing images and headlines, but with the sound off it looked almost surreal like watching a movie without dialogue.
Francesco sat back on the couch, his phone still in his hand.
The screen glowed with notifications.
Hundreds.
Then thousands.
He slowly scrolled through them.
Most of the activity was centered around the posts made by his teammates earlier from Alexis Sánchez, Kyle Walker, Olivier Giroud, Andrew Robertson, and Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain.
Their statements were spreading across social media like wildfire.
Fans were sharing screenshots.
Sports journalists were reposting them.
Comment sections were exploding with debate.
Some people began to question the original story.
Others doubled down on their accusations.
But one thing was certain.
The narrative was no longer completely one-sided.
Jorge leaned forward slightly in his chair, watching Francesco scroll.
"Good," he said quietly.
Francesco glanced up.
"Good?"
"Yes."
Jorge pointed at the phone.
"The conversation is changing."
Francesco looked back at the screen.
Comments continued flying past.
If Sanchez says it's nothing, I believe him.
The media rushed this story.
Where's the video? Only one photo?
But then.
Typical footballer behavior.
Damage control from his teammates.
They're just protecting their friend.
Francesco sighed.
"People are still tearing me apart."
Jorge shrugged calmly.
"They always will."
Francesco raised an eyebrow.
"What do you mean?"
Jorge folded his hands together.
"When you become successful, you stop being just a person."
Francesco frowned slightly.
"You become a symbol," Jorge continued. "Fans project things onto you. Some love you. Some hate you. And some just want to watch you fall."
Francesco looked back at the screen again.
The mix of support and hatred was dizzying.
Jorge tapped the coffee table lightly.
"Which is why your statement matters."
Francesco nodded slowly.
"Right."
Jorge opened the document again on his tablet.
"Let's finalize it."
They spent the next thirty minutes refining every line.
Every word mattered.
Not too defensive.
Not too emotional.
Not too aggressive.
Just clear.
Honest.
Professional.
At one point Francesco leaned back slightly.
"Should I mention Leah?"
Jorge considered that for a moment.
Then shook his head gently.
"No."
Francesco looked confused.
"Why not?"
"Because this is already painful enough for her," Jorge said quietly. "Dragging her into the statement will only make the media chase her."
Francesco sighed softly.
He hadn't thought about that.
"Okay."
So they left her out of it.
Finally, Jorge set the tablet down.
"We're ready."
Francesco looked at him.
"Now?"
"Yes."
Jorge leaned back slightly.
"The sooner the truth is out, the better."
Francesco picked up his phone.
His social media account had millions of followers.
Fans.
Journalists.
Clubs.
Sponsors.
Everyone was watching.
Waiting.
He opened the posting window.
Jorge handed him the finalized text.
"Copy this."
Francesco read it once more before posting.
Then finally, He pressed publish.
The statement appeared instantly on his page.
Over the past 24 hours, a story has circulated regarding an incident at a nightclub.
I want to address it clearly.
The claims suggesting that I was romantically involved with the woman in the photograph are completely false.
What actually happened was simple: she lost her balance and I helped her so she would not fall.
That moment has been captured in a misleading photo and presented without context.
Several teammates who were present have already confirmed what truly happened.
I respect the work of journalists, but spreading false narratives can cause serious harm to individuals and their families.
My legal team is currently reviewing the situation and will take appropriate action regarding the false claims being made.
I appreciate the support from those who know me and understand my character.
Thank you.
— Francesco
For a few seconds.
Nothing happened.
Then the reaction exploded.
Francesco's phone vibrated almost instantly.
Notifications flooded the screen faster than he could read them.
Likes.
Shares.
Comments.
Thousands within minutes.
Jorge watched calmly.
"This is the part where the internet loses its mind."
Francesco almost laughed at that.
He refreshed the post.
Already hundreds of thousands of likes.
The first wave of responses began appearing.
Fans.
Fellow players.
Journalists.
Supporters.
And critics.
The first comments were overwhelmingly supportive.
We believe you Francesco!
Always respected you as a player and person.
Media loves destroying people.
Stay strong king.
Another one.
Your teammates confirmed it. Case closed.
Another.
People need to stop judging athletes like they're perfect robots.
Francesco felt a small wave of relief reading those.
But the other side appeared quickly too.
Of course he denies it.
Typical celebrity apology.
Lawyers involved already? Suspicious.
Damage control.
Francesco sighed.
Jorge noticed.
"Don't read too much."
"Hard not to."
"I know."
But the comments kept coming.
Millions of people were watching the situation unfold in real time.
Within fifteen minutes the post had already been shared across major sports pages.
Some journalists began quoting the statement in new articles.
Television networks picked it up.
Even the muted TV in the living room started showing headlines about it.
Francesco glanced up.
One channel displayed the headline:
"Francesco Denies Nightclub Scandal — Legal Action Planned."
Another:
"Football Star Responds to Allegations."
Jorge smiled slightly.
"Good."
Francesco raised an eyebrow.
"You sound happy."
"Because now the story isn't just accusation anymore," Jorge explained.
"Now it's a dispute."
Francesco thought about that.
And he understood.
Before the statement, the media had only one narrative.
Now there were two.
The truth had a voice.
His phone buzzed again.
Another notification.
This time from Alexis Sánchez.
Sanchez had reposted the statement.
With a simple caption:
"Exactly what happened."
Then another repost.
Kyle Walker.
"Finally the truth."
And another.
Olivier Giroud.
"Proud to stand with my teammate."
Francesco leaned back slightly.
His teammates were still defending him publicly.
Jorge nodded approvingly.
"That helps more than you realize."
Francesco nodded slowly.
But then another notification appeared.
A new post from the woman at the center of the storm.
Sofia Carter.
Francesco's eyes narrowed slightly.
"What now…"
He opened it.
Her statement was shorter.
But just as dramatic.
I'm shocked by Francesco's denial.
I know what happened that night.
I have nothing to gain from lying.
People will eventually see the truth.
Francesco felt his jaw tighten.
Jorge leaned over.
"Let me guess."
"She's doubling down."
Jorge sighed.
"Expected."
Francesco set the phone down on the table.
"This is insane."
Jorge shrugged slightly.
"Welcome to modern scandals."
Francesco rubbed his face.
"But now we fight legally."
Jorge nodded.
"The lawyers will handle that part."
Francesco looked back at the screen again.
His statement was still gaining traction.
Millions of people had now seen it.
The comments kept coming.
Support.
Hate.
Arguments.
Debates.
The internet was split right down the middle.
Some believed him completely.
Others refused to.
Jorge stood up and walked toward the window.
Outside the late afternoon sunlight was beginning to soften.
He turned back toward Francesco.
"Today was rough."
"That's one way to describe it."
"But the first step is done."
Francesco looked at him.
"And the next?"
Jorge gave a small smile.
"We prove the truth."
Francesco leaned back into the couch again.
The house still felt empty without Leah, as the silence still lingered in every corner. But now, at least the fight had begun.
______________________________________________
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