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!)
...
And somewhere on those green training fields at Arsenal's academy, two future stars continued practicing long after everyone else had left.
The academy pitch slowly began to empty.
One by one the young players collected their bags, exchanged tired high-fives, and drifted toward the training building. Their laughter faded into the distance as the late morning sun warmed the grass.
Only a few figures remained on the field.
Near the far goal, Bukayo Saka and Emile Smith Rowe were still training.
Exactly as they had been ten minutes ago.
Francesco noticed it immediately.
He leaned slightly toward Per Mertesacker again and nodded toward the far side of the pitch.
"They're still going."
Mertesacker glanced over his shoulder and smiled.
"Yes."
"They usually are."
Francesco watched the two teenagers continue their passing drill. Smith Rowe dropped slightly deeper to receive the ball before playing a soft pass into Saka's path. The younger player accelerated forward and struck a low shot into the corner.
The movement looked smoother now.
Sharper.
As if Francesco's presence had added an extra level of intensity.
Francesco chuckled quietly.
"Good."
He pushed himself away from the sideline barrier and stretched his shoulders.
"I should get back before Walker starts another conspiracy theory about where I disappeared to."
Mertesacker laughed.
"That is very likely."
Francesco shook the German's hand.
"Thanks for letting me join the session."
Mertesacker nodded.
"You are welcome anytime."
Francesco took a few steps away before stopping again.
He turned back toward the academy pitch.
Saka and Smith Rowe were still running.
Still chasing the ball.
Still chasing the dream.
Francesco smiled quietly.
Then he walked back toward the first-team building.
The rest of that day passed quickly.
First-team training resumed in the afternoon, and as expected Walker had already built an entire story around Francesco's mysterious disappearance.
"So where were you really?" Walker asked while pulling on his boots.
Francesco dropped onto the bench beside him.
"Academy training."
Walker stared.
"…that's actually boring."
Robertson laughed from across the room.
"You were hoping for something scandalous."
"Of course I was."
Giroud shook his head.
"You two need hobbies."
But soon the jokes faded.
Because the season was approaching.
And with it came pressure.
The Premier League schedule had been released weeks earlier, but the opening fixture still carried weight.
Arsenal's first match would not be an easy one.
Not even close.
They would begin the new campaign against the team that had shocked England the previous season.
Leicester City.
The memory of that season was still fresh in everyone's mind.
Leicester had started as outsiders.
A team few expected to challenge the giants.
But week by week they had defied expectations.
Running.
Pressing.
Counterattacking with fearless intensity.
By the end of the campaign they had finished second in the league.
Just behind Arsenal.
And now the football world wanted to see if lightning could strike twice.
Neutral fans were already excited.
Arsenal vs Leicester.
First match of the season.
Last season's champions against last season's runners-up.
The storyline practically wrote itself.
Three days later the headlines started appearing.
Sports journalists loved narratives, and this one was perfect.
"Champions Arsenal Begin Title Defense Against Resurgent Leicester."
"Can Leicester Repeat Their Miracle Season?"
"Arsenal vs Leicester: Opening Day Fireworks Expected."
Francesco sat in the lounge at London Colney one afternoon scrolling through the headlines on his phone.
Walker leaned over his shoulder.
"They love you," he said dramatically.
Francesco shrugged.
"They love goals."
Walker nodded.
"That too."
But the attention wasn't entirely about Francesco.
Much of it centered on Leicester's incredible rise the previous year.
Pundits debated endlessly.
Was their performance a once in a generation miracle?
Or the beginning of something bigger?
Clips from last season played constantly on television.
Leicester's rapid counterattacks.
Their relentless energy.
Their fearless approach against bigger teams.
One name appeared more than any other.
Jamie Vardy.
The Leicester striker had been unstoppable during stretches of the season.
Quick.
Aggressive.
Deadly on the break.
Another name followed closely behind.
Riyad Mahrez.
Creative.
Unpredictable.
Capable of turning a match with one moment of brilliance.
And behind them both sat the tactical mind who had built Leicester's system.
Claudio Ranieri.
Ranieri's calm leadership had transformed Leicester from underdogs into contenders.
And now they were coming to face Arsenal.
Opening day.
Emirates Stadium.
The stage was set.
Back at London Colney, the atmosphere inside the training ground began to change.
Early preseason sessions had been relaxed.
Fitness drills.
Light tactical work.
Plenty of laughter.
But now the intensity increased.
Every exercise carried purpose.
Wenger stood near the pitch with his arms folded as the squad worked through pressing drills.
"Faster transition," he called.
"Recover shape immediately."
Francesco sprinted forward to intercept a pass before releasing the ball to Sánchez on the wing.
The Chilean winger fired a cross toward the center.
Giroud jumped.
Header.
Goal.
Wenger nodded slightly.
"Again."
Training restarted.
Movement became sharper.
Communication louder.
The players understood the importance of the upcoming match.
Opening day could set the tone for an entire season.
Francesco jogged back toward midfield while Alexis Sánchez ran beside him.
"You excited?" Sánchez asked.
Francesco grinned.
"Always."
Sánchez nodded toward the distant goal where Giroud was celebrating another header.
"Leicester will press high."
Francesco shrugged.
"Then we break through."
Simple.
Direct.
That had become Arsenal's style over the past season.
Fast transitions.
Creative midfield movement.
And finishing.
Lots of finishing.
Especially from Francesco.
Two days before the match the squad gathered inside the dressing room for a tactical meeting.
Wenger stood in front of a large digital screen displaying Leicester's typical formation.
4-4-2.
Compact midfield.
Rapid counterattacks.
Wenger pointed at the screen.
"They are dangerous when we lose possession."
He tapped the area behind the defensive line.
"Vardy will attack this space immediately."
Giroud leaned forward slightly.
"He never stops running."
"Exactly," Wenger replied.
The manager switched the display to clips from Leicester's previous season.
Mahrez drifting inside.
Vardy accelerating onto through balls.
Quick transitions.
Wenger paused the video.
"So we control the midfield."
His gaze moved toward the Arsenal playmakers.
Özil.
Cazorla.
"If we dominate possession," Wenger continued, "we limit their counterattacks."
Ozil crossed his arms thoughtfully.
It made sense.
Leicester thrived in chaos.
The best way to stop them was control.
Patience.
Precision.
Wenger ended the meeting with a calm final message.
"This is the first match."
"But it is also an important statement."
He looked around the room.
"We are champions."
"Now we show why."
Meanwhile excitement continued building beyond the training ground.
Across England fans debated the upcoming match.
Television studios filled with analysts discussing tactics.
Even neutral supporters circled the date on their calendars.
Arsenal vs Leicester wasn't just another fixture.
It represented two incredible stories colliding.
Arsenal's rise back to dominance.
And Leicester's fairytale climb from underdogs to contenders.
Many neutrals quietly hoped Leicester could continue their magical run.
Football fans loved underdogs.
Loved unpredictability.
Loved seeing giants challenged.
And Leicester had become the symbol of that dream.
Pubs buzzed with conversation.
"Think Leicester can do it again?"
"Maybe."
"Vardy's still dangerous."
"But Arsenal look unstoppable."
Arguments lasted long into the night.
Two nights before the match, Francesco stayed late at the training ground.
Most players had already left.
The sunset painted the sky above London Colney in shades of orange and purple.
Francesco stood alone near the edge of the pitch.
Ball at his feet.
He dribbled slowly toward the penalty area.
Shot.
The ball struck the inside netting.
He retrieved it and repeated the movement.
Again.
And again.
Repetition.
Muscle memory.
The same routine he had explained to the academy players days earlier.
"Talent gets you noticed."
"But discipline keeps you there."
The words echoed in his mind.
After several more shots he paused to catch his breath.
Across the training complex he could see the distant academy fields.
Smaller.
Quieter.
But still full of life.
Somewhere over there two young players were probably training again.
Bukayo Saka.
Emile Smith Rowe.
Still chasing the dream.
Francesco smiled.
Then he placed the ball down again.
Another shot.
Another goal.
Preparation never stopped.
The evening eventually faded into night at London Colney.
One by one the lights around the training complex switched off as staff members finished their duties and headed home. Groundskeepers locked equipment sheds. Security guards began their quiet patrol routes.
Only the faint glow from the main building windows remained.
Francesco finally stopped shooting after nearly forty minutes of repetition.
His shirt clung slightly to his back from sweat. His legs felt pleasantly heavy with the kind of fatigue that came from focused work rather than exhaustion.
He collected the ball and tucked it under his arm before walking slowly toward the building.
Inside, the hallways were nearly empty.
A lone television flickered in the lounge showing highlights from last season's matches. The familiar roar of stadium crowds echoed softly through the quiet room.
Francesco paused for a moment to watch.
One of the clips showed Leicester City counterattacking against Tottenham.
Jamie Vardy sprinting through the middle.
Riyad Mahrez gliding across the right wing.
A quick pass.
A finish.
Goal.
The commentators' voices rose with excitement.
"Leicester do it again!"
Francesco watched the replay carefully.
Mahrez's movement caught his attention.
Elegant.
Deceptive.
The Algerian winger had an almost lazy dribbling style that disguised how quickly he could accelerate.
Francesco nodded to himself.
Dangerous player.
Then he turned off the television and headed out.
Tomorrow would be another long training session.
And the Premier League opener was getting closer.
London Colney woke early.
The morning air carried that crisp freshness that always seemed to surround football training grounds before sunrise.
Mist floated lightly above the grass pitches.
By eight o'clock the first-team players began arriving.
Cars rolled into the parking lot one by one.
Some players walked inside quietly with headphones on.
Others greeted teammates loudly, already joking as they stepped through the doors.
Walker arrived with his usual energy.
He burst into the dressing room dramatically.
"Morning, champions!"
Robertson groaned.
"Too loud."
Walker ignored him.
"Big match tomorrow, boys."
Giroud chuckled while tying his boots.
"We know."
Francesco entered a few minutes later carrying a bottle of water.
Walker immediately turned toward him.
"Ah, the golden boy arrives."
Francesco rolled his eyes.
"You need a new nickname."
"I have many," Walker replied proudly.
Sánchez walked past them shaking his head.
"You two talk more than you train."
"We train while talking," Walker argued.
"Multitasking."
Laughter filled the room.
But beneath the relaxed atmosphere everyone understood the situation.
Tomorrow was opening day.
And opening day always carried nerves.
Soon the players moved out toward the pitch.
Warm-ups began.
Jogging laps.
Stretching routines.
Short passing drills.
Wenger watched calmly from the sideline.
His posture was familiar.
Arms folded.
Eyes quietly observing every detail.
Training intensity quickly increased.
Passing drills became faster.
Pressing exercises sharper.
Giroud battled with Koscielny in aerial duels.
Sánchez darted through defenders with quick changes of direction.
Francesco drifted between midfield lines searching for space.
The rhythm of preparation felt natural.
Focused.
Professional.
Everything was proceeding exactly as expected.
Until suddenly one of the assistant coaches jogged toward Wenger holding a phone.
The conversation lasted only a few seconds.
But something about Wenger's expression changed.
It wasn't dramatic.
Just a small tightening around his eyes.
The assistant whispered something.
Wenger nodded slowly.
Then he clapped his hands loudly.
"Everyone, gather."
The players slowed their drills and walked toward him.
Francesco noticed the slight shift in the manager's tone immediately.
Something was different.
The squad formed a loose semicircle around Wenger.
Walker whispered quietly to Robertson.
"Uh oh."
Robertson shrugged.
"Probably another tactical lecture."
But Wenger raised his hand for silence.
"There is some news."
The players looked at him expectantly.
The manager spoke calmly.
"This morning a transfer has been confirmed."
He paused briefly.
"Riyad Mahrez has joined Manchester City."
The words hung in the air.
For a moment no one reacted.
Then Walker blinked.
"Wait… what?"
Giroud frowned.
"Mahrez?"
Sánchez looked genuinely surprised.
"Now?"
Wenger nodded.
"The deal was finalized early this morning."
"Fifty-five million pounds."
A low murmur spread across the group.
Francesco exchanged a glance with Özil.
Even they hadn't heard anything about this.
Mahrez had been one of Leicester's most important players.
Creative engine.
Goal scorer.
Game changer.
And now he was gone.
Walker shook his head in disbelief.
"City move fast."
Robertson scratched his chin.
"That's… big."
Giroud nodded slowly.
"Very big."
Francesco thought about it carefully.
Without Mahrez, Leicester's attack would look very different.
No more drifting runs from the right wing.
No more unpredictable long-range shots.
No more sudden bursts of creativity breaking defensive lines.
The balance of their system had changed overnight.
Wenger continued speaking.
"This development affects our preparation."
He glanced toward the pitch.
"Our tactical briefing from yesterday assumed Mahrez would play."
"That will no longer be the case."
Walker raised a hand.
"So… does that make them weaker?"
Wenger considered the question carefully.
"Different," he said.
"Not necessarily weaker."
That answer made sense.
Football didn't always work in simple equations.
Sometimes losing a star forced teams to adapt in unpredictable ways.
Sánchez crossed his arms.
"Who replaces him?"
One of the assistant coaches spoke up.
"Most likely Marc Albrighton will move into a wider role."
Francesco nodded slightly.
Albrighton was a hardworking winger.
Not as flashy as Mahrez.
But disciplined.
Reliable.
Dangerous with crosses.
Wenger pointed toward the tactical board that had been wheeled beside the pitch.
Magnetic player markers represented Leicester's formation.
He removed the one labeled "Mahrez."
Then he placed another.
"Albrighton."
Wenger stepped back slightly.
"This changes their approach."
He moved the markers slightly deeper on the board.
"Without Mahrez they may rely more on crossing and structured build-up."
He tapped the board near the forward line.
"But Jamie Vardy remains their primary threat."
Giroud nodded.
"That never changes."
Vardy's reputation was well known.
Lightning pace.
Relentless pressing.
A striker who never stopped chasing defenders.
Wenger looked around the group.
"So we adjust."
The players listened carefully.
Training had suddenly become more serious.
Because tactical adjustments meant responsibility.
Small mistakes could decide matches.
Wenger continued explaining.
"Leicester may now play more direct football."
He pointed toward the wings.
"Expect more crosses from Albrighton."
Then he tapped the center circle.
"Our midfield must control possession even more strongly."
Özil and Cazorla both nodded.
Control the tempo.
Limit counterattacks.
Francesco stepped forward slightly.
"So we press their midfield faster?"
Wenger smiled faintly.
"Yes."
"Exactly."
Francesco understood immediately.
Without Mahrez's creative dribbling, Leicester's build-up might become more predictable.
Which meant opportunities to intercept passes.
And launch attacks.
Walker cracked his knuckles.
"Sounds fun."
Sánchez grinned slightly.
"Very fun."
Wenger looked around at his players again.
"The key remains discipline."
He folded his arms.
"We are still facing a dangerous opponent."
"No complacency."
The team responded together.
"Understood."
Training resumed shortly after.
But now the exercises had slightly different focus.
Defenders practiced clearing crosses.
Midfielders rehearsed pressing patterns.
Wingers worked on fast transitions after interceptions.
Francesco and Giroud stayed near the penalty area finishing crosses delivered by Sánchez and Walker.
Shot.
Goal.
Another cross.
Header.
Save.
Giroud laughed.
"You try stealing my headers too often."
Francesco smirked.
"Competition."
"Healthy competition."
Giroud nodded approvingly.
"That I respect."
Meanwhile across the pitch Wenger continued discussing tactical adjustments with the coaching staff.
Even experienced managers had to adapt quickly in modern football.
Transfers could reshape strategies overnight.
Especially when they involved players as influential as Mahrez.
News of the transfer spread across the football world within hours.
Television networks immediately switched to breaking coverage.
Sports websites exploded with headlines.
"Mahrez Joins Manchester City in £55 Million Shock Transfer."
"Leicester Lose Star Winger Before Season Opener."
"Arsenal's Opening Match Just Changed."
Pundits debated the move intensely.
Some believed Leicester had lost their most creative player.
Others argued the transfer money could strengthen the squad long term.
But one thing was certain.
The storyline surrounding the Arsenal vs Leicester match had just become even more interesting.
Inside pubs and cafés across England fans argued passionately.
"Mahrez leaving now? That's brutal timing."
"City always buy everyone."
"Leicester still have Vardy."
"But Mahrez was magic."
The conversation never ended.
Back at London Colney the Arsenal players continued their training session.
Sweat soaked shirts.
Boots thudding against turf.
The sound of passing drills echoed across the training ground.
Francesco intercepted a pass and launched a quick attack.
He dribbled forward.
Two defenders closed him down.
Quick step-over.
Burst of acceleration.
Shot.
The ball flew into the net.
Walker applauded loudly.
"There he is!"
Francesco shrugged casually.
"Still warming up."
Giroud laughed.
"If that is warming up, tomorrow will be dangerous."
Francesco grinned.
"That's the idea."
Across the pitch Wenger observed quietly again.
The adjustments were working.
Players were responding.
Focus had sharpened.
Opening day was almost here.
Later that afternoon the team gathered again in the analysis room.
The tactical board had been updated.
Video clips of Leicester's recent preseason matches played on the screen.
Without Mahrez their attack looked slightly different.
More direct.
More crossing.
But still fast.
Still dangerous.
Wenger paused the footage and turned toward the players.
"This is football."
He said calmly.
"Things change quickly."
He pointed toward the screen showing Vardy sprinting onto a through ball.
"But some threats remain constant."
The players nodded.
Everyone knew what he meant.
Jamie Vardy.
Speed.
Relentless pressure.
Clinical finishing.
Francesco leaned back in his chair thoughtfully.
Tomorrow's match would still be difficult.
Leicester had built their reputation on resilience.
Even without Mahrez they would fight.
And football always rewarded teams that refused to surrender.
Wenger concluded the meeting with a final reminder.
"Stay focused."
"Respect the opponent."
"But remember who we are."
The players stood.
Champions.
Defending the title.
Opening day awaited.
Outside the sun was beginning to set again over London Colney.
And somewhere in the distance, on the academy pitches, two young players continued practicing long after everyone else had left.
Bukayo Saka.
Emile Smith Rowe.
Future stars in the making.
Unaware that tomorrow the Emirates Stadium would host one of the most anticipated opening matches in recent Premier League history.
Arsenal.
Leicester City.
Champions versus challengers.
And after the shocking transfer of Riyad Mahrez, a tactical battle that had suddenly become even more unpredictable.
The night before the match passed more quietly than usual at London Colney.
Not because the players weren't thinking about the game.
But because everyone understood the importance of conserving energy, physically and mentally.
Opening day always carried a special tension.
The first step of a long journey.
A moment where anticipation and uncertainty mixed together.
For Francesco, sleep came in short intervals.
Not nervousness exactly.
More like a restless excitement that lived just beneath the surface.
He woke up once around 3:30 a.m., stared briefly at the ceiling of his apartment, then rolled over and fell asleep again.
When morning finally arrived, sunlight spilled through the windows in pale gold lines.
Match day.
The words alone carried weight.
Across North London the city was already beginning to stir.
Scarves came out of closets.
Shirts were pulled on proudly.
Pubs began setting up televisions hours before kickoff.
And at London Colney, the Arsenal squad started arriving early.
The training ground felt different on match day.
Quieter.
More focused.
The usual laughter was still there, but it existed in smaller bursts between moments of concentration.
Francesco stepped out of his car just after 8:00 a.m.
The air was cool.
Fresh.
A faint breeze rustled the tall trees surrounding the complex.
He slung his bag over his shoulder and walked inside.
The dressing room smelled faintly of fresh coffee and liniment oil.
Walker was already there.
Of course he was.
The fullback sat on the bench tying his boots with exaggerated intensity.
When he saw Francesco enter, his face lit up immediately.
"There he is!"
Francesco sighed.
"I just walked through the door."
Walker grinned.
"Exactly. Perfect timing."
Robertson sat nearby sipping from a cup.
"Don't encourage him."
Giroud arrived moments later, adjusting the sleeves of his training jacket.
"Morning, gentlemen."
"Morning," Francesco replied.
Sánchez walked in silently behind them, headphones around his neck.
He gave a quick nod.
The Chilean always became more focused on match day.
Less talking.
More intensity.
Soon the entire squad had arrived.
Boot bags lined the walls.
Shirts hung neatly in lockers.
The quiet hum of preparation filled the room.
Wenger eventually entered.
The players immediately straightened slightly.
Not out of fear.
Out of respect.
The manager looked calm, as always.
He surveyed the room for a moment before speaking.
"Good morning."
A chorus of greetings followed.
Wenger clasped his hands behind his back.
"The bus leaves in twenty minutes."
He paused.
"Eat well. Hydrate. Stay focused."
Then he gave a small smile.
"And enjoy the moment."
Opening day wasn't just pressure.
It was opportunity.
Outside the London Colney complex, the team bus waited.
Large.
Polished.
The Arsenal crest shining brightly along its side.
Staff members moved around organizing equipment.
Security personnel stood nearby guiding media vehicles away from the entrance.
The players emerged from the building gradually.
Bags over shoulders.
Jackets zipped halfway.
Francesco stepped onto the bus behind Giroud and Walker.
The interior smelled faintly of leather and fresh fabric cleaner.
He slid into his usual seat near the middle.
Walker dropped down beside him.
"Opening day," Walker said dramatically.
Francesco glanced at him.
"You say that like it's the Champions League final."
Walker shrugged.
"It might as well be."
Across the aisle Robertson leaned back in his seat.
"You nervous?"
Walker pointed at himself proudly.
"Never."
Robertson raised an eyebrow.
"Liar."
The bus slowly pulled away from the training ground gates.
London Colney faded behind them.
Ahead lay North London.
And the Emirates Stadium.
As the bus approached the city, the signs of match day became impossible to miss.
Scarves.
Shirts.
Flags hanging from windows.
Cars honking with excitement.
Groups of supporters walking toward pubs and train stations.
Francesco watched quietly through the window.
Football wasn't just a sport in England.
It was woven into the rhythm of everyday life.
Families walking together.
Friends laughing loudly.
Kids kicking balls along sidewalks wearing oversized jerseys.
Walker leaned toward the window beside him.
"Oh look."
He pointed.
"Number 9."
A young boy stood on the corner wearing Francesco's shirt.
The name LEE printed proudly across the back.
Francesco smiled softly.
"That never gets old."
Walker nodded.
"You've got a lot of those."
As the bus moved deeper into North London, the crowds grew thicker.
And louder.
When the bus turned onto streets closer to the stadium, something incredible happened.
Fans began lining the sidewalks.
Hundreds at first.
Then thousands.
Red shirts everywhere.
Scarves held high.
Phones raised to capture the moment.
Chants erupted.
"ARSENAL! ARSENAL! ARSENAL!"
The sound reached the bus windows like rolling thunder.
Inside the bus the players glanced at each other.
Even veterans like Giroud couldn't hide their smiles.
Sánchez looked out the window with focused eyes.
Walker shook his head in amazement.
"They never disappoint."
Francesco felt a surge of adrenaline in his chest.
This.
This was why players dreamed of the Premier League.
The passion.
The energy.
The connection between team and supporters.
The bus slowed as it approached the stadium perimeter.
Security escorts guided them through barriers.
Fans pressed forward, waving scarves and shouting encouragement.
Francesco spotted another jersey with his name.
Then another.
And another.
The supporters believed in them.
Now the team had to deliver.
Finally the bus turned the final corner.
And there it was.
Emirates Stadium
Massive.
Modern.
The steel and glass structure gleamed under the midday sunlight.
Even from the bus window it looked magnificent.
Francesco had played there many times.
But match day still gave the stadium a special aura.
The bus rolled slowly into the players' entrance tunnel.
Security gates closed behind them.
The outside noise faded slightly.
The players stood as the bus stopped.
Walker stretched his arms.
"Alright."
"Showtime."
They stepped off the bus one by one.
Staff members greeted them.
Equipment managers carried crates of gear toward the dressing room.
Inside the stadium corridors the atmosphere felt focused and professional.
No roaring crowds yet.
Just the quiet preparation before the storm.
Francesco walked down the hallway with Sánchez and Giroud.
Posters of Arsenal legends decorated the walls.
Memories of past triumphs.
Motivation for the present.
They entered the dressing room.
Each player's shirt hung neatly above their seat.
Red and white.
Clean.
Ready.
Francesco's number waited for him.
He ran his hand briefly across the fabric before placing his bag down.
Around the room players began changing into training kits for the warm-up session.
Boots came out of bags.
Tape wrapped around wrists and ankles.
Walker bounced lightly on his toes.
"Feels good already."
Robertson pulled on his socks.
"Wait until kickoff."
Giroud adjusted his boots carefully.
"First we warm up properly."
Francesco changed quietly.
Black training shorts.
Arsenal warm-up top.
Boots laced tightly.
Across the room Wenger spoke briefly with the coaching staff.
The manager glanced at his players.
Then he nodded.
"Ten minutes."
That meant warm-up time.
The players formed a loose group near the tunnel entrance.
The stadium above them buzzed with growing noise.
The fans were arriving in waves.
Music played through the stadium speakers.
The smell of freshly cut grass drifted through the tunnel.
Francesco felt his heart rate increase slightly.
Not nerves.
Excitement.
Walker leaned toward him again.
"You hear that?"
The crowd noise was growing louder.
"Yes," Francesco replied.
Walker grinned.
"That's for us."
An assistant coach signaled.
"Alright, let's go."
The players began walking down the tunnel.
Step by step.
The sound of the crowd grew louder with every stride.
Until suddenly, they emerged onto the pitch.
The roar was immediate.
Tens of thousands of supporters filled the stadium seats.
Scarves raised.
Phones recording.
Chants echoing through the stands.
"ARSENAL! ARSENAL!"
Francesco stepped onto the grass and looked around.
The stadium felt alive.
Energy flowing from every direction.
Opening day always felt special.
But today carried extra excitement.
Champions defending their title.
Leicester arriving with something to prove after losing Mahrez.
The stage was set.
The Arsenal players spread out across the pitch.
Warm-up drills began.
Light jogging first.
Then stretching.
Francesco jogged beside Sánchez along the touchline.
"You ready?" Sánchez asked quietly.
Francesco nodded.
"Always."
Across the field Giroud practiced short passes with Cazorla.
Defenders ran sprint drills.
Goalkeepers dove across the grass.
The rhythm of preparation began.
Shots followed.
Francesco received a pass from Walker.
Touch.
Turn.
Strike.
The ball hit the net.
The crowd cheered loudly even though it was only warm-up.
Walker laughed.
"They're ready."
Francesco looked toward the stands again.
Thousands of fans wearing red.
Believing.
Hoping.
Waiting.
Opening day.
Arsenal vs Leicester.
And in just a little while, the season would truly 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: 7
Goal: 8
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