If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
_____________________________
(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Around them, the Arsenal players gathered near the center circle, applauding the supporters who had traveled across the world to watch them.
The noise of celebration lingered long after the final whistle.
Even as the Chelsea players drifted away toward their half of the pitch, the Arsenal squad remained near the center circle, applauding the supporters scattered throughout the enormous bowl of the stadium.
The sea of red shirts in the stands waved scarves and flags with pride.
It was not a home match.
Yet inside the vast steel structure of Beijing National Stadium, it felt almost like one.
Francesco stood among his teammates, clapping slowly toward the fans. His breathing had settled now, the adrenaline fading into that familiar post-match calm.
Around him, teammates exchanged smiles and handshakes.
Giroud was still being congratulated.
The tall French striker stood near the edge of the circle as several teammates patted his back.
"Good header," Kanté said quietly.
Giroud grinned.
"Perfect cross."
Santi Cazorla laughed softly.
"Of course it was."
Nearby, Petr Čech walked across the pitch toward Álvaro Morata and shook hands respectfully with the striker after his earlier save had denied Chelsea's best chance.
Professional respect.
A quiet moment between competitors.
Francesco turned toward the stands once more.
Camera flashes flickered again.
Fans shouted his name from the lower rows.
"Francesco! Francesco!"
He raised a hand toward them in acknowledgment.
Then Wenger's voice echoed from the sideline.
"Alright, gentlemen."
The players began drifting toward the tunnel.
The roar of the crowd followed them as they walked off the pitch, disappearing beneath the towering steel beams of the stadium once again.
The temperature changed the moment they stepped inside.
The tunnel air felt cooler.
Quieter.
Boots clacked against the concrete floor.
Some players chatted.
Others simply walked in silence, letting the physical exhaustion settle into their legs.
Giroud walked beside Francesco now, still energized from his goal.
"You see the header?" he asked casually.
Francesco smirked.
"Hard to miss."
"You owe me a dinner now," Giroud added with playful confidence.
"For what?"
"I finished the job."
Francesco laughed.
"You came on fresh against tired defenders."
Giroud shrugged.
"Still counts."
Behind them, Cazorla walked beside Özil, both speaking quietly in Spanish-mixed English about the midfield rhythm in the second half.
Further back, Kanté jogged lightly even now, unable to truly stand still.
Van Dijk walked calmly near the rear of the group, exchanging a few words with Mustafi about defensive positioning late in the game.
At the front, Wenger moved ahead toward the dressing room door.
A stadium staff member opened it as the Arsenal players approached.
They stepped inside.
The atmosphere was noticeably different now.
Victory always changed the mood of a room.
Boots were kicked off.
Shin guards tossed into bags.
Several players immediately collapsed onto the benches with tired sighs.
"Long run today," Gnabry muttered while stretching his legs.
Across the room, Sánchez grabbed a water bottle and poured half of it directly over his head before drinking the rest.
Francesco sat down at his locker and leaned back slightly.
The exhaustion finally arrived.
Not overwhelming.
But heavy.
The kind that settles deep into your muscles after ninety minutes of high intensity football.
Giroud dropped into the locker beside him and stretched his arms.
"Good match."
Francesco nodded.
"You changed the game."
Giroud smirked.
"I told you."
Across the room, laughter erupted as someone jokingly replayed Giroud's celebration.
Cazorla mimicked the striker's wide-armed run toward the corner flag, drawing more laughter from the squad.
Even Wenger allowed himself a faint smile.
Moments like these mattered.
They built chemistry.
Trust.
But the post-match routine had already begun.
One by one, players began heading toward the showers.
Steam slowly filled the tiled shower room as hot water roared from multiple showerheads.
The sound echoed loudly against the tiles.
Francesco stepped inside with several teammates.
Hot water washed away the sweat and fatigue of the match.
Nearby, Kanté hummed quietly to himself while washing his hair.
Giroud continued replaying his goal aloud for anyone willing to listen.
"I saw the space before the cross even came."
"Sure you did," Mustafi teased.
"I did!"
Laughter echoed off the tiles again.
Twenty minutes later, the squad began reappearing in the dressing room area.
Fresh.
Hair still damp.
Most players now wore the dark Arsenal travel jumpsuits provided for the preseason tour.
The red club crest stood proudly on the chest.
Francesco zipped his jacket halfway and adjusted the sleeves before sitting down to tie his shoes.
Nearby, Özil scrolled casually through his phone.
"Already trending," he said with a small grin.
"Which one?" Francesco asked.
"Your goal."
Francesco chuckled softly.
Of course it was.
Meanwhile, the staff moved efficiently through the room collecting used jerseys and equipment.
Outside, security and stadium personnel were preparing the team's departure.
Soon Wenger stood near the doorway.
"Gentlemen."
The room quieted again.
"The bus is ready."
Players grabbed their bags.
Within moments the group began filing out once more.
The corridors beneath the stadium were still buzzing with activity.
Security escorted the Arsenal squad through a private exit where the team bus waited.
The massive vehicle sat gleaming beneath the stadium lights.
Francesco climbed aboard and took a seat near the middle of the bus.
Through the tinted windows he could see fans still gathered outside the stadium gates, hoping to catch a glimpse of the players.
Some waved scarves.
Some held jerseys.
The bus engine rumbled to life.
One by one the players settled into their seats.
Some plugged in headphones.
Others leaned back and closed their eyes.
Giroud dropped into the seat across from Francesco.
"Still hungry," he muttered.
"You're always hungry."
"True."
At the front of the bus, Wenger sat quietly beside his staff, reviewing notes from the match.
The bus slowly pulled away from the stadium.
Outside, the bright lights of Beijing stretched into the distance.
Night had fallen fully over the city.
Skyscrapers glowed with neon signs.
Traffic flowed steadily along the wide Beijing avenues.
Inside the bus, the atmosphere had grown quieter.
The fatigue of the match finally settled across the entire squad.
Francesco rested his head against the window and watched the city pass by.
Motorbikes.
Street vendors.
Clusters of people moving beneath glowing street lamps.
Beijing felt enormous.
Alive.
Yet inside the bus there was calm.
Occasional laughter rose from the back where a few younger players were joking about moments from the game.
Gnabry replayed a clip on his phone showing Giroud's header.
"Look at that neck strength," he joked.
Giroud rolled his eyes.
"Elite striker instincts."
Francesco chuckled quietly.
The bus continued moving steadily toward their hotel.
Nearly forty minutes later, the bus finally slowed.
The tall entrance of their hotel came into view.
Bright lights illuminated the large glass doors at the front.
Security personnel stood nearby, ensuring privacy for the team.
The bus rolled to a gentle stop.
The door opened with a soft hiss.
One by one the players stepped down onto the pavement.
The evening air felt cooler now compared to the humid stadium earlier.
Hotel staff greeted them politely as they entered the lobby.
Inside, the space was enormous.
Marble floors reflected the golden lighting overhead.
Tall plants decorated the corners of the room.
Some guests glanced curiously toward the group of Arsenal players entering together.
Francesco adjusted the strap of his bag as he stepped inside.
He assumed they would all head straight for the elevators and their rooms.
But Wenger raised a hand.
"Gentlemen, one moment please."
Several players paused.
Wenger gestured toward the open space in the lobby.
"Gather here for a minute."
The squad slowly formed a loose circle near the center of the lobby.
Some leaned against their luggage.
Others crossed their arms casually.
Francesco stood beside Giroud and Kanté as Wenger stepped forward.
Wenger looked around at the group, ensuring everyone was listening.
His expression carried that familiar calm authority.
"First," he began, "well done today."
Several players nodded.
"Good intensity. Good discipline."
He paused briefly.
"But I want to speak about the next few days."
The players listened closely now.
Wenger folded his hands behind his back.
"We will return to London in two days."
A few players exchanged glances.
The preseason tour was almost finished.
"Our final two preseason matches," Wenger continued, "will be played at the Emirates."
That drew a few smiles.
Home again.
Francesco felt a small spark of anticipation.
Playing again in front of their home supporters always felt different.
But Wenger wasn't finished.
"Tomorrow," he said calmly, "you will have free time."
That sentence immediately caught everyone's attention.
A few eyebrows lifted.
Wenger continued.
"You may spend the day however you wish."
He gestured casually toward the hotel entrance.
"You may explore Beijing."
"Visit the city."
"Or remain here and rest."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"Just be ready for training the following morning."
The players reacted exactly as expected.
A wave of relaxed laughter and conversation spread through the group.
Free time during preseason was rare.
Giroud leaned toward Francesco.
"Great Wall tomorrow?" he joked.
Francesco shrugged with a grin.
"Maybe."
Across the group, Gnabry was already discussing sightseeing plans with several teammates.
Cazorla laughed as someone suggested visiting the Forbidden City.
Even the usually quiet Özil looked amused.
Wenger raised one final finger.
"Be responsible."
The players nodded.
"Enjoy the city," he added.
Then he clapped his hands lightly.
"Good night, gentlemen."
The group slowly broke apart.
Some players headed toward the elevators immediately.
Others remained in the lobby chatting about plans for the next day.
Francesco stood for a moment near the center of the room, taking in the scene.
Victory.
A good performance.
And now a rare day of freedom in one of the world's largest cities.
Giroud nudged him lightly.
"So?"
Francesco glanced at him.
"So what?"
"Tourist day?"
Francesco smiled slightly.
"Maybe."
Around them, teammates continued drifting toward the elevators.
The long day was finally ending.
Outside, Beijing's skyline shimmered beneath the night sky.
Inside the hotel, the Arsenal squad slowly disappeared upstairs one by one.
The elevators chimed softly as they carried the Arsenal players up through the tall interior of the hotel.
One by one, teammates peeled off toward their rooms.
Some still chatted about the match.
Others looked half-asleep already, the fatigue of ninety minutes finally winning the battle against adrenaline.
Francesco stepped out onto his floor with his bag slung over his shoulder. The hallway was quiet, thick carpet muting the sound of footsteps. A few doors down, Sánchez gave him a small nod before disappearing into his own room.
"Tomorrow," Sánchez said simply.
Francesco understood what he meant.
Tomorrow was the rarest luxury in professional football.
A completely free day.
He entered his room and tossed his bag onto the chair by the window. The city stretched endlessly beyond the glass. Beijing at night looked almost unreal with thousands of lights glowing between towers and wide roads that carried traffic even this late.
He stood there for a moment.
The match replayed briefly in his mind.
The pace.
The passes.
Giroud's thunderous header.
A solid win.
Then the exhaustion finally caught up with him.
He showered again quickly, changed into a loose T-shirt, and collapsed onto the bed.
Sleep came quickly.
Sunlight crept slowly through the curtains.
Francesco woke to the distant hum of a massive city already alive.
He checked the clock.
9:12 AM.
Not exactly early by training standards, but today there was no training.
He stretched slowly, feeling the familiar stiffness in his legs from the match. The kind every footballer knew well.
Across the bedside table his phone buzzed.
A message.
Sánchez:
Breakfast in 30 minutes. Lobby.
Francesco smirked.
Of course Alexis would be up already.
Another message arrived seconds later.
Giroud:
Bring your walking shoes. We explore Beijing today.
Francesco typed back quickly.
You mean eating tour.
Same thing, Giroud replied instantly.
The hotel restaurant buzzed with quiet morning activity when Francesco arrived.
Large windows overlooked a busy Beijing street below.
Several Arsenal players were already seated at a long table.
Sánchez.
Özil.
Giroud.
Van Dijk.
Kyle Walker.
Andrew Robertson.
It looked less like a planned group and more like a gathering that had slowly grown.
"Finally," Giroud announced dramatically as Francesco approached. "The superstar wakes."
Francesco pulled out a chair.
"You're just hungry again."
"That is irrelevant."
Van Dijk chuckled softly.
The tall Dutch defender sipped his coffee calmly.
"We have a plan today?"
Walker leaned back in his chair.
"Run around Beijing and see everything."
Robertson grinned.
"That's not a plan."
"That is the plan," Walker replied.
Sánchez looked up from his plate.
"We see famous places."
"Eat local food."
"Walk."
"Maybe shopping."
Özil nodded thoughtfully.
"I want to see the Forbidden City."
Giroud immediately raised a hand.
"And food market."
Francesco laughed.
"There are millions of things in this city."
"Then we start walking."
Van Dijk finished his coffee.
"I'm in."
Just like that, the group was set.
Seven players.
No official guide.
Just curiosity and a full day to explore.
An hour later they stepped outside the hotel.
The morning air felt warm but pleasant.
Beijing was already moving at full speed.
Cars flowed down the wide roads.
Bikes zipped between traffic.
Street vendors prepared food along the sidewalks.
The group wore casual clothes, nothing flashy.
Caps.
Hoodies.
Sneakers.
Still, people recognized them occasionally.
A few fans whispered excitedly.
Some asked for photos.
The players happily obliged.
Football traveled everywhere.
Walker stretched his arms.
"Alright."
"Where first?"
Robertson pulled out his phone.
"Forbidden City is about fifteen minutes by car."
Sánchez shook his head.
"We walk."
Giroud stared at him.
"That's far."
"We are athletes," Sánchez replied calmly.
Francesco laughed.
"Fine."
They started walking.
Nearly forty minutes later the massive red walls of the Forbidden City came into view.
Even from a distance the place looked enormous.
Ancient.
The towering gates and golden rooftops stretched across the horizon.
Walker stopped in the street.
"Wow."
Van Dijk nodded slowly.
"That's… big."
Francesco felt the same quiet awe.
Football stadiums were impressive.
But places like this carried centuries of history.
They passed through the entrance with crowds of tourists flowing around them.
Inside, the vast courtyards opened one after another.
Massive stone pathways.
Ornate halls.
Deep red pillars.
Gold-painted roofs that shimmered under the sunlight.
Özil walked quietly beside Francesco.
"You realize," he said softly, "this place is older than every football club in the world."
Francesco looked around again.
It felt strange imagining emperors once ruling from here.
Giroud took photos constantly.
Robertson laughed.
"You're becoming a tourist now."
Giroud shrugged.
"My wife will ask what I did in China."
"Now I have proof."
They spent nearly an hour wandering through the enormous complex.
Reading signs.
Admiring architecture.
Watching crowds from around the world.
At one point Sánchez stood quietly near a balcony overlooking one of the inner courtyards.
Francesco joined him.
"Nice place," Francesco said.
Sánchez nodded.
"Different world."
They stood there for a moment.
Two footballers from different continents standing in the middle of centuries-old imperial history.
Life could be strange sometimes.
Eventually hunger returned.
Naturally.
Giroud was the first to say it.
"I smell food."
Robertson laughed.
"You always smell food."
But Giroud wasn't wrong.
Outside the palace area they found a lively street lined with vendors selling local dishes.
Colorful signs.
Steam rising from cooking pans.
Crowds gathering around tiny stalls.
The smell alone was incredible.
Sánchez stepped forward confidently.
"Today we eat everything."
Van Dijk raised an eyebrow.
"Everything?"
"Everything."
They approached the first stall.
A woman prepared thin pancakes filled with eggs, vegetables, and sauce.
"Jianbing," Robertson read from a sign.
They ordered several.
The vendor worked quickly, spreading batter on a hot iron plate before adding fillings.
Within seconds she handed them over.
Francesco took a bite.
Crispy.
Savory.
Spicy.
"Okay," he said with a grin. "That's amazing."
Giroud was already halfway through his.
"Next stall."
Walker laughed.
"This is becoming dangerous."
They moved down the street tasting everything.
Dumplings.
Grilled skewers.
Spicy noodles.
Even candied fruit on sticks.
At one stall Sánchez tried something extremely spicy.
His expression changed instantly.
Robertson burst out laughing.
"Too hot?"
Sánchez drank half a bottle of water.
"Very hot."
Giroud clapped him on the shoulder.
"Welcome to street food."
Francesco wiped his hands with a napkin.
"This might be the best day of preseason."
Van Dijk nodded.
"No tactics."
"No running drills."
Just exploring a giant city with friends.
After the food tour they continued walking.
Soon the massive open space of Tiananmen Square appeared before them.
The scale was almost unbelievable.
The enormous plaza stretched across what felt like an entire district.
Crowds moved slowly across the stone ground.
Flags waved in the breeze.
Walker looked around in amazement.
"You could fit three football pitches here."
Van Dijk smirked.
"Maybe more."
Francesco walked slowly across the plaza with the group.
Tourists passed by speaking dozens of languages.
Cameras clicked constantly.
It was strange.
Yesterday they had been the center of attention inside a stadium.
Today they were simply visitors among thousands.
And it felt refreshing.
Özil pointed toward a distant building.
"History everywhere."
Francesco nodded.
Beijing carried a weight of centuries.
You could feel it even just walking through the streets.
By early afternoon the group had one more idea.
Giroud suggested it first.
"Great Wall."
Everyone looked at him.
Walker laughed.
"That's far."
Robertson checked his phone again.
"About an hour by car."
Francesco shrugged.
"We came to Beijing."
"We might as well see the Great Wall of China."
That settled it.
They ordered a van and began the drive north.
The city slowly faded behind them.
Tall buildings gave way to rolling hills and winding roads.
Eventually the wall appeared.
Snaking across the mountains like a giant stone dragon.
Even the players fell quiet.
Van Dijk leaned forward in his seat.
"That… is unbelievable."
They climbed the steps slowly.
The wall rose and fell across steep ridges.
Wind blew across the mountains.
From the top the view stretched endlessly.
Francesco stood at the edge of the stone path and looked out across the landscape.
Thousands of years.
Millions of stones.
Built by people long before modern civilization.
Walker shook his head in disbelief.
"And we complain about preseason running."
Everyone laughed.
They spent nearly another hour exploring the wall.
Taking photos.
Walking along the ancient path.
Talking about everything except football.
It felt good.
By the time they returned to Beijing the sun was setting.
The city lights flickered on again.
And once again…
Giroud was hungry.
"Dinner."
Robertson groaned.
"You never stop."
They eventually found a lively restaurant famous for its signature dish.
Beijing roast duck.
The waiter carved the crisp duck carefully at the table.
Thin slices placed beside pancakes, vegetables, and sauce.
Francesco tasted it.
It was incredible.
Even Sánchez nodded approvingly.
"This is good."
Walker leaned back happily.
"Best free day ever."
Van Dijk raised his glass of tea.
"To exploring."
Everyone lifted their glasses.
"To exploring."
Later that night they walked back toward the hotel.
The streets glowed under neon lights.
People laughed outside restaurants.
Music drifted from nearby bars.
Beijing never seemed to sleep.
Francesco looked around at his teammates.
Sánchez chatting quietly with Özil.
Walker and Robertson arguing about which food stall was best.
Giroud still discussing the duck.
Van Dijk walking calmly behind them like a giant bodyguard.
It had been a perfect day.
No pressure.
No tactics.
Just teammates experiencing the world together.
Tomorrow they would return to training.
Soon they would fly back to London.
Night settled gently over the city.
The group of Arsenal players walked slowly along the glowing streets of Beijing, their steps unhurried now after a day that had stretched far longer than any of them had expected when they first sat down at breakfast.
The neon lights reflected across wet pavement where a street cleaner had just passed.
Scooters buzzed past them.
People laughed outside small restaurants.
The smell of food still lingered everywhere.
Francesco walked near the center of the group, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his hoodie.
His legs felt pleasantly tired.
Not the brutal exhaustion of matchday.
Just the comfortable fatigue that came from walking miles through a city.
Giroud, naturally, was still talking about the roast duck.
"I'm serious," the French striker insisted. "Best meal of the entire tour."
Robertson laughed beside him.
"You said that about the dumplings."
"And the noodles," Walker added.
Giroud waved them off.
"That was before the duck."
Van Dijk chuckled quietly behind them.
Even Sánchez looked amused.
They continued walking until the tall glass entrance of their hotel appeared ahead.
The doormen recognized them immediately and greeted the group politely as they stepped inside.
The contrast between the buzzing city streets and the calm interior of the hotel lobby was immediate.
Soft music played.
Golden lights reflected across polished marble floors.
A few guests glanced curiously as the tall group of footballers walked in together, still chatting and laughing like a group of old friends returning from a long day out.
Francesco glanced at the clock behind the reception desk.
It was already close to eleven at night.
Walker stretched his arms.
"Alright," he said. "I'm done walking."
Giroud nodded in agreement.
"Same."
Robertson smirked.
"Tomorrow your legs will hurt."
"They already do," Walker replied.
Sánchez turned toward the elevators.
"Sleep."
Nobody argued with that suggestion.
They rode the elevator up together in comfortable silence.
The long day had finally caught up with everyone.
When the doors opened, the players slowly peeled away toward their individual rooms.
Francesco paused briefly near his door and glanced back down the hallway.
Giroud raised a lazy hand in farewell.
"Breakfast tomorrow?"
Francesco nodded.
"Before the flight."
"Good."
Moments later the hallway fell quiet.
Francesco entered his room again.
The same city skyline stretched beyond the window, glowing under the night sky.
He stood there for a moment just watching the distant movement of headlights along the wide Beijing avenues.
Yesterday had been football.
Today had been exploration.
Moments like that were rare during a professional career.
He set an alarm.
Packed a few items back into his travel bag.
Then collapsed into bed.
Sleep came almost instantly.
Morning arrived quickly.
The alarm buzzed at 8:00 AM.
Francesco groaned slightly and rolled onto his back.
His legs felt heavier today.
Not surprising.
Between the match and yesterday's walking tour, his body had definitely worked hard.
He stretched slowly before getting out of bed.
Outside the window, Beijing was already alive again.
Traffic moved steadily along the wide roads.
Construction cranes loomed in the distance.
The sky carried a pale morning haze that softened the outlines of the skyscrapers.
Francesco showered quickly and dressed in the Arsenal travel kit.
Dark jacket.
Club crest across the chest.
Comfortable training pants.
He packed the rest of his belongings into his bag.
Within twenty minutes he stepped back into the hallway.
Several teammates were already heading toward the elevators.
Walker stood near the corner tying his shoes.
"Morning," Walker muttered.
Francesco smirked.
"Legs hurt?"
Walker looked up.
"Very funny."
They rode the elevator down together.
The hotel restaurant was already busy.
Most of the Arsenal squad had arrived early, filling several long tables near the windows.
The breakfast spread stretched across an enormous buffet.
Fruit.
Eggs.
Pastries.
Rice dishes.
Even some familiar English breakfast options for the players who preferred routine.
Giroud sat near the center of the group already eating.
Of course.
Robertson dropped into a chair beside him.
"You started without us?"
Giroud shrugged.
"I woke up hungry."
Van Dijk arrived moments later with a coffee in hand.
Francesco filled a plate with eggs, toast, and fruit before joining them.
Sánchez and Özil were already seated across the table.
Sánchez looked more awake than everyone else as usual.
"How are the legs?" Francesco asked him.
Sánchez shrugged.
"Fine."
Robertson laughed.
"He says that but yesterday he almost died from the spicy noodles."
Sánchez pointed a fork at him.
"That was extremely spicy."
Walker leaned back in his chair.
"I still can't believe we actually went to the Great Wall."
Van Dijk nodded.
"That was something."
Francesco thought about it again.
The view from the mountain.
The ancient stone stretching across endless hills.
"Worth it," he said quietly.
Around them, the rest of the squad continued eating and chatting.
The mood was relaxed.
Everyone understood the tour was nearly finished.
Soon they would return home.
Back to London.
Back to the rhythm of the season.
After breakfast the players slowly began finishing their meals.
Staff members entered the restaurant reminding everyone of the schedule.
"Bus leaves in thirty minutes."
Chairs scraped lightly across the floor as players stood.
Bags were collected.
Phones checked.
One by one the Arsenal squad moved toward the lobby.
The scene there quickly filled with luggage.
Suitcases.
Equipment bags.
Backpacks.
Francesco placed his own bag beside a large pillar while waiting with the others.
Outside the tall glass doors, the team bus waited at the curb.
Its engine hummed quietly.
Several security staff stood nearby ensuring privacy for the team.
Giroud leaned against his suitcase.
"Beijing was fun," he admitted.
Walker nodded.
"Better than most preseason stops."
Robertson adjusted his backpack.
"Next time we need two free days."
Van Dijk chuckled.
"You would just eat twice as much."
Giroud didn't deny it.
Across the lobby, Wenger stood near the front desk speaking briefly with hotel staff.
He turned toward the players after a moment.
"Alright, gentlemen."
That was the signal.
The group began moving toward the exit.
The cool morning air greeted them as they stepped outside.
Francesco climbed onto the bus and found a seat halfway down the aisle.
The interior felt familiar.
Leather seats.
Quiet lighting.
The same environment that had carried them between stadiums and hotels throughout the entire tour.
One by one his teammates filled the seats around him.
Some already wearing headphones.
Others scrolling through their phones.
Giroud dropped into the seat beside him.
"London today."
Francesco nodded.
"Home."
The bus door closed.
With a gentle rumble, the vehicle began moving.
Beijing's wide streets rolled past the windows once more.
Morning traffic flowed steadily.
Office workers crossed intersections.
Street vendors prepared early customers.
The city moved with its usual enormous energy.
Inside the bus the mood was calmer.
More subdued.
The exhaustion of the past few days had caught up with everyone.
Francesco leaned his head against the window and watched the skyline slowly drift past.
It had been a good tour.
Strong performances.
Good team chemistry.
And one unforgettable day exploring one of the world's greatest cities.
Nearly an hour later the bus entered the highway leading toward the airport.
The massive terminals eventually appeared ahead.
Glass and steel stretching across the horizon.
The bus rolled through a private entrance designated for the team.
Security staff guided them toward a quieter section of the terminal where their flight was waiting.
When the bus stopped, the players stepped off one by one.
Airport staff greeted them politely and guided the group through a private check-in area.
The process moved quickly.
Passports checked.
Luggage loaded.
Within minutes they were walking across the quiet runway area toward their aircraft.
The large white jet gleamed under the sunlight.
The red branding of Emirates stretched across the fuselage.
Walker whistled softly.
"Now that's a plane."
Giroud nodded approvingly.
"First class too."
Francesco smiled.
Long flights were always easier when the seats felt like small beds.
They climbed the stairs into the aircraft.
The cabin interior was luxurious.
Wide leather seats.
Soft lighting.
Polished wood finishes.
Flight attendants welcomed them warmly as they stepped inside.
Most of the Arsenal players were seated in the spacious first class section.
Francesco found his seat near the window.
Giroud sat across the aisle.
Van Dijk settled into the row behind them.
Sánchez and Özil took seats a few rows ahead.
The players placed their bags into overhead compartments and slowly settled into the comfortable seats.
Francesco looked out the window.
Airport vehicles moved slowly around the runway.
Ground crew worked efficiently beneath the wings.
The long journey back to London was about to begin.
Giroud reclined his seat slightly.
"Wake me when we land," he said.
"You're sleeping already?" Francesco asked.
"I walked the Great Wall yesterday."
Francesco laughed quietly.
Fair point.
The cabin slowly filled as the final passengers boarded.
Then the captain's voice echoed gently through the speakers.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard. We will be departing shortly for our flight to London."
Outside, the aircraft door closed.
The engines hummed softly to life.
The plane began rolling slowly away from the terminal.
Francesco watched as the airport buildings drifted past the window.
Moments later the aircraft turned onto the runway.
The engines roared louder.
The plane accelerated forward.
Faster.
Faster.
The ground blurred beneath them.
Then suddenly the aircraft lifted smoothly into the sky.
Beijing shrank beneath the clouds.
The enormous city slowly disappeared as the plane climbed higher into the morning sky.
Francesco leaned back in his seat.
Home awaited.
London.
The Emirates.
The final preseason matches.
And then the long Premier League season ahead.
But for now, high above the clouds, the Arsenal squad finally had a quiet moment to rest.
______________________________________________
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: 5
Goal: 6
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