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...
And in just a little while, the season would truly begin.
The roar of the stadium followed them even as they jogged back toward the tunnel.
It didn't fade completely.
It never really did at the Emirates.
Instead, it lingered like a constant hum beneath everything that reminding them what waited just beyond those concrete walls.
Francesco slowed slightly as he reached the tunnel entrance, taking one last glance back at the pitch.
The grass looked perfect.
Untouched.
Waiting.
Then he turned and followed the others inside.
The moment the doors closed behind them, the atmosphere shifted.
Outside was noise.
Energy.
Emotion.
Inside was focus.
Silence settled quickly as players returned to their lockers. The easy smiles from warm-up faded into something sharper. More controlled.
This was it now.
No more preparation.
No more adjustments.
Just execution.
Francesco sat down at his spot and began removing his training top, replacing it with the official match shirt.
Red and white.
The fabric felt slightly heavier.
More meaningful.
Across the room, boots thudded softly against the floor as players tightened laces, wrapped tape, adjusted shin guards.
No one was joking now.
Even Walker, who usually had something to say about everything, was quiet as he leaned forward, focusing on his boots.
Wenger stood near the center of the room.
Calm.
As always.
But there was something in his eyes now, something sharper.
He waited until everyone was ready.
Then he spoke.
"We play 4-3-3."
Simple.
Clear.
Direct.
The players lifted their heads.
Wenger began walking slowly as he spoke, glancing at each of them in turn.
"Petr starts in goal."
Across the room, Petr Čech gave a small nod, already fully focused.
Wenger continued.
"Defense."
He raised his hand slightly, counting across the line.
"Left to right."
"Andrew Robertson."
Robertson nodded once.
"Virgil van Dijk."
Van Dijk stood tall, expression calm.
"Laurent Koscielny."
"Kyle Walker."
Walker exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.
Wenger's voice didn't rise.
It didn't need to.
Every word carried weight.
"Midfield."
He gestured toward the center.
"Defensive midfielder, N'Golo Kanté."
Kanté gave a small, quiet nod.
Always understated.
Always reliable.
"Central midfield, Mesut Özil and Granit Xhaka."
Özil leaned back slightly, calm as ever.
Xhaka cracked his neck once, preparing for battle.
Wenger paused for just a second.
Then.
"Attack."
His eyes moved toward the front line.
"Left wing, Alexis Sánchez."
Sánchez didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Just stared forward with that familiar intensity.
"Right wing, Serge Gnabry."
Gnabry nodded quickly, energy visible in his posture.
"And…"
Wenger looked directly at Francesco.
"Striker."
A slight pause.
"Captain."
The word hung in the air.
"…Francesco."
For a second, no one spoke.
Then Walker leaned over slightly and muttered.
"Eighteen and already bossing us around."
A few quiet smiles appeared.
Francesco just shook his head.
But inside, he felt it.
Responsibility.
Trust.
Wenger continued without missing a beat.
"Substitutes."
He listed them clearly.
"David Raya."
"Shkodran Mustafi."
"Héctor Bellerín."
"Santi Cazorla."
"Aaron Ramsey."
"Theo Walcott."
"Alex Iwobi."
"Olivier Giroud."
Giroud smirked slightly.
"Impact player today."
Wenger finally stopped walking.
He looked at them.
All of them.
"This is our first step."
"We are champions."
A pause.
"Now we prove it again."
Silence.
Then.
"Let's go."
Boots echoed against the floor as the players stood.
One by one, they formed a line.
Francesco stepped to the front.
Captain.
The armband sat firmly around his arm now.
Beside them, another line began to form.
Leicester City.
Blue kits.
Focused expressions.
Francesco glanced sideways.
Standing next to him, Wes Morgan.
Leicester's captain.
Strong.
Experienced.
Morgan met his gaze and gave a small nod.
Respect.
Francesco nodded back.
No words needed.
Behind them, the tunnel buzzed with quiet intensity.
Referees stepped into position.
One of them turned slightly.
"Alright, gentlemen."
"Let's go."
The tunnel opened.
Light flooded in.
Noise exploded.
The moment they stepped onto the pitch, the stadium erupted again.
The sound wasn't just loud.
It was overwhelming.
A wave of noise crashing down from every direction.
"ARSENAL! ARSENAL! ARSENAL!"
Francesco walked forward, leading the line.
The pitch stretched out ahead.
Leicester followed just behind.
Both teams split into their respective lines beside the referees.
The ritual began.
Handshakes.
First the officials.
Then the opposing players.
Francesco shook Morgan's hand again.
Firm grip.
Short nod.
Then one by one, the Arsenal players moved down the line.
Sánchez.
Gnabry.
Özil.
Kanté.
Each handshake carried that mix of respect and competition.
At the center circle, Francesco and Morgan stood beside the main referee.
The coin flashed in the sunlight.
"Call it."
Francesco didn't hesitate.
"Right."
The coin spun.
Dropped.
The referee checked.
Then nodded.
"You've got it."
Francesco nodded once.
Decision made.
He turned back toward his team.
Players moved into position.
The stadium buzzed with anticipation.
Every fan on their feet.
Every eye watching.
Francesco stood at the center spot.
Ball at his feet.
He glanced around.
Sánchez on the left.
Gnabry on the right.
Özil just behind him.
Everything in place.
The referee raised the whistle.
For a brief second, time slowed.
Then whistle.
The ball rolled.
The season began.
Arsenal moved immediately.
Quick passes.
Sharp movement.
No hesitation.
Özil dropped slightly deeper, receiving the first pass.
Turn.
Scan.
Release.
The ball moved through midfield with precision.
Xhaka switched play.
Walker pushed forward on the right.
Gnabry darted inside.
Leicester tried to press, but Arsenal were faster.
Sharper.
More fluid.
Minute by minute, the pressure built.
Then on the fifth minute.
It started with Kanté.
A clean interception in midfield.
Simple.
Efficient.
He passed immediately to Özil.
Özil didn't hold it.
Didn't hesitate.
One touch.
Forward.
The ball slid perfectly between Leicester's midfield lines.
Francesco moved instantly.
Timing.
Everything about the run was precise.
He slipped between the defenders.
The pass arrived.
First touch, clean.
Second touch, set.
Schmeichel rushed forward.
Francesco didn't panic.
Didn't rush.
He opened his body slightly, and placed the ball calmly into the far corner.
Net.
The stadium exploded.
"GOOOOOOAL!"
Francesco slowed his run as the noise crashed over him.
Arms slightly out.
Breathing steady.
Behind him, teammates sprinted forward.
Walker tackled him from the side.
"First one!"
Sánchez grabbed his shoulder.
Özil jogged over, calm but smiling.
"Good run."
Francesco nodded.
"Good pass."
Around them, the crowd roared louder and louder.
Opening day.
Five minutes in.
Arsenal 1.
Leicester 0.
The noise didn't die after the goal.
It lingered.
It rolled around Emirates Stadium like thunder that refused to fade, echoing from stand to stand as Francesco jogged back toward the center circle.
For a few seconds, everything felt lighter.
Opening goal.
Opening match.
Captain's armband on his arm.
It was the perfect start.
But football never stayed still for long.
And neither did Leicester.
The whistle blew again.
Leicester kicked off.
Immediately, their tempo changed.
The first five minutes had belonged to Arsenal that sharp, controlled, confident. But now Leicester began to show exactly why they had finished second the previous season.
They didn't panic.
They didn't crumble.
They reacted.
The ball moved quickly through midfield.
Out wide.
Back inside.
Then forward again.
Jamie Vardy began his runs almost immediately with darting between defenders, testing the space behind.
Beside him, Shinji Okazaki dropped slightly deeper, linking play, dragging markers out of position.
On the right side, Marc Albrighton stayed disciplined, hugging the touchline, ready to deliver crosses.
And on the opposite flank, Demarai Gray added something different with direct pace, unpredictability, a willingness to run straight at defenders.
Francesco noticed it immediately.
"They're not sitting back," he muttered to Özil as they repositioned.
Özil nodded calmly.
"They never do."
Leicester pushed forward.
Quick transition.
Ndidi picked up the ball in midfield.
Wilfred Ndidi wasn't flashy—but he was efficient. Strong. Direct. He fed the ball forward into James.
Matty James looked up and immediately tried to release Vardy.
But Arsenal were ready.
Van Dijk stepped forward.
Perfect timing.
Interception.
Clean.
The Dutch defender didn't celebrate it.
Didn't even react.
He simply passed the ball calmly to Xhaka and reset the shape.
Koscielny stayed tight behind him.
Robertson tracked Gray's movement down the left.
Walker matched Vardy stride for stride on a recovery run moments later.
Every piece of the defensive line moved together.
Disciplined.
Organized.
Unbreakable.
Walker shouted as he tracked back.
"Stay tight! Stay tight!"
Kanté dropped deeper, covering space in front of the defense.
Every Leicester attack met resistance.
The midfield became the real battlefield.
Ndidi and James tried to impose themselves.
Sometimes Okazaki dropped in to help, creating short passing triangles.
But they couldn't dominate.
Because in front of them.
Özil.
Xhaka.
Kanté.
The difference in control was clear.
Özil drifted into pockets of space that didn't seem to exist.
Xhaka dictated tempo with long, sweeping passes.
Kanté… simply appeared wherever the ball was.
One moment he was intercepting near the center circle.
The next, he was covering a defensive gap near the edge of the box.
Leicester tried to press.
But Arsenal's midfield didn't break.
Instead, they absorbed it.
Controlled it.
Turned it into possession.
Francesco dropped slightly deeper for a moment and glanced at Xhaka.
"We've got space."
Xhaka nodded.
"Use it."
The moment came suddenly, at the 23th minute.
And beautifully.
It started quietly.
Koscielny intercepted a loose pass from James and played it forward into midfield.
Kanté touched it once.
Then released it to Özil.
Özil turned.
Just one movement.
But in that movement, he saw everything.
Francesco.
Space.
Opportunity.
The pass came.
Low.
Perfect.
Francesco received it just outside the final third.
Back to goal.
A defender tight behind him.
Another closing from the side.
Most players would lay it off.
Recycle possession.
Wait.
Francesco didn't.
He turned.
Sharp.
Explosive.
The first defender was gone.
The second lunged.
Too late.
A quick drop of the shoulder.
Francesco slipped past him too.
Now space opened.
The crowd began to rise.
You could feel it.
That anticipation.
That something is about to happen feeling.
He pushed the ball forward.
One more touch.
Another defender stepped out, Francesco shifted left.
Then right.
The defender stumbled.
Gone.
Now he was inside the box.
Schmeichel stepped forward.
Kasper Schmeichel spread his arms, trying to narrow the angle.
Francesco didn't rush.
Didn't panic.
He slowed for just a fraction of a second.
Then struck.
Low.
Across goal.
Into the corner.
Net.
Silence, for half a heartbeat.
Then explosion.
"GOOOOOOAAALLL!!"
The stadium erupted louder than before.
Because this one was special.
Francesco slowed his run, breathing hard now.
Arms slightly out.
Teammates rushed toward him.
Walker jumped onto his back.
"You're joking!"
Sánchez laughed.
"Too easy for him."
Özil simply nodded.
He'd seen it coming.
From the first touch.
From the moment Francesco turned.
2–0.
23 minutes.
Arsenal were flying.
But Leicester didn't collapse.
They never did.
That had defined their previous season.
Resilience.
Belief.
Even at 2–0 down, they pushed forward again.
Vardy increased his intensity.
Every run sharper.
Every press more aggressive.
Okazaki chased everything.
Even lost causes.
Albrighton delivered dangerous crosses into the box.
Gray ran directly at Robertson, testing him with pace.
One moment stood out.
Gray sprinted past Robertson on the outside and whipped a low cross into the area.
Vardy lunged for it, but Koscielny slid in.
Perfect clearance.
Corner.
Leicester players clapped each other.
Encouraging.
Still believing.
And then at 37th minute, they found their moment.
It began on the right.
Albrighton.
He received the ball near the touchline.
Looked up.
Time.
Too much time.
Robertson stepped forward to close him down, but Albrighton delivered the cross quickly.
Early.
Dangerous.
The ball curled into the box.
Vardy moved.
Not fast.
Not rushed.
Just perfectly timed.
He slipped between Van Dijk and Koscielny.
One step.
Two steps.
Jump.
Header.
The connection was clean.
Powerful.
Čech reacted, but it was too late.
Net.
Goal.
The Leicester fans erupted in the corner of the stadium.
A sharp contrast to the earlier Arsenal celebrations.
2–1.
Game on.
Vardy turned and punched the air.
Albrighton raised his arm in acknowledgment.
Francesco stood near the center circle, watching.
Focused.
No frustration.
Just understanding.
"This is what they do," he muttered.
Özil jogged past him.
"Then we do more."
The goal shifted momentum.
Not completely.
But enough.
Leicester grew in confidence.
Their pressing became sharper.
Ndidi began winning more second balls.
James pushed slightly higher.
Okazaki dropped deeper to link play.
Arsenal responded with control.
Slowing the tempo when needed.
Speeding it up when space appeared.
Francesco had another chance near the 42nd minute.
A quick one-two with Sánchez.
Shot just wide.
Walker groaned loudly from behind.
"That was the hat-trick!"
Francesco raised a hand.
"Second half."
The game remained intense until the whistle.
Challenges flew in.
Midfield battles continued.
Every ball contested.
Then.
Whistle.
Half-time.
The players walked back toward the tunnel.
Breathing heavy.
Sweat dripping.
The noise of the crowd followed them again but this time, it carried a different tone.
Excitement.
Tension.
Expectation.
2–1.
The match was alive.
Inside the dressing room, the shift returned.
Silence.
Focus.
Francesco sat down and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
His breathing slowly steadied.
Around him, teammates drank water, wiped sweat, adjusted boots.
Walker shook his head.
"They don't stop running."
Kanté smiled slightly.
"That's their style."
Giroud leaned back.
"Game's not done."
"No," Francesco replied quietly.
"It's not."
Then Wenger stepped forward.
Calm.
Composed.
But precise.
"We are leading."
He paused.
"But we are not in control."
The words landed clearly.
The players listened.
"They have found confidence."
He glanced toward the tactical board.
"Vardy is dangerous."
"We must not give him space."
Van Dijk nodded.
"Understood."
Wenger continued.
"Midfield."
His eyes moved to Özil, Xhaka, Kanté.
"Control the tempo."
"Do not allow transitions."
Özil leaned forward slightly.
"We slow it when needed."
Wenger nodded.
"Yes."
Then he looked at Francesco.
"And you…"
A brief pause.
"Keep moving."
Francesco smirked slightly.
"Always."
Wenger allowed the smallest hint of a smile.
Then his tone sharpened again.
"We finish the match."
"Not just play it."
Silence.
Focus.
Determination.
Outside, the crowd roared again as players prepared to return.
The noise outside never really stopped.
Even through the thick walls of the dressing room at Emirates Stadium, the crowd's energy pulsed like a heartbeat that steady, powerful, constant.
Inside, though, everything felt contained.
Focused.
Wenger's words still hung in the air.
"We finish the match. Not just play it."
Francesco sat there for a second longer, hands resting on his knees, breathing steady now. Sweat had cooled slightly on his skin, but the intensity hadn't faded.
Across from him, Alexis Sánchez leaned forward, eyes locked downward in concentration.
Beside him, Mesut Özil rolled his shoulders once, calm as ever.
N'Golo Kanté adjusted his socks quietly.
Granit Xhaka cracked his neck again.
No speeches.
No shouting.
Just readiness.
Francesco stood first.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't need to.
One by one, the others followed.
Boots hit the floor again.
Tape tightened.
Jerseys adjusted.
The second half was waiting.
The tunnel felt slightly different this time.
Heavier.
More intense.
Leicester walked out ahead of them, blue shirts sharp under the lights, shoulders squared.
Francesco stepped out behind them, captain's armband tight around his arm.
The roar hit again.
Louder than before.
Because now the match had a story.
2–1.
Still alive.
Still dangerous.
The referee checked both sides.
Whistle.
The second half began.
Right away, the difference was visible.
Arsenal didn't rush.
Didn't force it.
They controlled.
Xhaka dropped deep to collect the ball.
Short pass to Kanté.
Back to Koscielny.
Across to Van Dijk.
Side to side.
Patient.
Measured.
Leicester tried to press again.
Vardy chased.
Okazaki followed.
But this time, Arsenal didn't allow chaos.
They dictated everything.
Özil drifted into space, offering angles.
Sánchez held width on the left.
Serge Gnabry stayed high on the right, stretching the defense.
Francesco moved constantly.
Never still.
Always pulling defenders with him.
Walker pushed forward.
Robertson overlapped.
The tempo slowed.
Then suddenly.
Accelerated.
Again.
And again.
Leicester couldn't settle.
Francesco glanced at Xhaka during one sequence.
"Now."
Xhaka nodded.
He understood.
Then at 56th minute, moment came like a switch flipping.
Xhaka received the ball just inside Leicester's half.
He looked up.
Saw the run.
Francesco was already moving.
Perfect timing.
Between defenders.
Again.
Xhaka didn't hesitate.
The pass was direct.
Driven.
Splitting the defensive line.
Francesco controlled it in stride.
One touch.
Perfect.
A defender lunged.
Too late.
Another tried to recover.
Too slow.
Francesco pushed the ball slightly ahead.
Now it was just him and Kasper Schmeichel again.
But this time, he didn't slow.
Didn't wait.
He struck early.
Low.
Hard.
Across goal.
The ball skipped across the grass, and buried itself in the bottom corner.
Net.
For a split second there was silence.
Then.
Explosion.
The loudest yet.
"GOOOOOOOAAALLLL!!!"
Francesco didn't run far this time.
He simply turned.
Raised both arms slightly.
Breathing steady.
Hat-trick.
At the Emirates.
Opening day.
Walker sprinted toward him.
"No way!"
Sánchez laughed, shaking his head.
"Unbelievable."
Özil clapped once.
Quiet.
Satisfied.
Xhaka jogged over.
"Good run."
Francesco nodded.
"Good pass."
3–1.
Control restored.
Leicester tried to respond.
They always did.
Vardy kept running.
Okazaki kept pressing.
But something had shifted.
The energy wasn't the same.
Ndidi's challenges came a second too late.
James hesitated on the ball.
Gray still attacked, but now Robertson read him better.
Van Dijk dominated the air.
Koscielny cut off passing lanes.
Arsenal had control.
Complete control.
The board went up.
Arsenal changes.
Olivier Giroud on.
Santi Cazorla on.
Francesco looked toward the sideline.
Wenger nodded.
That was enough.
Francesco jogged off the pitch.
The crowd rose to their feet immediately.
Applause.
Loud.
Respectful.
Appreciative.
Hat-trick hero.
He clapped back toward the fans as he crossed the line.
Walker shouted after him.
"Save some goals for next week!"
Francesco smirked.
"Maybe."
Özil came off with him, calm as always.
They sat side by side on the bench.
Watching.
Meanwhile, Leicester responded too.
Craig Shakespeare made his moves.
Shinji Okazaki off.
Matty James off.
On came Daniel Amartey and Kelechi Iheanacho.
Fresh legs.
Fresh energy.
But the game had already tilted.
Arsenal didn't slow down.
They kept pushing.
Cazorla immediately brought calm to midfield.
Short passes.
Quick turns.
Control.
Gnabry received the ball wide on the right.
He faced his defender.
Quick step.
Burst of pace.
He cut inside.
Then slipped a perfect pass into the box.
Sánchez was already there.
Timing again.
Always timing.
One touch.
Finish.
Low.
Precise.
Goal.
4–1.
The stadium erupted again.
Sánchez clenched his fist.
Short celebration.
Focused.
Job not done yet.
Francesco clapped from the bench.
"Good finish."
Özil nodded.
"As expected."
Leicester looked tired now.
Not broken.
But drained.
Their pressing slowed.
Their runs shortened.
Vardy still tried.
Still chased.
But the space wasn't there anymore.
Arsenal controlled everything.
Possession.
Tempo.
Rhythm.
Time ticked down.
80 minutes.
82.
83.
The crowd began to relax.
To enjoy.
To celebrate.
But Arsenal weren't finished.
Cazorla picked up the ball near the edge of the box.
He paused.
Looked up.
Spotted the run.
Giroud.
The cross came.
Perfect.
Arcing.
Dangerous.
Giroud rose.
Powerful.
Dominant.
Header.
Downward.
Into the net.
Goal.
5–1.
Game over.
Giroud spread his arms wide, smiling.
"Impact player," he joked as teammates surrounded him.
Francesco laughed from the bench.
"Not bad."
The final minutes passed quickly.
No drama.
No surprises.
Just control.
Then.
Whistle.
Full time.
Arsenal 5.
Leicester City 1.
The stadium erupted one final time.
Players raised their arms.
Fans roared.
Opening day.
Statement made.
Francesco walked back onto the pitch slowly.
He hadn't been there for the final goals, but he had set the tone.
Hat-trick.
Captain.
Leader.
Wes Morgan approached him again.
Handshake.
Respect.
"Good game," Morgan said.
"You too," Francesco replied.
Nearby, Jamie Vardy shook hands with Van Dijk, nodding.
Hard-fought.
But decisive.
The referee approached Francesco.
Ball in hand.
"Hat-trick," he said simply.
Francesco smiled slightly as he took it.
The match ball.
A small thing.
But meaningful.
Very meaningful.
He looked down at it for a moment.
Then back up at the stands.
Thousands of fans still cheering.
Still singing.
Still believing.
Walker ran over.
"Keep that safe."
Francesco nodded.
"Always."
As they walked back toward the tunnel together, the noise followed them again.
Not fading.
Not quieting.
Because for Arsenal, the season had begun perfectly.
______________________________________________
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: 8
Goal: 11
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