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...
Where Arsenal would soon face Chelsea in their fourth preseason match.
The aircraft continued its steady climb above the clouds as it left the vast skyline of Shanghai behind.
Inside the cabin, the mood had shifted into that quiet rhythm that always followed takeoff.
Seatbelts remained fastened for the moment.
The steady hum of the engines filled the space with a deep, constant vibration.
For the Arsenal players, flying had become part of the job. Still, even seasoned travelers needed time to settle after the rush of departure.
Francesco sat by the window, watching the last glimpses of the sprawling city fade beneath a thin layer of clouds. From this height, the towering skyscrapers and endless highways looked small and distant, like a miniature model of the city they had just left behind.
Across the aisle, Theo Walcott leaned back in his seat and stretched his legs slightly.
"Short flight this time," he said.
Francesco nodded.
"About two hours."
Behind them, Olivier Giroud had already reclined his seat slightly and closed his eyes.
"Perfect time for a nap," he murmured.
Not everyone slept though.
A few rows back, Mesut Özil had opened his tablet and was quietly reviewing tactical clips from the previous night's match.
Beside him, Alexis Sánchez scrolled through social media again, occasionally chuckling at fan posts celebrating the win over FC Bayern Munich.
Further toward the back, Virgil van Dijk sat relaxed with headphones on, listening to music while staring out the opposite window.
Next to him, Shkodran Mustafi had already drifted into sleep.
The gentle vibration of the aircraft often had that effect.
Meanwhile, toward the front of the cabin, Arsène Wenger sat quietly with a notebook resting on the small table in front of him.
Even during travel, his mind remained focused on the next match.
Chelsea.
The fourth preseason match of the tour.
Another test.
Another chance to refine tactics before the real season began.
The flight attendants from Emirates moved quietly through the cabin, offering drinks and light snacks to the players.
Francesco accepted a bottle of water and thanked them politely.
Outside the window, the landscape below had changed completely.
Large rivers cut across the land.
Patches of farmland stretched endlessly in different shades of green and brown.
The flight progressed peacefully.
Some players talked quietly.
Others slept.
Time passed gently.
Eventually the captain's voice came through the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we will begin our descent shortly into Beijing."
A few players stirred awake.
Giroud blinked and rubbed his eyes.
"Already?" he said.
Walcott smirked.
"You slept the whole flight."
Giroud stretched his arms slowly.
"Good nap."
The plane began lowering through the clouds.
The massive city of Beijing gradually appeared beneath them.
Endless rows of buildings stretched across the horizon.
Wide highways cut through the city like enormous ribbons of grey.
Even from the sky, the sheer scale of the capital city was impressive.
Francesco pressed his forehead lightly against the window as the plane descended further.
Soon the aircraft aligned with the runway of Beijing Capital International Airport.
The runway rushed closer.
Closer.
Then the wheels touched the ground.
A brief jolt ran through the aircraft as the tires met the asphalt.
The engines roared slightly as the plane slowed down.
Beijing.
They had arrived.
The aircraft gradually taxied across the massive airport complex.
Other planes lined the runways in every direction.
International airlines from across the world.
Finally the plane came to a gentle stop near a private terminal area arranged for the team.
The engines powered down.
Seatbelt lights turned off.
Players stood from their seats and stretched after the short flight.
Giroud grabbed his small travel bag from the overhead compartment.
"Another city," he said casually.
Walcott nodded.
"And another match."
Francesco stepped into the aisle as well, waiting for the line to move forward.
One by one, the players exited the aircraft through the front stairs.
Warm afternoon air greeted them immediately as they stepped onto the runway.
The sky above Beijing was bright, though a faint haze hung across the distant skyline.
Airport staff waited nearby along with security personnel coordinating the team's arrival.
A large black team bus already stood waiting a short distance away.
The familiar sight of the vehicle immediately signaled the next part of the routine.
Travel.
Hotel.
Rest.
Then preparation.
Francesco adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder as he walked down the portable stairs from the plane.
He glanced briefly around the airport.
Everything felt slightly different from Shanghai.
The atmosphere.
The air.
Even the architecture.
Every city had its own personality.
Ahead of him, Van Dijk stepped onto the tarmac and stretched his arms.
"New city," he said quietly.
"Same job," Mustafi replied.
The players walked across the tarmac toward the waiting bus.
Some airport workers paused briefly to watch the squad pass by.
Even though the visit had been scheduled in advance, seeing a full European football team arriving still attracted attention.
Within minutes, the players climbed aboard the bus.
The interior was cool thanks to the air conditioning already running.
Equipment bags were loaded beneath the bus while the players settled into their seats again.
Francesco naturally moved toward a window seat once more.
Outside, the massive airport continued buzzing with activity.
Soon the bus doors closed.
The engine started.
And the vehicle slowly rolled away from the private terminal.
Leaving the airport, the team bus merged onto one of Beijing's enormous highways.
Traffic moved steadily.
Rows of tall buildings stretched toward the horizon.
Unlike Shanghai's shimmering skyscrapers, Beijing's skyline carried a different feel.
More spread out.
More historic layers mixed between modern developments.
As the bus continued driving, players quietly observed the new surroundings.
Walcott leaned slightly toward the window.
"This place is huge too," he said.
Francesco nodded.
"Capital city."
Giroud looked out the window as they passed under a massive overpass.
"Feels different from Shanghai."
Van Dijk agreed from the seat behind them.
"Older somehow."
The bus drove deeper into the city.
Soon large billboards and commercial districts began appearing.
Shops.
Hotels.
Restaurants.
Even large football advertisements promoting the upcoming match between Arsenal and Chelsea could be seen on some of the roadside screens.
Seeing their own faces occasionally appear on a billboard drew a few amused reactions from the players.
"Look," Walcott laughed.
"That's you."
Francesco glanced up and saw the giant digital display featuring the match promotion.
Arsenal vs Chelsea.
Preseason tour.
Beijing.
He chuckled slightly.
Football had truly become global.
After nearly forty minutes of driving, the bus finally turned into a quieter district filled with luxury hotels and modern office buildings.
Soon the team bus slowed in front of a tall hotel tower with glass walls reflecting the late afternoon sunlight.
The vehicle rolled under the large entrance canopy and stopped.
They had reached their hotel in Beijing.
The doors of the bus opened once again.
Players stood up and collected their bags.
Francesco stepped down onto the pavement as the warm Beijing air greeted them again.
Hotel staff waited politely near the entrance doors.
Several security guards stood nearby as well.
A few fans had gathered behind barriers across the street.
Word of Arsenal's arrival had clearly spread quickly.
Some supporters raised phones immediately.
"Arsenal!"
"Francesco!"
He lifted a small wave toward them before following the rest of the squad inside.
The lobby of the hotel was enormous.
Tall ceilings stretched high above polished marble floors.
Golden lights illuminated elegant decorations and large indoor plants arranged around the room.
The Arsenal squad gathered near the reception area where several long tables had already been prepared.
Behind them stood members of the club's travel staff with envelopes containing room keys.
Exactly like every other stop on the tour.
Organized.
Efficient.
One staff member raised his voice slightly.
"Alright guys, come forward and collect your room cards."
Players began forming a loose line again.
Giroud leaned toward Walcott.
"Hopefully good view this time."
Walcott laughed.
"You say that every hotel."
Meanwhile, Francesco stepped forward when his turn came.
The staff member handed him a white envelope.
"Room 2018."
"Thanks," Francesco replied.
Nearby, Van Dijk checked his envelope.
"Same floor again," he said to Mustafi.
Once everyone had received their keys, Arsène Wenger stepped forward slightly.
The players naturally turned toward him.
Even after hours of travel, Wenger's calm presence drew their full attention instantly.
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and looked around the group.
"I know today has been another long travel day," he began calmly.
Several players nodded.
Travel across China during preseason was not exactly relaxing.
Wenger continued.
"So tonight, rest."
He paused briefly before adding the important detail.
"Training tomorrow will begin at eleven o'clock."
Several players glanced toward each other.
That meant a slightly later morning.
Good news.
"We will train at the facilities of Beijing Guoan," Wenger continued.
"The session will be light."
He looked around the group again.
"We prepare for our match against Chelsea."
The mention of the upcoming opponent sharpened the focus in the room again.
Chelsea were not just another preseason opponent.
They were rivals.
Wenger gave a small nod.
"Rest well tonight."
"And tomorrow we work."
That was all.
Short.
Direct.
Exactly the way the players expected.
The squad slowly began dispersing again.
Some headed immediately toward the elevators.
Others stopped briefly to grab bottles of water placed on a nearby table.
Francesco walked toward the elevator with Walcott and Giroud.
"Eleven o'clock training," Walcott said.
Giroud smiled.
"Sleep first."
The elevator doors slid open.
They stepped inside.
As the doors closed and the elevator began rising toward the upper floors, the long journey from Shanghai to Beijing finally began settling over the team.
The elevator hummed quietly as it climbed through the tall interior of the hotel.
Inside the glass walls of the elevator shaft, the lights of Beijing shimmered beyond the tall windows of the building.
For a moment, nobody inside the elevator spoke.
Long travel days had a way of draining conversations.
Theo Walcott leaned his head back slightly against the mirrored wall.
"Feels like we just landed," he muttered.
Olivier Giroud chuckled softly.
"We did."
Francesco stood beside them quietly, his travel bag hanging from his shoulder. He watched the floor numbers slowly change above the elevator doors.
15.
16.
17.
18.
The doors slid open with a soft chime.
The hallway outside was calm and softly lit, lined with thick carpets that muted every step.
"Alright," Walcott said, stretching his arms slightly. "See you tomorrow."
Giroud nodded.
"Breakfast first."
Francesco gave them a small nod before walking down the hallway toward his room.
Room 2018.
He slid the key card into the door slot.
A soft click.
The door opened.
Inside, the room was spacious and quiet. Large windows stretched from floor to ceiling along one wall, offering a wide view of the sprawling city beyond.
Even through the faint haze of the Beijing evening, the skyline extended endlessly.
He stepped inside and set his bag down near the desk.
The travel fatigue finally began settling into his shoulders.
Long flight.
Bus ride.
Another city.
But that was the rhythm of preseason tours.
Travel.
Train.
Play.
Repeat.
Francesco walked toward the window and looked out across the glowing city lights of Beijing.
Somewhere out there was their next stadium.
Their next opponent.
Chelsea.
But that was tomorrow's concern.
Tonight was simple.
Rest.
Within half an hour, the room had gone quiet.
The curtains were drawn halfway.
The lights dimmed.
And eventually, sleep came easily.
Morning in Beijing arrived with a soft glow of sunlight filtering through the hotel curtains.
Francesco woke slowly.
For a moment he simply lay still, listening to the faint hum of the city far below.
Traffic already flowed through the streets.
The distant sound of horns and engines blended into the background like a constant rhythm of urban life.
He stretched his arms slowly above his head.
His legs still carried a slight heaviness from the previous match and the travel.
Nothing unusual.
Footballers learned to live with that feeling.
He sat up and glanced at the digital clock beside the bed.
8:12 AM.
Plenty of time.
Training wasn't until eleven.
He stepped into the bathroom and splashed cold water across his face before taking a quick shower.
Warm water helped loosen the stiffness in his muscles.
By the time he finished dressing, he had changed into the familiar black and red Arsenal travel jumpsuit.
The club crest sat proudly on the left side of the chest.
Another training day awaited.
Francesco grabbed his phone, his bag, and stepped out into the hallway.
Several doors along the corridor were already opening as other players began leaving their rooms.
Down the hall, Virgil van Dijk emerged from his room and stretched his neck.
"Morning," he said.
"Morning," Francesco replied.
Further along, Shkodran Mustafi joined them while adjusting the zipper on his jacket.
"Breakfast?" Mustafi asked.
Van Dijk nodded.
"Definitely."
They walked toward the elevators together.
A few moments later the doors opened and they stepped inside.
As the elevator descended toward the lobby level, more players joined at different floors.
Soon the small space filled with quiet conversation.
Mesut Özil leaned casually against the corner wall, still looking slightly sleepy.
"Coffee first," he said quietly.
Behind him, Alexis Sánchez laughed.
"Always."
The elevator finally reached the ground floor.
The doors opened to the wide hotel lobby, which was now filled with the gentle activity of a new morning.
Hotel guests moved quietly between the lounge and the restaurant.
Soft music played somewhere in the background.
The Arsenal players headed toward the restaurant area.
The hotel restaurant overlooked a busy Beijing street through tall glass windows.
Morning sunlight streamed into the dining hall.
Buffet tables had already been prepared with a wide selection of breakfast options.
Fresh fruit.
Eggs.
Rice dishes.
Bread.
Yogurt.
Juices.
Coffee.
The players naturally formed small groups as they collected their plates.
Training days meant light meals.
Nothing too heavy.
Francesco filled his plate with fruit, eggs, and toast before sitting at a table near the window.
A moment later Walcott and Giroud joined him.
"Morning," Giroud said while pouring himself coffee.
Walcott sat down and stretched his arms.
"How'd you sleep?"
"Good," Francesco replied.
Giroud nodded approvingly.
"Same."
Across the restaurant, Van Dijk and Mustafi were already seated together discussing defensive positioning from the Bayern match.
Even during breakfast, football conversations never completely disappeared.
At another table, Özil quietly scrolled through his phone while sipping coffee.
Sánchez sat beside him eating fruit and occasionally glancing out the window.
Outside, the streets of Beijing were already alive.
Cars moved steadily along the road.
Cyclists passed by.
Office workers hurried down the sidewalks.
The scale of the city was enormous.
Breakfast passed calmly.
No rush.
Just quiet preparation before training.
Eventually the players began finishing their meals.
Staff members moved through the room reminding everyone about departure time.
"Bus leaves in twenty minutes."
Players nodded and began gathering their things.
Francesco took one last sip of orange juice before standing up.
"Let's go," Walcott said.
Within fifteen minutes the Arsenal squad had gathered again in the hotel lobby.
Travel bags and training kits rested beside the players as staff members organized the equipment.
The routine was familiar now.
Every stop on the tour followed a similar rhythm.
Outside the glass entrance doors, the black team bus was already waiting.
The driver stood beside it while security personnel ensured the entrance remained clear.
Several fans had gathered nearby after hearing the team would depart soon.
Phones were ready.
Cameras lifted.
The moment the players began stepping outside, cheers echoed lightly across the street.
"Arsenal!"
"Francesco!"
Francesco lifted a brief wave before climbing aboard the bus.
Inside, the cool air conditioning greeted them immediately.
Players moved toward their usual seats.
Francesco took a window seat again.
Walcott sat nearby.
Giroud dropped into the seat across the aisle.
Within minutes the bus doors closed.
The engine started.
And the vehicle slowly pulled away from the hotel.
The morning traffic of Beijing surrounded the bus as it merged onto the wide city roads.
Scooters zipped between cars.
Buses rumbled past.
Large overhead signs directed traffic toward different districts of the sprawling capital.
Inside the bus, the mood was relaxed but focused.
Training days always brought that subtle shift in mentality.
The players knew the work was about to begin.
Walcott looked out the window at the passing buildings.
"So this is Beijing," he said quietly.
Francesco nodded.
"Feels different from Shanghai."
Giroud leaned forward slightly in his seat.
"More history here."
Further back, Van Dijk and Mustafi were quietly discussing defensive organization again.
The bus continued driving through the city for nearly thirty minutes.
Eventually the tall commercial buildings began giving way to sports facilities and open training complexes.
Soon a large sign appeared beside the road.
The training facilities of Beijing Guoan F.C..
The bus turned through the security gates.
Inside the complex, several well-maintained training pitches stretched across the grounds.
Green grass.
Modern buildings.
Training equipment arranged neatly along the sidelines.
The bus rolled slowly toward the main facility building and came to a stop.
The doors opened.
Players stepped down onto the pavement one by one.
The air carried that familiar scent of freshly cut grass.
Football pitches always had that smell.
Even halfway across the world, it felt the same.
Francesco slung his bag over his shoulder and looked out across the training fields.
Ground staff moved quietly near the pitches preparing cones and training equipment.
Several members of Arsenal's coaching staff were already present near the main building.
Waiting.
Among them stood Arsène Wenger.
Beside him were the assistant coaches.
Clipboards in hand.
Observing.
Preparing.
The players headed inside the training facility.
The dressing room inside the building was modern and spacious.
Rows of lockers lined the walls.
Each player quickly found their designated spot.
Training kits had already been laid out neatly by the equipment staff.
Red training shirts.
Black shorts.
White socks.
Francesco placed his bag down and began changing into the kit.
Around him the familiar sounds of pre-training preparation filled the room.
Boots hitting the floor.
Zippers opening.
Casual conversation.
Giroud tied his laces while glancing across the room.
"Alright," he said. "Time to work."
Walcott pulled his shirt over his head.
"Let's go."
Van Dijk adjusted the tape around his wrist.
"Chelsea soon."
Mustafi nodded.
"Good session today."
Within minutes the entire squad was ready.
Boots laced.
Shin guards in place.
Training shirts on.
One by one the players began heading toward the exit tunnel that led out to the pitch.
The Beijing morning air greeted them as they stepped outside.
Ahead of them stretched the perfectly maintained training pitch of Beijing Guoan.
Bright green grass shimmered under the sunlight.
Cones and training poles had already been arranged across different sections of the field.
Near the center circle stood Wenger and the assistant coaches.
Watching.
Waiting.
Francesco jogged lightly across the grass with the rest of the squad.
The soft ground beneath his boots felt perfect.
Training pitches always had their own energy.
A quiet promise of the work to come.
Wenger raised a hand slightly as the players gathered around.
"Good morning," he said calmly.
The session was about to begin.
The players gathered in a loose semicircle around Arsène Wenger near the center of the pitch.
The Beijing morning sun hung comfortably above the training ground of Beijing Guoan, casting long shadows across the perfectly cut grass.
A light breeze moved across the field, just enough to cool the air.
Wenger looked around the group, his eyes calmly scanning every player.
Travel fatigue still lingered in a few faces, but overall the squad looked alert.
Focused.
Ready.
"Good morning," Wenger repeated.
A few players nodded or murmured greetings in return.
"We keep today light," he continued, hands loosely behind his back. "Your bodies are still adjusting after travel."
That earned a few quiet smiles from the players.
Everyone knew the real workload would still be demanding, even if Wenger described it as "light."
He gestured toward the far half of the pitch where cones and agility ladders had already been arranged.
"Warm-up first."
Assistant coaches began stepping forward immediately, organizing the squad into smaller groups.
The routine was familiar.
Years of professional football had made it second nature.
Francesco jogged over with Theo Walcott, Alexis Sánchez, and Mesut Özil toward one of the warm-up lanes.
"Jet lag?" Walcott asked casually.
Francesco rolled his shoulders slightly.
"Little bit."
Sánchez shrugged.
"Still better than preseason in Chile," he joked.
Özil laughed quietly.
"Fair point."
The assistant coach clapped his hands once.
"Alright boys, let's start moving."
The first exercises were simple.
Light jogging.
Dynamic stretches.
Hip rotations.
Short acceleration runs.
The rhythm of boots tapping across the grass slowly replaced the quiet morning atmosphere.
Within minutes the field was alive with movement.
Players moved through the agility ladders with quick footwork.
Side steps.
Short sprints.
Turning drills.
Francesco's body slowly began warming up.
Muscles loosening.
Heart rate climbing.
The stiffness from travel faded with every movement.
Across the pitch, Virgil van Dijk and Shkodran Mustafi worked through defensive footwork drills.
"Chelsea will press high," Mustafi said between movements.
Van Dijk nodded.
"Especially their midfield."
Meanwhile, Giroud and Sánchez were practicing short passing combinations near the sideline.
"Again," Sánchez said.
Giroud tapped the ball back.
The pass zipped across the grass.
Clean.
Sharp.
Even during preseason training, the tempo remained serious.
After nearly twenty minutes of warm-up work, Wenger raised his whistle.
The sharp sound cut across the field.
"Ball work."
Immediately several staff members rolled out racks of footballs.
Players formed small circles for possession drills.
Quick touches.
One-touch passes.
Constant movement.
Francesco found himself in a group with Walcott, Özil, Sánchez, and Giroud.
The ball zipped between them rapidly.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
"Faster," Sánchez said.
Francesco received a pass and flicked it immediately toward Özil.
Özil returned it with effortless precision.
Giroud stepped in and redirected it back across the circle.
No wasted movement.
No hesitation.
Just rhythm.
The ball almost seemed to float between them.
Nearby Wenger watched quietly.
His eyes constantly scanning.
Observing.
Occasionally he would call out small instructions.
"Open your body before the pass."
"Quicker decision."
"Move after you play the ball."
Nothing dramatic.
Just constant refinement.
Training gradually intensified.
The next drills focused on tactical positioning.
Half the squad moved into defensive shape while the other half practiced attacking patterns.
Chelsea's typical formations had been studied carefully.
Wenger and his assistants recreated several possible scenarios.
"Chelsea like to build through midfield," Wenger explained while adjusting a set of cones representing opposing players.
"Close the passing lanes."
Francesco took his position near the attacking line.
Walcott stood wide.
Sánchez slightly behind him.
The drill began.
Ball circulation.
Movement.
Sudden bursts of pressing.
Defenders closing space quickly.
It repeated again.
And again.
And again.
The Beijing sun climbed higher as the session continued.
Sweat began appearing on jerseys.
Breathing grew heavier.
But the players pushed through.
Professional athletes understood this rhythm.
Training meant preparation.
Preparation meant confidence.
And confidence mattered when facing opponents like Chelsea F.C..
After nearly ninety minutes, Wenger finally blew his whistle again.
"Good."
Players slowed to a walk.
Some stretched.
Others grabbed water bottles from the sidelines.
Francesco wiped sweat from his forehead and took a long drink.
Walcott dropped onto the grass briefly.
"Not bad for 'light' training," he said.
Giroud laughed.
"That was light."
Across the field Wenger spoke briefly with the coaching staff.
Then he turned back toward the squad.
"Tomorrow we continue."
He gave a small nod.
"Good work today."
The first training session in Beijing had ended.
The following days settled into a steady rhythm.
Morning training.
Recovery sessions.
Tactical meetings.
Light gym work.
Then rest.
The facilities of Beijing Guoan became familiar territory for the Arsenal squad.
Each morning the team bus carried them through Beijing's bustling streets toward the training complex.
Each day the drills grew slightly more intense.
Passing sequences sharpened.
Defensive coordination improved.
Attacking movements became faster and more fluid.
Francesco spent extra time working on finishing drills.
Shots from different angles.
First-touch strikes.
Headers.
Wenger occasionally stood behind the goal watching carefully.
"Again," he would say calmly.
Francesco would reset.
Another shot.
Another repetition.
Meanwhile Walcott focused heavily on sprint drills down the right wing.
Explosive bursts of pace.
Crossing accuracy.
Giroud practiced hold-up play with the midfielders.
Shielding the ball.
Turning defenders.
Linking attacks.
Özil orchestrated passing patterns with quiet precision.
Sánchez brought his usual relentless energy to every drill.
Even during preseason training he played as if every moment mattered.
Defensively, Van Dijk and Mustafi built a stronger partnership with each session.
Communication.
Positioning.
Timing.
They studied Chelsea's attacking style carefully during video sessions in the hotel meeting rooms.
Wenger would pause clips frequently.
"Watch the run."
"Look at the space here."
"Anticipate the movement."
Football at the highest level was always about details.
Small adjustments.
Tiny margins.
And the players absorbed every instruction.
Outside the training ground, Beijing continued buzzing with life.
Fans occasionally gathered outside the gates hoping for a glimpse of the team.
Sometimes players would wave from the bus.
Sometimes they signed a few shirts.
The excitement surrounding the upcoming match kept growing across the city.
Billboards began appearing more frequently.
Arsenal vs Chelsea.
Preseason Tour.
The location displayed boldly beneath the promotional graphics.
Beijing National Stadium.
Known to most people simply as the Bird's Nest.
One of the most iconic stadiums in the world.
The venue itself added another layer of anticipation.
Every player wanted to perform well on a stage like that.
Finally, the day arrived.
Match day.
Francesco woke early in his hotel room.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains once again, but this morning carried a different energy.
That familiar match-day tension.
A quiet excitement.
He sat up slowly, stretching his legs as he looked toward the window.
The skyline of Beijing stretched across the horizon.
Somewhere beyond those buildings stood the Bird's Nest.
Soon they would be there.
He stepped into the shower, letting the warm water run across his shoulders.
Match day routines were deeply personal for every footballer.
Some listened to music.
Some stayed quiet.
Some joked with teammates.
Francesco simply focused.
Breakfast in the hotel restaurant was quieter than usual that morning.
Players spoke less.
Everyone knew the rhythm of a game day.
Light food.
Hydration.
Mental preparation.
Olivier Giroud sat across from him eating fruit and toast.
"Big stadium today," Giroud said.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Nearby Walcott sipped coffee.
"Should be a good crowd."
Further down the table, Wenger spoke quietly with the coaching staff.
Even during breakfast, the manager remained focused.
Planning.
Adjusting.
Preparing.
After the meal, the players returned briefly to their rooms to collect their match bags.
Boots.
Shin guards.
Jerseys.
Everything carefully packed.
By early afternoon the squad gathered once again in the hotel lobby.
The atmosphere had changed.
More serious.
More concentrated.
Outside, the black Arsenal team bus waited.
The same bus they had used all week.
But today the destination carried far more significance.
One by one the players stepped aboard.
Francesco took his usual window seat.
Walcott beside him.
Giroud across the aisle again.
The doors closed.
The engine started.
And the bus rolled away from the hotel.
The streets of Beijing moved steadily around them as the bus headed toward the stadium.
Traffic was heavier now.
More cars.
More buses.
More people.
The closer they drove toward the Olympic district, the more signs of the match appeared.
Scarves.
Jerseys.
Fans walking along sidewalks.
Some wearing red.
Some wearing blue.
Arsenal.
Chelsea.
Excitement built with every passing block.
Inside the bus, music played softly through someone's headphones.
Most players remained quiet.
Focused.
Occasionally someone glanced out the window.
The skyline shifted as the bus approached the Olympic Park.
Then suddenly it appeared.
The massive steel structure rising into the sky.
The iconic design of the Bird's Nest.
Beijing National Stadium.
Even from the distance, it looked enormous.
Walcott leaned closer to the window.
"There it is."
Francesco stared at the stadium as the bus approached.
The lattice-like steel structure wrapped around the stadium like an enormous sculpture.
Outside, thousands of fans were already gathering near the entrances.
Red and blue shirts mixed together in waves of color.
The bus slowly turned toward the private entrance reserved for the teams.
Security guided the vehicle through the gates.
The stadium grew even larger as they slowly entered the inner perimeter.
______________________________________________
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: 4
Goal: 5
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