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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
Because everything now, was leading to the next match.
Morning in Liverpool didn't feel the same as London.
It wasn't just the air though that was sharper, cooler when Francesco stepped out onto the hotel balcony for a brief second before getting ready.
It was the feeling.
A kind of weight that sat just beneath everything.
Not pressure.
Something else.
Expectation.
He could already imagine it.
Anfield under the lights.
The sound.
The way it closed in around you.
He stood there for a moment longer, hands resting lightly on the railing, looking out at the city waking up.
Then he turned.
Routine first.
Always.
By the time Francesco stepped into the hotel lobby, most of the squad was already there.
Not loud.
Not quiet either.
Focused.
Players sat in small groups, some talking in low voices, others scrolling through their phones, headphones on, locked into their own rhythm.
Kyle Walker was standing near the entrance, stretching his legs like he'd already played half a match.
He spotted Francesco immediately.
"There he is."
Francesco walked over.
"You never sit still, do you?"
Walker shrugged.
"Not on days like this."
A pause.
"You feel it?"
Francesco didn't hesitate.
"Yeah."
Walker grinned.
"Good."
Across the room, Mesut Özil sat quietly, eyes half-focused, probably already visualizing the game.
Alexis Sánchez leaned back in his chair, headphones on, completely locked in.
Olivier Giroud stood near the coffee table, talking softly with Aaron Ramsey.
N'Golo Kanté was moving.
Of course.
Always moving.
Francesco scanned the room.
Everyone was ready.
Not nervous.
Not overhyped.
Just ready.
Then the doors opened.
Arsène Wenger stepped in.
Immediate shift.
Subtle.
But clear.
"Alright," Wenger said calmly.
"It's time."
No speech.
No long build-up.
Didn't need it.
They stood.
One by one.
And moved.
The bus ride felt different from every other one.
Shorter.
Heavier.
The city moved around them, but no one really paid attention to it.
This wasn't about Liverpool the place.
It was about what waited inside the stadium.
Walker leaned toward Francesco again.
"You ready for the noise?"
Francesco kept his eyes forward.
"I am."
Walker nodded slowly.
"Good."
The closer they got, the more it built.
You could feel it even before seeing the stadium.
Crowds.
Scarves.
Movement.
Energy gathering.
Then—
The turn.
And there it was.
Anfield.
Not massive like some modern stadiums.
But it didn't need to be.
It had something else.
Presence.
The bus slowed.
Fans lined the streets.
Red everywhere.
Voices rising.
Some cheering.
Some shouting.
Some just watching.
Francesco looked out the window.
No smile.
No reaction.
Just focus.
Walker exhaled beside him.
"Yeah… this is different."
Francesco nodded once.
"Yeah."
The bus rolled into the secured entrance.
The noise softened slightly.
But it didn't disappear.
It never really did here.
The doors opened.
Players stood.
One by one.
Francesco stepped off.
The air hit him again.
Cool.
Sharp.
Alive.
They walked through the corridors.
Walls lined with history.
Moments.
Legends.
Reminders.
Not distractions.
Just context.
Francesco didn't slow down.
Didn't look too long.
Because today was about the present.
The dressing room at Anfield felt tighter.
Closer.
Different.
Shirts already laid out.
Boots placed.
Everything ready.
Francesco dropped his bag at his spot.
Sat down.
And started changing into his training kit.
Around him, the routine unfolded.
Tape.
Boots.
Shorts.
Focus.
Walker sat beside him.
"Feels smaller in here."
Francesco glanced around.
"Doesn't matter."
Walker smirked.
"True."
Across the room, Petr Čech adjusted his gloves carefully.
Virgil van Dijk stood tall, calm as ever.
Laurent Koscielny focused quietly.
Everything was in place.
An assistant coach stepped forward.
"Five minutes."
That was it.
Francesco stood.
No hesitation.
"Let's go."
The tunnel opened.
And the noise hit.
Different from the Emirates.
Lower.
Deeper.
Heavier.
The kind that didn't just fill your ears, it sat in your chest.
Francesco stepped onto the pitch.
The grass.
The stands.
The sea of red.
He took it in for a second.
Just one.
Then moved.
Warm-up began.
Jogging first.
Stretching.
Passing.
Simple.
Controlled.
Focused.
Sánchez moved beside him.
"You feel it?" he asked quietly.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Sánchez smirked.
"Good."
Shots followed.
Francesco received a pass.
Touch.
Turn.
Strike.
Net.
A reaction from the crowd.
Not cheers.
Something else.
Acknowledgment.
Walker jogged past him.
"They're watching you."
Francesco shrugged.
"Let them."
The warm-up continued.
Intensity building.
Then slowing.
Then finishing.
And just like that, it was time.
Back inside.
The shift happened again.
Noise outside.
Silence inside.
Francesco sat down.
Pulled off his training top.
Replaced it with the match shirt.
Red and white.
Different weight.
Different meaning.
Wenger stepped forward.
Calm.
Composed.
"We play 4-3-3."
The room stilled.
"Petr starts in goal."
Čech nodded.
"Defense."
"Andrew Robertson."
Andrew Robertson gave a short nod.
"Virgil van Dijk."
Calm.
Solid.
"Laurent Koscielny."
Focused.
"Kyle Walker."
Walker rolled his shoulders.
"Midfield."
"N'Golo Kanté."
Quiet nod.
"Mesut Özil."
Still.
"Granit Xhaka."
Ready.
"Attack."
"Alexis Sánchez."
Eyes locked forward.
"Serge Gnabry."
Energy.
"And…"
Wenger's eyes landed on him.
"Francesco."
A pause.
"Captain."
The word stayed in the room.
Francesco didn't react outwardly.
But inside, it settled.
"Substitutes."
"David Raya."
"Shkodran Mustafi."
"Héctor Bellerín."
"Nacho Monreal."
"Santi Cazorla."
"Aaron Ramsey."
"Theo Walcott."
"Olivier Giroud."
Wenger finished simply.
"We play our game."
No more needed.
The line formed.
Arsenal.
Liverpool beside them.
Red against red.
Francesco stepped into position.
Beside him, Jordan Henderson.
Liverpool's captain.
Henderson glanced at him.
Short nod.
Respect.
Francesco returned it.
No words.
Didn't need them.
The referee stepped forward.
"Let's go."
The tunnel opened.
And the sound exploded.
This wasn't just noise.
It was pressure.
Expectation.
History.
Both teams walked out.
Lined up beside the referees.
Left.
Right.
Handshake line began.
Francesco moved down it.
Firm grips.
Short nods.
Focused eyes.
Then.
Center circle.
Coin toss.
The referee held it up.
"Call it."
Henderson spoke first.
"Right."
The coin spun.
Dropped.
The referee checked.
Nodded.
"Liverpool."
Decision made.
Players moved into position.
Francesco stepped into place.
Ball in front of him.
He looked up.
The stands.
The noise.
Then back down.
Then the whistle start, as the match began.
Arsenal didn't rush.
Didn't force.
They built.
Short passes.
Movement.
Control.
Liverpool pressed.
Fast.
Aggressive.
But Arsenal matched it.
Kanté recovered.
Özil found space.
Xhaka dictated.
Sánchez stretched the left.
Gnabry the right.
Francesco moved.
Constantly.
Pulling defenders.
Creating space.
Then at 13th minute.
The moment came.
Sánchez picked up the ball on the left.
Quick touch.
Then another.
He drove forward.
A defender stepped.
Too late.
Sánchez slipped the pass through.
Perfect.
Francesco was already moving.
Between defenders.
Timing flawless.
He reached it.
First touch.
Clean.
Second.
Set.
Loris Karius rushed out.
Francesco didn't hesitate.
Strike.
Low.
Past him.
Net.
For a split second.
Silence.
Then the stadium reacted.
Mixed.
Shock.
Noise.
Everything at once.
Francesco slowed.
Breathing steady.
Arms slightly out.
Behind him, teamnates closing in.
Walker shouting.
Sánchez already turning back.
Özil nodding.
1–0.
Arsenal lead.
At Anfield.
The net still rippled behind him.
For a moment longer than usual.
As if even it needed time to accept what had just happened.
Francesco didn't celebrate wildly.
He never really did.
Just a slow turn.
Arms slightly out.
Breathing controlled.
But inside, everything was sharp.
Clear.
Alive.
Behind him, Kyle Walker crashed into his shoulder.
"Get in!"
Alexis Sánchez pointed toward him as he jogged back.
"Perfect."
Mesut Özil gave a small nod.
That quiet approval.
The kind that meant more than noise.
1–0.
At Anfield.
And just like that, the game changed.
If anyone thought Liverpool would hesitate, they were wrong.
The restart came fast.
Immediate.
Aggressive.
The energy from the stands didn't drop, as it sharpened.
And Liverpool matched it.
The ball moved quickly through midfield.
Sharp passes.
Direct intent.
And then the trio.
Roberto Firmino dropped deep, dragging defenders with him.
Sadio Mané burst forward on the left, pace slicing through space.
And on the right, Mohamed Salah.
Quick.
Explosive.
Always ready to attack the gap behind.
Francesco saw it immediately as he jogged back into shape.
"They're going to push," he muttered.
Özil, already scanning the field, replied softly.
"They always do."
Liverpool didn't build slowly.
They attacked.
Relentlessly.
Firmino received the ball between the lines, turning quickly before slipping a pass wide to Mané.
Mané drove forward.
Direct.
Robertson stayed tight, matching him step for step.
The cross came in.
Dangerous.
But Virgil van Dijk rose first.
Dominant.
Clear.
The ball dropped just outside the box.
Emre Can was already there.
Strike.
Blocked.
Laurent Koscielny threw himself into it.
The rebound fell again.
Jordan Henderson stepped forward.
Shot.
Wide.
The crowd groaned.
Then roared again.
Because Liverpool weren't stopping.
Not for a second.
The middle of the pitch turned into a war.
Georginio Wijnaldum pressed relentlessly.
Emre Can challenged everything.
Henderson dictated tempo.
They didn't allow Arsenal to settle.
But Arsenal didn't break either.
N'Golo Kanté was everywhere.
Intercepting.
Recovering.
Resetting.
Özil drifted into pockets, offering calm.
Granit Xhaka switched play when needed, stretching Liverpool's shape.
Every time Liverpool pushed, Arsenal absorbed it.
Redirected it.
Turned it into something else.
Francesco dropped deeper once, receiving a pass under pressure.
A quick turn.
A defender closing.
He shifted the ball away effortlessly.
Reset.
Move again.
Always moving.
Always thinking ahead.
On the other end, Liverpool's defense stood firm.
Alberto Moreno pushed high, aggressive.
Dejan Lovren stayed tight.
Joel Matip read the game well.
Joe Gomez tracked runs carefully.
They dealt with Sánchez.
They matched Gnabry's pace.
They stayed organized.
But Francesco…
Was different.
Lovren tried to track him once as he drifted wide.
Half a step late.
Matip stepped in to cover.
Francesco dropped his shoulder.
Gone.
Not completely breaking them.
But bending them.
Stretching them.
Forcing them into decisions they didn't want to make.
Walker shouted from behind.
"They can't hold you!"
Francesco didn't respond.
He just kept moving.
Because he knew as eventually, something would open.
And it did.
The moment came quickly.
Like all good moments do.
It started with Kanté.
Of course it did.
A clean interception just inside Arsenal's half.
Simple.
Precise.
He fed it forward to Özil.
Özil turned.
One glance.
That was all he needed.
Francesco was already on the move.
Dropping slightly.
Pulling a defender with him.
Creating space behind.
Özil's pass found him.
Feet.
Controlled.
A defender closed in immediately.
Lovren again.
Tight.
Physical.
Francesco held him off.
Just enough.
Then.
A flick.
A quick shift of weight.
He spun away.
Suddenly there space.
Not much.
But enough.
Sánchez was already running.
Timing perfect.
Francesco saw it instantly.
Didn't hesitate.
The pass came through.
Threaded between Matip and Gomez.
Perfect weight.
Perfect angle.
Sánchez met it in stride.
One touch.
Then another.
Loris Karius rushed out again.
Too late.
Sánchez struck.
Low.
Across goal.
Net.
2–0.
For a split second, silence again.
Then the noise came back.
Louder.
More urgent.
More desperate.
Francesco slowed, watching Sánchez celebrate briefly.
Not over the top.
Just sharp.
Focused.
He jogged over.
"Good finish."
Sánchez smirked.
"Good pass."
Walker arrived again, shouting.
"Two! Two at Anfield!"
Francesco exhaled slowly.
But inside, he knew.
This wasn't over.
Not here.
Not against this team.
And right on cue, Liverpool responded.
The tempo didn't drop.
It increased.
Firmino began dropping even deeper, dragging Koscielny out of position.
Mané pushed higher.
More direct.
More aggressive.
Salah stayed wide.
Waiting.
Watching.
Ready.
Henderson drove forward with the ball.
Fed it into Wijnaldum.
Back to Can.
Switch.
Wide right.
Salah received it.
One touch inside.
Robertson stepped.
Salah cut again.
Faster.
Sharper.
The cross didn't come.
Instead as he drove into the box.
Low shot.
Blocked.
Rebound.
Cleared.
The pressure didn't stop.
Wave after wave.
Van Dijk shouted.
"Stay compact!"
Kanté dropped deeper.
Closing space.
But Liverpool were relentless.
And then, they found their moment at the 36th minute.
It started with Firmino.
Dropping deep again.
Receiving between the lines.
Quick turn.
He slipped the ball wide.
Mané.
Instant.
Driving forward.
Walker tracked back hard.
But Mané cut inside.
Then laid it off.
Salah.
Perfect position.
Edge of the box.
One touch.
Set.
Strike.
Fast.
Low.
Precise.
Petr Čech reacted.
Dove.
Fingertips close, but not enough.
Net.
2–1.
The stadium exploded.
This time.
Pure noise.
Pure belief.
Salah sprinted toward the corner, arms wide.
Liverpool players followed.
The crowd roared louder than anything before.
Because now, it was a game again.
Francesco stood near the center circle.
Hands on his hips.
Watching.
Not frustrated.
Not shaken.
Just… aware.
Özil jogged past him.
"They'll push more now."
Francesco nodded.
"Good."
Özil glanced at him.
A small smile.
"Of course you'd say that."
Because this was where it mattered.
The last stretch of the half became a battle.
Liverpool pressed harder.
Faster.
Every pass contested.
Every space closed.
Firmino linked everything.
Mané kept attacking Robertson.
Salah stayed dangerous on every touch.
But Arsenal held.
Van Dijk dominated in the air.
Koscielny cut passing lanes.
Walker matched every run.
Kanté covered everything in front.
Xhaka slowed the game when needed.
Özil found pockets to relieve pressure.
Francesco had one more chance near the 42nd minute.
A quick turn.
A shot from distance.
Just over.
The crowd reacted.
Half relief.
Half tension.
Walker shouted from behind.
"Unlucky!"
Francesco raised a hand.
"Next one."
Because there was always a next one.
The whistle came eventually.
Sharp.
Clear.
Halftime.
The walk back to the tunnel felt heavier now.
Not negative.
Just intense.
2–1.
Game alive.
The noise followed them again.
Louder than before.
Because belief had returned to the stands.
Controlled.
Focused.
Francesco sat down.
Leaning forward.
Hands on his knees.
Breathing steady.
Around him, players drank water.
Wiped sweat.
Reset.
Walker shook his head.
"They don't stop."
Kanté smiled slightly.
"That's their strength."
Sánchez sat quietly.
Focused.
Özil leaned back.
Calm.
Then Wenger stepped forward.
Composed.
Precise.
"We are leading."
A pause.
"But we are not in control."
The words landed.
Clear.
Sharp.
"They will continue to attack."
He looked at the defense.
"We must stay disciplined."
Van Dijk nodded.
"Midfield."
His eyes moved to Kanté, Özil, Xhaka.
"Control the tempo."
"Do not lose the ball cheaply."
Özil leaned forward slightly.
"We slow it."
Wenger nodded.
"Yes."
Then his eyes moved to Francesco.
"And you…"
A pause.
"Keep moving."
Francesco smirked faintly.
"Always."
Wenger allowed the smallest smile.
Then finished simply.
"We finish the match."
Wenger's words didn't linger in the air for long.
They settled.
That was the difference.
No shouting. No overcomplication. Just clarity.
Francesco sat there for a second after Wenger stepped back, elbows resting on his knees, fingers loosely interlocked. Sweat still cooled on his skin, his breathing steady again. Around him, the room had shifted from exhaustion into readiness.
The second half wasn't going to be easier.
If anything, it would be harder.
Because now Liverpool believed.
And belief at a place like Anfield, that was dangerous.
Walker stood up first, rolling his neck.
"Alright," he muttered. "Let's finish this properly."
Kanté gave a small nod, already on his feet.
Van Dijk adjusted his sleeves.
Sánchez stood, expression sharp again.
Özil exhaled slowly before rising.
Francesco pushed himself up last.
No rush.
No hesitation.
Just a quiet certainty.
"Let's go."
The tunnel felt tighter this time.
Not physically.
But mentally.
The noise outside had grown. You could feel it pressing against the walls, leaking through every crack.
Francesco stepped forward, boots tapping lightly against the floor. The line moved as one.
Then.
The pitch.
And the sound hit again.
Louder.
Heavier.
Alive.
Liverpool fans sensed something now. The deficit was smaller. The game was open. The energy had shifted.
Francesco stepped onto the grass, eyes scanning automatically.
Positions.
Spaces.
Movements.
Everything resetting.
The referee checked both sides.
Then the whistle.
Second half.
Liverpool came fast again.
Of course they did.
Henderson pushed higher now, more aggressive. Wijnaldum closed space instantly. Firmino dropped and spun, linking everything together.
Mané and Salah stretched the pitch wide.
Relentless.
Wave after wave.
But Arsenal didn't panic.
They held.
Van Dijk rose again for an early cross.
Clear.
Koscielny stepped in to intercept the second ball.
Kanté recovered possession almost immediately after.
Simple.
Efficient.
Francesco dropped slightly to receive.
One touch.
Turn.
Reset.
"Slow it," Özil called.
Francesco nodded.
They didn't need to rush.
They needed to choose.
And then, the moment came at 54th minute.
It started from deep.
Čech rolled the ball out calmly to Van Dijk.
No panic.
No long clearance.
Control.
Van Dijk stepped forward.
Passed to Xhaka.
Xhaka turned under pressure.
Switched it wide.
Walker.
Space.
He drove forward immediately.
Gomez tried to close him down.
Too late.
Walker pushed the ball ahead with pace, his stride opening up the right flank.
"Go!" he shouted.
Francesco moved centrally, dragging Lovren with him.
Giroud wasn't on yet.
So it was still him.
Still the focal point.
That created the gap.
Gnabry saw it.
Perfectly.
He cut inside from the right.
Timing sharp.
Walker didn't hesitate.
Low cross.
Driven.
Cutting across the box.
Gnabry met it.
First time.
Strike.
Clean.
Powerful.
Karius dove.
Too late.
Net.
3–1.
For a split second, silence again.
Then reaction.
Mixed.
Frustration from the home crowd.
Roars from the away end.
Francesco exhaled sharply, turning back toward Walker.
"Good ball."
Walker pointed at him.
"You made the space."
Gnabry sprinted toward the corner, sliding slightly before getting up again, fists clenched.
Sánchez clapped once.
Özil nodded.
Van Dijk raised a hand.
3–1.
But again, Francesco didn't celebrate like it was done.
Because it wasn't.
Not here.
Not yet.
Liverpool responded instantly.
Like they'd been waiting for it.
Klopp stood on the sideline, shouting instructions, arms moving sharply.
"Again! Again!"
They didn't drop.
They pushed.
Harder.
Faster.
More direct.
Firmino dropped deeper now, almost into midfield, dragging Koscielny out again.
Mané and Salah switched positions briefly.
Confusion.
Movement.
Unpredictable.
Henderson drove forward.
Ball into Firmino.
Backheel.
Quick.
Mané picked it up.
Inside.
Walker tracked.
But Mané shifted the ball just enough.
Space.
Pass.
Firmino again.
Now inside the box.
Touch.
Set.
Strike.
Low.
Precise.
Čech dove.
But it slipped past.
Net.
64th minute.
3–2.
Anfield exploded.
This time.
Pure chaos.
Pure belief.
Francesco stood still for a second, watching the celebration unfold in front of him.
Firmino sprinted away, arms wide.
Mané shouting.
Salah pointing.
The crowd surged with noise.
Walker exhaled beside him.
"Not done yet."
Francesco shook his head slightly.
"No."
Because this was exactly what they expected.
This was Anfield.
The tempo didn't drop.
It rose again.
Every pass mattered now.
Every touch.
Every movement.
Wenger stood on the sideline.
Watching.
Then decision.
67th minute.
The board went up.
Sánchez off.
Gnabry off.
Özil off.
Giroud.
Walcott.
Cazorla.
Fresh legs.
New shape.
Francesco jogged toward the sideline briefly as the change was organized.
Wenger's voice came low.
"Left side now."
Francesco nodded.
No questions.
No hesitation.
Giroud took the central role.
Strong.
Physical.
Walcott moved right.
Pace.
Directness.
Cazorla dropped into midfield.
Control.
Creativity.
As Francesco moved left, he felt the shift immediately.
Different angle.
Different perspective.
But the same responsibility.
Create.
Attack.
Finish.
Liverpool made changes too.
Klopp reacted.
Mané off.
Can off.
Sturridge.
Grujić.
Fresh energy.
Different threats.
Sturridge stayed higher.
More direct.
Grujić added presence in midfield.
The game stretched.
More open now.
More chaotic.
But Arsenal didn't lose structure.
Kanté remained the anchor.
Xhaka stayed disciplined.
Cazorla added calm.
Every time Liverpool surged, Arsenal responded.
Francesco drifted wide left, receiving a pass from Robertson.
One touch.
Then he drove forward.
Gomez stepped up.
Francesco cut inside.
Lovren shifted across.
He slipped the ball through to Giroud.
Giroud held it.
Laid it off.
Cazorla.
Shot.
Blocked.
Close.
Walker shouted from the right.
"Keep going!"
Francesco didn't need telling.
He already was.
Minutes passed.
Tension built.
Every second heavier.
Every attack sharper.
Then at 83rd minute.
The moment.
The one that decided it.
It started again from the left.
Robertson.
Calm.
Precise.
He pushed forward with purpose.
Francesco dropped slightly toward him.
Received the pass.
Two defenders closed in.
Lovren.
Gomez.
Francesco didn't rush.
He shifted the ball once.
Then slipped it back.
Robertson continued his run.
Perfect timing.
He reached the edge of the box.
Looked up.
Giroud.
Central.
Positioned.
Waiting.
Robertson crossed.
High.
Curved.
Perfect.
Giroud rose.
Dominant.
Above everyone.
Header.
Power.
Direction.
Karius moved, but it was too strong.
Too precise.
Net.
4–2.
And this time, the away end erupted.
Francesco turned immediately, pointing toward Robertson.
"Great ball."
Robertson raised his arm.
Giroud landed, shouting, fists clenched.
Walker sprinted across the pitch.
"That's it!"
Cazorla smiled.
Kanté clapped once.
Van Dijk pointed forward.
"Focus!"
Because even now, it wasn't finished until it was finished.
In the final minutes.
Liverpool pushed.
Desperately.
Everything forward.
Sturridge tried from distance.
Wide.
Salah drove inside again.
Blocked.
Firmino attempted a quick turn.
Intercepted.
Kanté everywhere.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Time slowed.
Then sped up.
Then slowed again.
Every second stretched.
Francesco tracked back once, helping Robertson close down space.
Then immediately turned, sprinting forward again when Arsenal regained possession.
Balance.
Control.
Discipline.
Walker shouted constantly.
"Stay tight!"
Van Dijk organized the line.
"Hold!"
Cech commanded from behind.
"Clear!"
The crowd didn't stop.
Not for a second.
But something had shifted.
Not belief.
But acceptance.
That Arsenal had control.
Then, the whistle came.
Sharp.
Final.
Full time.
4–2.
Arsenal win.
At Anfield.
For a second, Francesco didn't move.
Just stood there.
Breathing steady.
Looking around.
The pitch.
The stands.
The moment.
Then Walker crashed into him again.
"I told you!"
Francesco smirked slightly.
"You always say that."
Walker laughed.
"Yeah, but this time I'm right."
Giroud walked over, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Good movement today."
Francesco nodded.
"You finished it."
Giroud grinned.
"That's my job."
Cazorla smiled warmly.
"Big win."
Kanté gave a small nod.
"Very important."
Van Dijk raised a hand.
"Strong performance."
Across the pitch, Liverpool players walked back slowly.
Frustrated.
Disappointed.
But respectful.
Henderson approached Francesco briefly.
Short nod.
"Good game."
Francesco returned it.
"You too."
No more needed.
Then they walked toward the tunnel, as the noise followed them.
______________________________________________
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: 11
Goal: 14
Assist: 1
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