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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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But for now, high above the clouds, the Arsenal squad finally had a quiet moment to rest.
High above the clouds, the world felt strangely quiet.
The aircraft had long since leveled out into its cruising altitude, the steady hum of the engines blending with the soft murmur of the cabin.
For the Arsenal players scattered throughout the spacious first-class section, the long flight had slowly settled into a rhythm.
Some slept.
Some watched films on the seat screens.
Some simply stared out the windows, lost in their own thoughts as the hours slipped by.
Francesco had spent the first part of the flight doing exactly that.
Watching the clouds.
Letting his mind wander.
Eventually even he had fallen asleep for a while.
Now, several hours later, he stirred again.
A faint chime echoed through the cabin speakers.
The soft overhead lights brightened slightly.
Outside the window the endless blanket of clouds had begun to thin, revealing the dark blue Atlantic sky far below.
Francesco blinked slowly, stretching his shoulders.
Across the aisle, Giroud was still asleep, head tilted back against the seat, mouth slightly open.
Francesco smirked.
Typical.
Behind him, Van Dijk was quietly reading something on a tablet.
A few rows ahead, Sánchez was awake, headphones on, watching something on his screen with the same focused expression he wore during matches.
The captain's voice soon echoed gently through the cabin.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we will begin our descent shortly into Heathrow Airport. Local time in London is…"
The announcement continued, but the most important part had already registered.
They were almost home.
Francesco glanced out the window again.
The clouds parted briefly, revealing the grey-green patchwork of the English countryside below.
Fields.
Roads.
Clusters of houses.
After weeks traveling across continents, there was something comforting about seeing England again.
Giroud stirred beside him.
The French striker blinked groggily.
"Are we there?"
"Almost."
Giroud rubbed his eyes.
"How long did I sleep?"
"Most of the flight."
Giroud nodded approvingly.
"Good."
Francesco laughed quietly.
Around the cabin, the rest of the squad began waking up as well.
Seatbacks adjusted.
Blankets folded.
Phones checked.
Walker stretched dramatically two rows ahead.
"My back is finished."
Robertson laughed beside him.
"You slept sideways across two seats."
"Still uncomfortable."
The aircraft gradually began its descent.
Outside the window, the clouds thickened again as the plane slipped downward toward London.
The familiar grey skies of England welcomed them back.
Soon the ground became clearer.
Motorways filled with traffic.
Rows of terraced houses.
Parks and rivers winding through the city.
Francesco leaned slightly closer to the window.
London.
Home.
Moments later the landing gear deployed with a low mechanical rumble beneath the cabin.
The aircraft dipped gently.
Then the runway appeared below.
The plane touched down smoothly.
Rubber screeched briefly as the wheels met the tarmac.
The engines reversed with a roar before slowly easing again.
They had arrived.
The aircraft rolled across the runway before eventually slowing near the terminal.
Outside, airport vehicles buzzed around the massive jet.
Finally the plane came to a complete stop.
The familiar chime sounded again.
Seatbelts clicked open across the cabin.
Players stood slowly, stretching their legs after the eleven-hour journey.
Francesco reached up and grabbed his carry-on bag from the overhead compartment.
Giroud did the same.
"Back to reality," Giroud muttered.
"Almost," Francesco replied.
They waited patiently as the aircraft door opened.
Cool London air drifted faintly into the cabin.
One by one the Arsenal players stepped off the aircraft.
The grey sky hung low above the airport.
Even the damp scent of English air felt familiar.
A small group of airport staff guided them through a private exit corridor.
But word had clearly spread.
Outside the secure area, dozens of supporters had gathered behind barriers.
Arsenal shirts everywhere.
Red scarves.
Phones raised eagerly.
The moment the players stepped out, cheers erupted.
"Arsenal!"
"Francesco!"
"Van Dijk!"
The players slowed instinctively.
Despite the long flight, they knew the routine.
Francesco stepped toward the barrier where several young fans were already holding shirts and phones.
A teenager handed him a marker nervously.
"Can you sign this?"
Francesco smiled and signed the shirt quickly.
Another fan leaned forward for a selfie.
Then another.
Giroud joined beside him, laughing as someone shouted his name.
Van Dijk towered above the crowd as he signed a few autographs calmly.
Walker posed for several quick photos.
Robertson joked with a group of Scottish fans who had somehow made it into the crowd.
Even Sánchez, usually quieter in public settings, paused briefly to sign a shirt for a young boy.
Moments like these never lasted long during travel days.
Security staff gently signaled that it was time to move.
Still, the players made sure to give the fans a few moments.
A few smiles.
A few signatures.
Then the squad continued walking toward the waiting team bus.
The large black vehicle sat just beyond the airport exit.
Francesco climbed aboard and found a seat near the window again.
Giroud collapsed into the seat across from him.
"Jet lag," he muttered.
Francesco nodded.
"Same."
One by one the rest of the players boarded.
Soon the door closed and the engine started.
The bus pulled away from the airport, merging into the busy London traffic.
Outside, familiar sights rolled past the windows.
Red double-decker buses.
Black taxis.
Grey skies hanging over rows of buildings.
After the bright chaos of Beijing, London felt calmer somehow.
Quieter.
More familiar.
Francesco leaned his head back and watched the city drift by.
They were heading north now.
Toward the club's training ground.
Soon the bus left the busy central highways and entered greener roads lined with tall trees and quiet suburbs.
Nearly an hour later the gates of London Colney Training Centre appeared ahead.
The security guards waved the bus through immediately.
The familiar training complex stretched across the grounds.
Perfect football pitches.
Modern buildings.
The place that served as the daily home for the Arsenal squad.
The bus rolled to a gentle stop near the main entrance.
Players began standing again, grabbing their bags.
The long travel day was finally ending.
Francesco stepped down from the bus and stretched his legs.
The air felt cool and refreshing compared to Beijing.
One by one the players gathered near the entrance.
Wenger stood nearby waiting for them.
The Arsenal manager looked as calm as ever.
He waited until everyone had stepped off the bus.
Then he spoke.
"Gentlemen."
The players turned toward him.
"I know it has been a long journey."
A few tired smiles appeared.
"So today, go home."
That sentence alone lifted the mood instantly.
Wenger continued calmly.
"Rest."
"Recover."
"Spend time with your families."
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"I will give further instructions tomorrow."
Several players nodded.
That was all they needed to hear.
The group slowly dispersed.
Some players headed toward their own cars parked nearby.
Others arranged rides with teammates.
Francesco walked toward the parking area where his car waited.
The black frame of his BMW X5 gleamed under the afternoon light.
He tossed his bag into the back seat and climbed behind the wheel.
The familiar scent of the car greeted him.
After weeks traveling between hotels and buses, sitting in his own vehicle again felt strangely comforting.
He started the engine.
The quiet rumble filled the cabin.
Then he pulled out of the training ground parking lot.
The road toward Richmond stretched ahead.
Trees lined the quiet streets.
The drive took nearly forty minutes.
Francesco didn't rush.
Music played softly through the speakers.
The rhythm of London traffic felt slower than the chaos of Beijing.
Eventually the familiar neighborhood of Richmond appeared.
Quiet.
Leafy.
Elegant houses tucked behind tall hedges.
He turned onto his street and slowed.
Then his mansion came into view.
The gates were already open.
Someone had clearly been watching for his arrival.
Francesco smiled faintly.
He drove through the gates and parked in the driveway.
Before he could even open the car door, the front door of the house burst open.
A familiar figure stepped outside.
Leah.
His girlfriend, the talented centre back for Arsenal Women.
She hurried down the steps with a wide smile.
Behind her, a fluffy shape darted across the grass.
Cheddar.
The dog's tail wagged furiously as he sprinted toward the car.
Francesco barely had time to open the door before Cheddar jumped excitedly at his legs.
"Hey!" Francesco laughed, crouching down to greet him.
The dog barked happily.
Leah reached him a moment later.
"You're finally home," she said warmly.
Francesco stood and wrapped his arms around her.
The long travel day suddenly didn't feel quite so exhausting anymore.
"Missed you," he said quietly.
Cheddar barked again, clearly demanding attention.
Leah laughed.
"He's been waiting all morning."
Francesco scratched the dog behind the ears.
"I can tell."
The three of them stepped inside the house together.
The moment the door closed behind them, the quiet comfort of home settled around Francesco like a warm blanket. After weeks of airports, hotels, stadium tunnels, and team buses, the silence of his own house felt almost unreal.
Cheddar immediately ran ahead into the living room, claws tapping excitedly across the wooden floor.
Leah slipped her hand into Francesco's as they walked in.
"You look exhausted," she said, studying his face.
Francesco shrugged lightly.
"Eleven-hour flight."
"And before that the whole China tour."
Leah smiled knowingly.
"Sit down."
He didn't argue.
Francesco dropped his bag near the staircase and sank into the large sofa in the living room. Cheddar jumped up beside him instantly, curling against his side like he hadn't seen him in months.
Francesco scratched the dog's ears.
"I missed you too."
Leah disappeared briefly into the kitchen.
A moment later she returned with two glasses of water and handed one to him.
"Hydrate," she said.
"Yes, doctor," Francesco joked.
Leah rolled her eyes.
"You footballers think water is optional."
Francesco leaned back into the couch cushions, letting his muscles finally relax. The house smelled faintly of lavender cleaning spray and something cooking in the oven.
"Dinner?" he asked.
Leah nodded.
"I figured you'd be hungry when you landed."
Francesco chuckled.
"You know me too well."
Outside, Richmond's quiet evening slowly settled into dusk. The neighborhood beyond the tall hedges remained peaceful—nothing like the roaring crowds of Beijing or the constant buzz of airports.
For the first time in weeks, there was nothing on the schedule.
No meeting.
No training session.
No tactical briefing.
Just home.
They spent the rest of the evening quietly.
Leah told him about her own training sessions with the women's squad of Arsenal Women, including a new defensive drill their coach had been pushing lately.
Francesco shared stories from the tour.
The match.
The Great Wall.
The food markets.
Giroud's endless hunger.
Leah laughed several times.
"I can actually imagine him saying all that."
Cheddar lay between them on the couch, occasionally lifting his head when someone said something in an excited voice.
By the time dinner was finished, the long travel day had finally caught up with Francesco completely.
His eyes felt heavy.
His muscles loose.
Jet lag lingered somewhere at the edge of his mind.
Leah noticed immediately.
"You're falling asleep sitting up."
Francesco blinked.
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
She stood up and pulled his hand.
"Bed."
He didn't resist.
Within minutes they were upstairs.
The bedroom windows overlooked the quiet garden outside.
Francesco barely had time to change into a loose shirt before collapsing into bed.
Sleep arrived quickly.
Morning came slowly.
Sunlight crept through the curtains in soft golden strips across the bedroom floor.
Birds chirped faintly somewhere outside.
Francesco stirred beneath the blankets, his body still confused by the sudden shift in time zones.
His internal clock still lived somewhere between Beijing and London.
He rolled onto his back and blinked at the ceiling.
For a moment he didn't even remember what day it was.
Then everything slowly returned.
The flight.
The bus.
Driving home.
Leah.
Cheddar.
He reached for his phone on the bedside table.
9:37 AM.
Not bad.
Later than a normal training morning, but today there had been no alarm.
No rush.
Just rest.
Leah was already awake.
Francesco could hear faint movement downstairs, probably in the kitchen.
He stretched slowly, feeling the lingering stiffness in his legs from the travel and the preseason match days.
Jet lag always hit athletes in strange ways.
Sometimes you felt wide awake at midnight.
Other times you woke up feeling like your body had traveled through three time zones without your brain catching up.
Francesco sat up and rubbed his eyes.
Then he picked up his phone again.
Several notifications waited on the screen.
Messages.
News alerts.
Social media tags.
Fans had already posted photos from yesterday's arrival at Heathrow Airport.
But one notification stood out immediately.
The team group chat.
He opened it.
The message had been posted not long ago by Arsène Wenger.
Francesco read it slowly.
Wenger:
Good morning, gentlemen.
After the long travel from China, we will not begin training today.
Rest and recover.
We start tomorrow.
Please use today to eliminate jet lag and return fresh.
Further schedule details will follow later.
Francesco leaned back slightly against the headboard.
That made sense.
Even the most disciplined manager understood the realities of international travel.
Eleven-hour flights.
Time zone shifts.
Fatigue.
Starting intense training immediately would risk injuries.
Better to let the players reset first.
Francesco scrolled through the chat.
Several teammates had already responded.
Walker:
Best message ever.
Giroud:
Perfect. I sleep again.
Robertson:
Jet lag = excuse to eat.
Van Dijk:
See everyone tomorrow.
Francesco chuckled quietly.
Typical.
He typed a quick response.
Francesco:
Understood boss.
Then he set the phone down again.
A faint smell of coffee drifted upstairs.
Leah.
He stood up and stretched again before heading downstairs.
The kitchen felt bright and welcoming.
Sunlight poured through the large windows overlooking the garden.
Leah stood near the counter pouring coffee into two mugs.
Cheddar sat nearby watching her carefully, clearly hoping food might appear.
"Morning," Leah said without turning around.
Francesco smiled.
"How did you know I was awake?"
"I heard you walking."
He leaned against the counter.
"Coach message came through."
Leah raised an eyebrow.
"And?"
"Training starts tomorrow."
She nodded.
"That's good."
"Today you rest."
Francesco accepted the mug of coffee she handed him.
The warmth felt nice against his palms.
Cheddar walked over and leaned against his leg.
"Someone missed me," Francesco said.
Leah smirked.
"He followed your car into the driveway yesterday."
Francesco crouched to scratch the dog behind the ears again.
The quiet domestic moment felt surreal compared to the roar of ninety thousand fans in a stadium.
Life had two very different sides for professional athletes.
One was chaos.
The other was calm.
Breakfast was simple.
Toast.
Eggs.
Fruit.
They sat together at the small kitchen table.
Outside, Richmond's peaceful streets moved slowly.
Cyclists passed occasionally.
Neighbors walked dogs.
No crowds.
No flashing cameras.
Just ordinary life.
Francesco checked his phone again between bites.
More fan posts.
Clips from the Beijing match.
One video showed his goal again, the pass from Özil sliding perfectly through the defense.
He smiled slightly.
Not a bad moment.
Leah noticed.
"Watching your own highlights?"
"Maybe."
She laughed.
"Footballers."
After breakfast they stepped outside into the garden.
The air felt cool and refreshing.
Jet lag still hovered faintly in Francesco's body, but the quiet morning helped.
He walked slowly across the grass with Cheddar running ahead chasing nothing in particular.
Leah sat on the wooden garden bench watching them.
"So what do you do today?" she asked.
Francesco shrugged.
"Recover."
"Maybe light gym."
"Maybe nothing."
Leah nodded approvingly.
"Smart."
For professional athletes, recovery days mattered almost as much as training days.
Francesco eventually returned inside and checked the team group chat again.
More jokes had appeared.
Giroud:
Lunch later anyone?
Walker:
Already thinking about food?
Giroud:
Always.
Francesco shook his head.
Some things never changed.
The day stretched ahead peacefully.
No pressure.
No training alarms.
Just a chance to let his body adjust again.
Tomorrow they would return to the training pitches at London Colney Training Centre.
The rest of the morning drifted by slowly.
Not in a lazy, boring way and more like the kind of quiet calm that rarely appeared in the life of a professional footballer.
For once, there was no schedule chasing Francesco.
No media appearances.
No tactical meetings.
No gym alarms set for 7:00 AM.
Just a day to let his body settle back into London time.
The garden behind the house slowly warmed under the midday sun. It wasn't particularly hot like the typical English weather, but the light breeze made it comfortable enough to sit outside.
Leah had moved the small outdoor table closer to the shade of a tall oak tree.
Francesco joined her there with a glass of water while Cheddar roamed the lawn like a tiny security guard inspecting his territory.
Leah glanced over at him.
"You actually look relaxed."
Francesco raised an eyebrow.
"Do I?"
"Yes," she said. "Usually when you come back from tours you're already thinking about the next match."
He leaned back in the chair and watched Cheddar sprint after a butterfly that had absolutely no intention of slowing down.
"Maybe I'm learning."
Leah smirked.
"That would be a first."
They spent the afternoon doing almost nothing.
And it felt perfect.
At one point Leah convinced him to go for a light jog with her along the quiet paths near Richmond Park. Nothing intense, just enough movement to help shake off the lingering heaviness from the eleven-hour flight.
Cheddar insisted on joining them.
The small dog ran ahead with ridiculous enthusiasm, stopping every few seconds to investigate leaves, birds, or random smells that clearly held deep meaning in the canine world.
Francesco jogged beside Leah at an easy pace.
"You're lucky," he said.
"Why?"
"You train here every week."
Leah shrugged.
"I still complain about the weather."
He laughed.
Fair enough.
After the jog they walked back home slowly.
The rest of the afternoon turned into something even simpler, watching a film together in the living room while Cheddar slept between them on the couch.
Occasionally Francesco's phone buzzed.
Messages from teammates.
Walker had posted a photo of himself half-asleep on his couch with the caption: Jet lag champion.
Giroud had posted a picture of a giant plate of pasta.
Robertson commented under it:
"Of course you're eating."
Francesco shook his head and put the phone down again.
The evening passed peacefully.
Dinner was light.
Pasta, grilled chicken, vegetables.
Afterward they sat in the garden again as the sun slowly faded behind the tall hedges surrounding the property.
Leah rested her head lightly against his shoulder.
"Back to work tomorrow."
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
"Last two preseason matches soon."
"Benfica first."
"Then Sevilla."
Leah looked up at him.
"Excited?"
Francesco thought about it for a moment.
"Always."
Footballers lived for matches.
Training was preparation.
Travel was routine.
But the game itself, that ninety minutes was the reason everything existed.
Night eventually settled across Richmond.
The house grew quiet again.
By the time they went upstairs, Francesco could already feel the jet lag fading.
His body clock was resetting.
Tomorrow would be normal again.
Training.
Teammates.
The rhythm of the season.
Morning arrived clearer this time.
Francesco woke before the alarm.
6:42 AM.
That alone was proof his internal clock had finally realigned with London.
The bedroom was still dim, the early light just beginning to creep past the curtains.
Beside him, Leah was still asleep.
Cheddar lay curled at the foot of the bed like a small furry statue.
Francesco slipped quietly out of bed and walked toward the window.
The garden outside was still.
Dew covered the grass.
Birds fluttered across the trees lining the property.
Training day.
He showered quickly, dressed in the club's travel training gear, and headed downstairs.
Coffee first.
Always.
The kitchen filled with the smell within minutes.
Leah eventually wandered downstairs wearing an oversized hoodie and rubbing her eyes.
"You're up early."
"Training."
She poured herself tea.
"Try not to score ten goals today."
"No promises."
Cheddar barked softly as if he supported that plan.
Breakfast was quick.
Fruit.
Toast.
Coffee.
Francesco grabbed his car keys from the counter.
"You leaving already?" Leah asked.
"Need to get there before the others start arguing about music in the locker room."
She laughed.
"Drive safe."
He leaned over and kissed her briefly.
"See you tonight."
Cheddar followed him to the door as usual.
Francesco crouched and scratched the dog behind the ears one more time before heading out.
"Guard the house."
Cheddar barked proudly as if accepting the mission.
The engine of his familiar black BMW X5 hummed softly as Francesco pulled out of the driveway.
The morning streets of Richmond were quiet.
Commuters had begun their routines.
Cyclists moved along the roads.
School buses passed occasionally.
Francesco drove calmly through the neighborhood before joining the larger roads leading north.
Music played quietly through the speakers.
Nothing loud.
Just enough to keep him awake during the forty-minute drive.
As the city slowly gave way to greener suburban roads, the familiar anticipation of training began to settle into his mind.
Footballers rarely stayed away from the pitch for long before missing it.
Soon the entrance gates of London Colney Training Centre appeared ahead.
Security recognized his car immediately and opened the gate.
Francesco drove inside.
The training complex looked exactly as it always did.
Perfect green pitches stretching across the property.
The modern glass training building.
Staff members moving between facilities preparing equipment.
Several teammates had already arrived.
He spotted Walker's car parked nearby.
And Van Dijk's.
Francesco parked his SUV in the usual area and stepped out.
The cool morning air felt fresh against his face.
He grabbed his bag from the back seat and headed toward the training building.
Inside, the familiar sounds greeted him instantly.
Boots tapping against the floor.
Laughter echoing down the hallway.
Music playing faintly from someone's phone speaker.
The dressing room door swung open as he stepped inside.
Walker looked up immediately.
"There he is."
Francesco dropped his bag beside his locker.
"Morning."
Robertson sat nearby tying his boots.
"Jet lag gone?"
"Mostly."
Giroud entered moments later carrying a coffee cup nearly the size of a small bucket.
"Important fuel," he announced.
Van Dijk leaned against the lockers shaking his head.
"You ate before coming here, didn't you?"
Giroud smiled proudly.
"Of course."
The dressing room buzzed with that relaxed preseason energy.
Players changing into their training kits.
Staff members walking through checking equipment.
Francesco pulled on his Arsenal training shirt and adjusted his socks before lacing up his boots.
The familiar routine felt comforting.
After a few minutes the players began heading outside toward the pitches.
The morning air carried that crisp freshness typical of English training mornings.
Across the field, several figures already stood waiting.
Among them was their manager.
Arsène Wenger stood calmly near the center of the training pitch with the assistant coaches beside him.
Cones had already been placed across sections of the grass.
Training equipment lined the sideline.
As the squad gathered around, Wenger clasped his hands behind his back.
He waited until everyone had arrived.
Then he spoke.
"Good morning, gentlemen."
The players responded almost in unison.
"Morning, boss."
Wenger scanned the group.
"I hope the jet lag is gone."
A few players chuckled.
Walker raised his hand.
"Mostly."
Wenger smiled faintly.
"Good."
He gestured toward the pitch.
"We have two final preseason matches approaching."
The players listened carefully now.
"First against SL Benfica."
"Then against Sevilla FC."
He paused briefly.
"Both at Emirates Stadium."
The mention of their home ground always carried a little extra weight.
Wenger continued.
"These matches are important."
"Not only for fitness."
"But for rhythm."
"Connection."
"Understanding between players."
He looked around the group again.
"Today we begin preparing for them."
Behind him the assistant coaches began organizing the cones for the first drill.
Wenger gestured toward the field.
"Let us start."
The players spread out across the pitch.
Boots pressed into the soft grass.
The first whistle blew.
Training had begun again.
Preseason was entering its final phase.
And soon, once those last two matches were played, the real season would begin.
______________________________________________
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