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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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Another match of the tour had ended, but for Arsenal, it had ended exactly the way they wanted.
For a few moments after the final whistle, the pitch of Shanghai Stadium remained alive with noise.
Even though the match had ended, the energy from the crowd hadn't faded. The stands were still full of movement as fans standing, waving scarves, lifting their phones high to capture the final moments as the players slowly walked across the grass.
The giant screens above the stadium displayed the final score clearly.
Arsenal 3 – 1 Bayern Munich.
A preseason match, technically.
But the atmosphere had felt like something far more serious.
Sweat clung to jerseys. Boots scuffed the grass as players from both sides began drifting toward the center of the pitch. The intensity of competition slowly softened into the quieter rituals that followed every football match.
Respect.
Acknowledgment.
Handshakes.
Olivier Giroud was still smiling after his goal when one of Bayern's defenders approached him with an extended hand.
"Good header," the defender said.
Giroud laughed softly as they shook hands.
"Good cross from Walcott," he replied, shrugging modestly.
Nearby, Theo Walcott was exchanging words with Kingsley Coman.
"You're still fast," Coman joked.
Walcott grinned.
"Still trying to be."
A few yards away, Mesut Özil greeted one of his former Bundesliga opponents warmly. Their conversation slipped naturally into German, quick and relaxed, the language flowing easily after ninety minutes of intense football.
Meanwhile, Robert Lewandowski walked calmly toward the Arsenal players he had battled against for much of the afternoon.
Francesco spotted him approaching and extended his hand first.
The striker accepted it firmly.
"Nice goal earlier," Lewandowski said with a nod.
Francesco smiled faintly.
"Nice finish from you too."
Lewandowski chuckled.
"Still wish we had another one."
Francesco shrugged.
"That's football."
The two players exchanged another nod before Lewandowski moved on to greet other Arsenal teammates.
Behind him, Thomas Müller approached with his usual restless energy, wiping sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his shirt.
"That first goal hurt us," Müller said with a half grin while shaking Francesco's hand.
Francesco nodded.
"Xhaka made it easy."
Müller tilted his head.
"You made the run."
For a second they both laughed.
Footballers often understood those small details better than anyone else.
Then Müller gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder before jogging toward his own teammates.
All across the field, small conversations unfolded between players who had spent the previous ninety minutes trying to outplay each other.
Virgil van Dijk stood talking with Lewandowski for a moment, both men gesturing briefly toward the penalty area as they discussed the header that had struck the crossbar earlier in the match.
Nearby, Shkodran Mustafi exchanged words with one of Bayern's midfielders, laughing as they recalled a sliding tackle that had nearly sent both of them tumbling into the advertising boards.
Even the managers eventually crossed paths near the sideline.
Arsène Wenger approached Jupp Heynckes calmly.
The two experienced coaches shook hands respectfully.
"Good match," Heynckes said.
Wenger nodded.
"Your team pushed hard in the second half."
Heynckes smiled slightly.
"They always do."
The two managers spoke for another brief moment before parting again, each returning to their own teams.
⸻
Francesco Calls the Team
Francesco stood near midfield for a moment watching the conversations unfold across the pitch.
His breathing had finally settled. The adrenaline from the match was fading, replaced by the familiar calm that came after every game.
Then he glanced toward the stands.
High above the pitch, one section of supporters wearing red shirts had remained standing.
Arsenal supporters.
Many of them waved scarves.
Some held up signs.
Others shouted the names of players they recognized on the field.
Francesco smiled slightly.
Even thousands of miles from London, they had come.
They had supported.
And now they were waiting.
He clapped his hands loudly.
"Guys!"
Several teammates turned toward him.
He pointed toward the stands.
"Fans."
Immediately they understood.
One by one, Arsenal players began walking toward the sideline closest to the supporters.
Giroud jogged over first.
Walcott followed.
Özil, Sánchez, Xhaka, and the rest of the squad gradually joined them.
Even the substitutes and staff members began drifting in the same direction.
As the players approached the edge of the pitch, the Arsenal section inside the stadium erupted with cheers.
Phones rose into the air.
Scarves waved.
A chant began spreading through the group.
"Arsenal! Arsenal! Arsenal!"
Francesco raised both hands toward the crowd in appreciation.
Then the players lined up loosely along the edge of the field.
For several seconds they simply applauded the supporters.
Not the loud celebration of a goal.
But a sincere acknowledgment.
A thank you.
The fans responded instantly.
The noise grew even louder.
Some supporters leaned over the railings hoping to catch the attention of their favorite players.
Others held out shirts, flags, and posters.
Soon security staff allowed a few fans to step closer to the barrier separating the stands from the pitch.
That was enough.
Within moments, a handful of Arsenal players moved forward.
Giroud was one of the first.
He signed a jersey held out by a young fan wearing a shirt far too big for him.
The boy looked like he might explode with excitement.
"Thank you!" the kid shouted.
Giroud gave him a thumbs up.
Nearby, Walcott crouched slightly to take a quick photo with two teenagers who had traveled from another city just to watch the match.
Their hands trembled slightly while holding the phone.
"Ready?" Walcott asked.
They nodded quickly.
Click.
The photo was taken.
Meanwhile, Özil carefully signed several autographs before posing briefly for pictures with fans holding German flags.
Francesco slowly approached the barrier where a cluster of Arsenal fans had gathered.
Immediately several voices shouted his name.
"Francesco!"
"Captain!"
"Great goal!"
He laughed softly as he reached the front.
A young girl held out an Arsenal shirt with a marker in her hand.
"Please sign," she said nervously.
"Of course."
He took the marker and carefully wrote his signature across the number on the back.
When he handed it back, the girl looked like she might start crying from happiness.
"Thank you," she whispered.
A few seconds later, another fan handed him a phone.
"Picture?"
Francesco leaned closer toward the barrier as the fan snapped the selfie.
Behind them, dozens of supporters tried capturing the moment on their own phones.
Flash after flash.
Cheers after cheers.
One fan near the railing held up a sign that read:
"FRANCESCO – CAN I HAVE YOUR SHIRT?"
Francesco noticed it and smiled.
He tugged lightly at the bottom of his jersey.
The fabric was still damp from the match.
But he didn't hesitate.
He pulled it off and tossed it gently toward the fan.
The young supporter caught it with both hands like it was the most valuable treasure in the world.
The surrounding fans erupted with cheers.
The boy hugged the jersey tightly to his chest.
"THANK YOU!"
Francesco raised a hand in acknowledgment.
Moments like that always stayed with players longer than people realized.
For the next several minutes, Arsenal players continued interacting with the supporters.
Autographs were signed.
Photos were taken.
Shirts were handed into the stands.
Even some of the coaching staff waved appreciatively toward the fans who had stayed behind after the final whistle.
Eventually stadium officials began signaling that it was time for the teams to return inside.
The players had already been on the pitch for quite a while after the match ended.
Francesco looked back toward the supporters one last time.
He clapped again.
Louder this time.
The rest of the Arsenal players followed his lead.
The entire squad applauded the fans together.
A final thank you.
Gradually the players began walking back toward the tunnel.
The stadium lights still shone brightly above the pitch, reflecting off the green grass where the match had just been played.
Behind them, the Arsenal supporters continued chanting as the team disappeared toward the tunnel entrance.
Francesco walked beside Giroud again.
"That was a good crowd," Giroud said.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
They stepped into the tunnel where the stadium noise faded into a distant echo behind them.
Another match completed.
Another step in the preseason tour finished.
The tunnel of Shanghai Stadium swallowed the noise of the crowd slowly as the Arsenal players disappeared beneath the stands.
Just seconds earlier, the roar of supporters had filled the air like a constant storm. Now the sound faded into something softer with echoing chants drifting through the concrete corridor behind them.
Boots tapped against the tunnel floor as the squad walked toward the dressing room.
Sweat still clung to jerseys.
Grass stains marked the knees and sleeves of several players.
A few of them laughed quietly as the adrenaline of the match began fading.
Preseason or not, ninety minutes against a team like Bayern Munich always left its mark.
Francesco walked near the front of the group, still shirtless after giving his jersey to the fan in the stands. A staff member walking beside the tunnel wall handed him a spare training shirt to throw over his shoulders for the short walk.
"Thanks," Francesco said casually.
The staff member nodded.
"No problem, captain."
Behind him, Olivier Giroud was still replaying the moment of his goal.
"That cross was perfect," he said to Theo Walcott while making a small motion with his hands like he was heading the ball again.
Walcott laughed.
"You made it look easy."
Giroud shrugged.
"Sometimes football is simple."
A few steps behind them, Mesut Özil walked quietly beside Alexis Sánchez.
Sánchez wiped sweat from his neck with the bottom of his shirt.
"Good win," he muttered.
Özil gave a small nod.
"Yes."
For him, the match had been about rhythm more than anything else.
Even preseason games helped sharpen the timing between passes and movement.
Further back in the tunnel, defenders like Virgil van Dijk and Shkodran Mustafi were still discussing moments from Bayern's attacks.
"Lewandowski nearly got another," Mustafi said.
Van Dijk chuckled quietly.
"He always does."
Their conversation faded as they reached the dressing room door.
A staff member pushed it open.
Warm air spilled out.
Inside, the familiar scent of grass, sweat, and damp fabric filled the space again.
The Arsenal dressing room slowly filled with movement.
Players dropped into their seats.
Some immediately removed their boots.
Others stretched tired legs.
Water bottles were passed around quickly by the staff.
Francesco walked toward his locker and sat down heavily for a moment.
The energy of the match had finally begun leaving his body.
He grabbed a towel from the shelf inside the locker and wiped the sweat from his face and neck.
Nearby, Giroud pulled off his shirt and tossed it casually into a laundry bin.
"Good crowd tonight," he said.
Francesco nodded.
"They stayed loud the entire match."
Across the room, Walcott was already unlacing his boots.
"You heard the Arsenal fans at the end?" he said.
"Sounded like we were back in London."
That earned a few quiet laughs from the players nearby.
Even though they were thousands of miles away from England, supporters still found ways to make their presence felt.
At the far end of the room, the door opened briefly as Arsène Wenger stepped inside again.
The manager looked around calmly at the players.
"Good performance," he said simply.
No long speech.
No dramatic celebration.
Just a quiet acknowledgment.
Preseason wins were appreciated, but they were only preparation for the season ahead.
Still, the players respected the compliment.
Wenger nodded once before leaving the room again, allowing the squad to finish their routine.
Gradually the players stood up from their seats.
The next step after every match was simple.
Clean up.
Towels were grabbed from stacks placed along the lockers.
Francesco slung one over his shoulder and stood up.
"Shower time," Walcott said while stretching his arms.
"Finally," Sánchez added.
The squad began walking toward the tiled corridor that led to the shower room.
Boots were left behind.
Shin guards removed.
The clatter of equipment echoed faintly in the dressing room as players stripped down to head into the showers.
The hallway leading to the showers was bright under the overhead lights.
Steam already drifted out from the open doorway ahead.
Someone had clearly turned on the hot water early.
Inside the shower room, the sound of running water filled the space instantly.
Rows of showerheads lined the tiled walls.
Steam gathered quickly as the players stepped underneath the streams of hot water.
Francesco stepped into one of the open spots and turned the knob.
Hot water poured over his shoulders.
He exhaled slowly.
The warmth immediately relaxed muscles that had been working nonstop for the past ninety minutes.
Across from him, Giroud ran both hands through his hair under the water.
"That second half was intense," he said.
Walcott nodded from another shower.
"They pushed hard after Lewandowski scored."
Francesco rinsed sweat and grass from his arms before replying.
"They had to."
It had been obvious from the moment the second half started.
Bayern were never going to accept defeat quietly.
The water continued running as players washed off sweat, dirt, and exhaustion from the match.
A few joked with each other.
Others stood quietly enjoying the brief moment of peace.
Matches always left a strange mix of emotions behind.
Relief.
Fatigue.
Satisfaction.
For Arsenal today, there was also the quiet confidence that came from beating one of Europe's biggest clubs.
After several minutes, the showers began turning off one by one.
Players grabbed fresh towels from a nearby rack and dried themselves quickly.
The squad slowly returned to the dressing room.
Now clean and refreshed, they moved toward their lockers again.
Inside each locker hung the travel outfit prepared for the team.
Red and black Arsenal F.C. jumpsuits.
Francesco pulled the jacket from the hanger and slipped it on while toweling his hair dry.
The soft fabric felt comfortable after the intensity of the match.
Giroud zipped his jacket halfway and glanced toward the door.
"Bus soon," he said.
One of the staff members confirmed it.
"Ten minutes."
Players quickly packed their belongings.
Boots were placed into equipment bags.
Phones and headphones reappeared from lockers.
Within minutes, the dressing room had transformed from a chaotic post-match space into something organized again.
Francesco slung a small bag over his shoulder and looked around.
"Everyone ready?" he asked casually.
Most of the players nodded.
"Let's go then," Walcott said.
The squad left the dressing room together and walked down another corridor leading toward the stadium's exit area.
Security staff waited near the doors to guide them through the building.
Outside, night had fully settled over the stadium.
Bright floodlights illuminated the parking area.
Waiting near the entrance was the large black Arsenal team bus.
Its windows reflected the lights of the stadium behind them.
Several fans who had remained outside the stadium were still gathered behind barriers.
As the players approached, a small cheer rose again.
"Arsenal!"
Francesco waved briefly toward them.
Giroud gave a thumbs-up.
Even after the match had ended, supporters still waited just to see the team leave.
It was a reminder of how far football's reach truly extended.
One by one, the Arsenal players climbed onto the team bus.
Inside, the air conditioning hummed softly.
Comfortable seats lined both sides of the aisle.
Equipment bags were placed in the storage compartments while players settled into their usual spots.
Francesco moved toward a seat near the middle of the bus and dropped into it with a long exhale.
"Long day," Walcott said as he slid into the seat across the aisle.
"Worth it," Francesco replied.
Giroud took a seat nearby, already scrolling through messages on his phone.
"Fans loved the match," he said while glancing up briefly.
"I'm sure."
Several players began checking social media.
Photos from the match were already appearing online.
Goals.
Celebrations.
Fans in the stands.
Outside the window, the stadium slowly grew quieter as staff finished their post-match work.
Finally the driver started the engine.
The low rumble filled the bus.
A staff member near the front turned slightly.
"Alright guys, we're heading back to the hotel."
The bus slowly rolled forward, pulling away from the stadium parking area.
As the team bus drove through the streets of Shanghai, the city lights glowed brightly outside the windows.
Neon signs.
Traffic.
Tall buildings stretching into the night sky.
Inside the bus, the atmosphere had grown calm.
Some players chatted quietly.
Others leaned back in their seats.
A few already had headphones on, listening to music as they relaxed after the match.
Francesco rested his head against the seat and looked out the window.
The reflection of the stadium lights faded behind them as the bus moved further into the city.
The reflections of the stadium lights slowly disappeared behind the bus as it merged into the late-night traffic of Shanghai.
For a while, nobody on the bus spoke very loudly.
The quiet calm that followed a long match had settled over the squad.
Fatigue mixed with satisfaction.
Outside the window, the city continued glowing like a living organism. Highways stretched through clusters of skyscrapers, their glass walls reflecting endless streams of headlights. Neon signs flickered above shops and restaurants still open late into the evening.
Inside the bus, the players gradually sank into their seats.
Some leaned their heads against the windows.
Others scrolled through their phones.
Messages from friends, family, and fans flooded their screens.
Photos from the match were already everywhere online.
Clips of the goals.
Highlights of key moments.
Supporters posting pictures from inside Shanghai Stadium.
Across the aisle, Olivier Giroud chuckled quietly at something on his phone.
"What?" asked Theo Walcott.
Giroud turned the screen toward him.
A clip of his header goal was already circulating online with dramatic music added to it.
Walcott laughed.
"That was fast."
"The internet never sleeps," Giroud replied.
A few seats behind them, Mesut Özil sat quietly with headphones resting around his neck, reviewing short clips from the match that had already been uploaded by sports media accounts.
Beside him, Alexis Sánchez leaned back with his arms folded, eyes half closed.
For him, the silence of the ride was welcome.
The match had demanded everything from his legs.
Further back, Virgil van Dijk and Shkodran Mustafi were still discussing the defensive moments from the game.
"Lewandowski almost slipped past us in the first half," Mustafi said.
Van Dijk nodded.
"He's always dangerous."
At the mention of the striker, both of them instinctively replayed the moment when Robert Lewandowski had nearly scored from a corner.
Those small details stayed with defenders long after matches ended.
Meanwhile, Francesco remained near the middle of the bus, watching the city glide by through the glass.
The lights reflected softly across the window.
Another preseason match finished.
Another win against a giant club like FC Bayern Munich.
But the tour wasn't finished yet.
Far from it.
After about thirty minutes, the team bus finally pulled into the quiet street where the hotel stood.
The tall building rose above the surrounding skyline, its upper floors glowing softly in the night.
The bus rolled to a gentle stop near the entrance.
The doors opened.
Warm night air drifted inside.
Players slowly stood from their seats, grabbing their bags from the overhead compartments.
One by one they stepped down onto the pavement.
A few hotel staff members stood waiting near the entrance.
Security guards kept a small group of late-night fans behind a barrier.
Even this late, some supporters had waited just to catch another glimpse of the team.
Francesco stepped off the bus and lifted a hand toward them.
A few phones immediately rose into the air.
"Francesco!"
"Arsenal!"
He smiled briefly before walking toward the hotel doors with the rest of the squad.
Inside, the lobby was calm and softly lit.
The noise of the city vanished almost instantly once the glass doors closed behind them.
Several players stretched their arms and backs after sitting on the bus.
Giroud yawned.
"That bed is calling my name," he muttered.
Walcott chuckled.
"Same."
A member of the team staff clapped his hands lightly to get everyone's attention.
"Breakfast tomorrow at eight. Bus to the airport at nine-thirty."
A few players nodded.
Simple enough.
The squad gradually dispersed toward the elevators.
Francesco rode up with Van Dijk and Sánchez in quiet exhaustion.
When the elevator reached their floor, the doors slid open softly.
The hallway was quiet again.
Exactly like the previous night.
"Good night," Van Dijk said.
"Night," Francesco replied.
Within minutes, the corridor was empty again as each player disappeared into their rooms.
Francesco entered his room and closed the door behind him.
The skyline of Shanghai still stretched beyond the window like a sea of lights.
But exhaustion now outweighed curiosity.
He placed his bag on the desk and kicked off his shoes.
His body still carried the heaviness that always followed a full match.
Even during preseason.
He checked his phone one last time.
More messages.
More highlights.
Fans celebrating the win.
He replied to a few quickly before setting the phone down.
The bed looked far too inviting.
Within minutes, the lights were dimmed.
The curtains remained slightly open, allowing the glow of the city to filter softly into the room.
And before long, sleep took him.
Morning arrived gently.
Soft sunlight filtered through the tall curtains as the city slowly came alive again.
Francesco woke up to the faint hum of traffic far below.
For a moment he simply lay still, letting his body adjust.
The soreness from the match lingered in his legs.
Nothing unusual.
Just the reminder of ninety minutes of competition.
He stretched slowly before getting out of bed.
Today the team would leave Shanghai.
The next destination on the tour awaited.
Beijing.
Another massive city.
Another stadium.
Another opponent.
He showered quickly and dressed in the familiar black and red travel jumpsuit of Arsenal.
Soon he grabbed his bag and stepped into the hallway.
Several teammates were already heading toward the elevators.
"Morning," said Walcott.
"Morning."
"Legs okay?" Giroud asked.
Francesco shrugged.
"Better than yesterday."
They rode down together toward breakfast.
The hotel restaurant was already busy when the squad arrived.
Sunlight poured through the large windows overlooking the morning streets of Shanghai.
Buffet tables were lined with fruit, eggs, rice dishes, bread, and juices.
Players filled their plates lightly.
Travel days always meant keeping meals balanced and simple.
Francesco sat at a table with Walcott, Giroud, and Van Dijk.
"Next stop," Walcott said while sipping coffee.
"Beijing."
Giroud nodded.
"And Chelsea."
At the mention of the rival club, several players around the table smiled.
Even in preseason, matches against Chelsea always carried a little extra tension.
"Fourth match of the tour," Van Dijk added.
Francesco nodded slowly.
"Let's keep the momentum."
Breakfast passed calmly.
No rushing.
Just quiet preparation.
Eventually players returned to their rooms to collect their luggage.
By nine-thirty, the Arsenal squad had gathered again in the hotel lobby.
Travel bags lined the floor.
Staff members checked lists.
Equipment crates were loaded separately.
Outside, the familiar black team bus waited once again.
"Alright everyone," a staff member called.
"Airport."
Players began filing out through the glass doors.
Several hotel staff members waved goodbye.
Francesco stepped onto the bus and took a seat near the window again.
Soon the doors closed.
The engine started.
The bus pulled away from the hotel for the final time.
Morning traffic filled the wide roads of Shanghai.
Scooters buzzed between cars.
Office workers hurried along sidewalks.
Towering buildings reflected the bright morning sky.
Inside the bus, the players were quieter than usual.
Travel days often had that effect.
Some listened to music.
Others simply stared out the windows.
Giroud leaned across the aisle toward Walcott.
"You ready for Chelsea?" he asked.
Walcott smirked.
"Always."
The bus eventually reached the large entrance road of Shanghai Pudong International Airport.
Security escorted the vehicle toward a private terminal area prepared for the team.
The bus slowed to a stop.
"Alright guys," the staff member said again.
"Grab your bags."
Outside, a large aircraft waited on the runway.
The white fuselage gleamed under the morning sun.
Across its side stretched the unmistakable logo of Emirates.
The official travel partner of Arsenal.
The players stepped down from the bus and walked toward the aircraft stairs.
Wind brushed across the open runway.
Francesco looked briefly at the massive plane before climbing the steps.
Inside, the cabin had been arranged for the team's comfort.
Wide seats.
Extra legroom.
Space to relax during the flight.
Players settled into their seats.
Bags stored.
Seatbelts fastened.
Outside the windows, airport vehicles moved across the runway.
Within minutes, the cabin doors closed.
The engines slowly roared to life.
The plane began moving forward along the taxiway.
Francesco looked out the window as the runway stretched ahead.
Shanghai's skyline was faint in the distance.
Then the aircraft accelerated.
Faster.
Faster.
And finally.
Lift.
The plane rose smoothly into the sky.
Shanghai shrank beneath them.
The aircraft turned gently northward.
Destination:
Beijing.
Where Arsenal would soon face Chelsea in their fourth preseason match.
______________________________________________
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 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 2
Goal: 3
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 0
Goal: 0
Assist: 0
MOTM: 0
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