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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
And as the light outside slowly shifted toward evening, the room stayed quiet.
Morning came in gently again.
Not rushed.
Not loud.
But there was something underneath it this time as something already in motion before anyone even stepped out of bed.
Purpose.
Francesco's eyes opened before the alarm.
Of course.
They always did when something mattered.
For a second, he didn't move.
Just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, letting the quiet of the room settle around him. The light slipping through the curtains wasn't as soft as the day before. It felt brighter. Sharper.
Different country.
Different air.
Different rhythm.
"Alright."
Same word.
Again.
But now it meant something closer.
Closer to the work.
Closer to the match.
He pushed himself up, feet hitting the floor without hesitation. The transition from rest to movement was immediate. No stretching the moment out. No lingering.
Routine took over.
Bathroom.
Cold water first.
Then warm.
Just enough to wake everything fully.
He moved with the same precision as always. No wasted motion. No distraction. Every action part of something already decided.
By the time he stepped back into the room, the space didn't feel like somewhere to stay anymore.
It felt like somewhere to move from.
He got dressed in training gear.
Simple.
Clean.
Boots still set neatly from the night before.
He checked them once.
Didn't need to.
But did it anyway.
Then grabbed his bag.
Zipped it fully.
Ready.
Downstairs, the dining area was already alive.
Not loud.
But active.
Players moving in and out.
Staff setting things in place.
The smell of coffee.
Light food.
Everything prepared for exactly what it needed to be.
Nothing more.
Francesco stepped in quietly.
Harry Kane was already seated, halfway through his breakfast, posture relaxed but focus clear.
Jordan Henderson stood near one of the tables, speaking with Gary Cahill again, their conversation low but purposeful.
Kyle Walker walked in just ahead of Francesco, already scanning the room.
"Morning," Walker muttered.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Walker grabbed a plate.
"Sleep alright?"
Francesco shrugged slightly.
"Yeah."
Walker smirked.
"Same answer every time."
Francesco didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
He grabbed something light.
Same as always.
Nothing heavy.
Nothing that slowed him down.
Fuel.
Not comfort.
He sat down.
Ate quietly.
No phone.
No distractions.
Just the rhythm.
Around him, the squad did the same.
Raheem Sterling leaned slightly against the table, sipping something quickly before stepping away again.
Marcus Rashford sat nearby, calm, composed, already mentally present.
Dele Alli spoke briefly with someone behind him, but even that stayed short.
No one lingered.
No one stretched time.
Because they all knew that they has to gather at ten o'clock.
Lobby.
Floriana FC training ground.
Everything pointed forward.
Francesco finished his breakfast, stood, and took his plate to the side.
Clean.
Simple.
Done.
He grabbed his bag again.
The weight felt the same.
But the meaning behind it didn't.
By the time the clock edged closer to ten, the lobby had already started to fill.
Not all at once.
But steadily.
Player by player.
Presence by presence.
Francesco stepped in early.
Of course.
Standing near the same spot as the night before.
Still.
Watching.
Harry Kane arrived shortly after, nodding once as he came to a stop nearby.
"Ready?" Kane asked.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Kane gave a small nod back.
Nothing more.
Because nothing more was needed.
Kyle Walker came in next, adjusting his sleeves.
"Hot already," he muttered again.
Francesco glanced toward the glass doors.
Sun already high.
Light already strong.
"Yeah."
Walker exhaled.
"Ball's going to fly."
Francesco replied without hesitation.
"Good."
Walker smirked again.
"Of course you'd say that."
More players filtered in.
Jordan Henderson took his position naturally, scanning the group.
Marcus Rashford stood a little to the side, calm as ever.
Raheem Sterling adjusted his jacket slightly, eyes already focused.
The room didn't need to be called to order.
It settled on its own.
And then, Gareth Southgate stepped forward.
Same presence.
Same calm.
"Alright."
That was enough.
Everyone shifted slightly.
Attention locked.
"Bus is ready."
Simple.
"We go now."
No delay.
No repetition.
Just movement.
Outside, the heat was immediate.
Stronger than the day before.
More present.
Francesco stepped into it without reaction.
No adjustment needed.
Just acceptance.
The team bus waited just ahead.
Door open.
Engine running.
Ready.
Players moved forward together.
One by one.
No rush.
But no hesitation either.
Francesco stepped on, scanning briefly before taking a seat again.
Window.
Same spot.
Same habit.
Walker dropped in beside him once more.
"Routine, yeah?" Walker said.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Walker leaned back.
"Different place. Same everything else."
Francesco glanced out the window.
"Exactly."
The bus pulled away smoothly.
No delay.
The drive toward Floriana FC's training ground was shorter than the day before.
But it carried more weight.
Because now, it wasn't just arrival.
It was preparation.
Real preparation.
Outside, Malta moved around them.
Narrower roads.
Closer buildings.
People starting their day.
But inside the bus, everything stayed the same.
Quiet.
Focused.
Ready.
Harry Kane sat forward slightly now.
Engaged.
Jordan Henderson spoke briefly again, but even that carried more edge now.
Raheem Sterling removed his headphones.
Present.
Fully.
Francesco watched the road ahead.
Not thinking too far.
Not breaking anything down yet.
Just being there.
In the moment.
Because that's where everything started.
The bus turned once.
Then again.
Then slowed.
The training ground came into view.
Smaller than St George's Park.
Different.
But still structured.
Still ready.
Still football.
The bus came to a stop.
Engine cut.
Silence.
Then movement.
Again.
Players stood.
Bags lifted.
Straps adjusted.
Francesco stepped off with the group.
Boots touching ground.
The heat stronger here.
More open.
More direct.
But it didn't matter.
Because the moment had arrived.
Training.
He looked ahead.
Pitch waiting.
Staff already moving.
Cones set.
Balls ready.
Everything in place.
Walker stepped beside him.
"Here we go."
Francesco nodded once.
"Yeah."
No smile.
No extra reaction.
Just focus.
They didn't stop at the edge of the pitch.
Not yet.
That wasn't how it worked.
Preparation always came first.
Even here.
Even in a place that already felt like it was waiting for them.
Francesco shifted his grip on the strap of his bag and followed the group as they moved toward the building beside the training ground. It wasn't as large as what they were used to back at St George's Park National Football Centre, but it didn't need to be.
It had everything that mattered.
Structure.
Space.
Purpose.
The door opened as they approached, staff already holding it, stepping aside without a word. The transition from the heat outside to the cooler air inside hit immediately, but no one reacted to it.
They just kept moving.
Down the corridor.
Boots tapping lightly against the floor.
Voices low.
Short.
Focused.
Francesco walked alongside the others without saying anything, his eyes moving briefly across the space. Different walls. Different layout. But the feeling stayed the same.
Dressing room ahead.
That was the next step.
Kyle Walker nudged the door open first, stepping in without slowing down.
"Let's get on with it," he muttered, already moving toward a spot.
Francesco followed.
The room opened up around them.
Simple.
Clean.
Rows of benches.
Lockers lined neatly.
Training kits already laid out, each one in its place.
No confusion.
No searching.
Everything prepared.
Exactly how it should be.
Francesco found his spot quickly. Didn't hesitate. Just set his bag down beside the bench and unzipped it in one smooth motion.
Around him, the room filled with the quiet sounds of preparation.
Zippers.
Fabric shifting.
Boots being placed down.
No loud chatter.
No wasted movement.
Just the rhythm of a group getting ready.
Harry Kane was already changing, movements efficient, expression calm but focused.
Jordan Henderson adjusted his socks carefully, glancing around the room for a moment before returning to his own preparation.
Raheem Sterling sat quietly, tying his boots with practiced ease.
Marcus Rashford leaned slightly forward as he laced his up, eyes down, mind already elsewhere.
Francesco moved the same way.
Shirt.
Shorts.
Socks.
Each piece in order.
No pause.
No hesitation.
He pulled his boots closer, placing them on the ground in front of him before sitting down to lace them.
Tight.
Secure.
Checked once.
Then again.
Not because he needed to.
But because that's how he worked.
Across from him, Dele Alli glanced up briefly.
"Hot one," Alli said, not really looking for a full response.
Francesco nodded once.
"Yeah."
Alli smirked faintly.
"Ball's going to move quick."
Francesco finished tying his laces.
"Good."
Alli shook his head, amused.
"Of course."
Kyle Walker dropped onto the bench beside them, already halfway changed.
"You lot ever say anything different?" he joked.
Francesco stood up.
"No."
Walker laughed under his breath.
"Fair enough."
The room settled again.
Not silent.
But focused.
Everyone moving through the same process.
At the same pace.
No one behind.
No one ahead.
Just aligned.
Francesco adjusted his shirt slightly, then rolled his shoulders once, loosening up before stepping back from the bench.
Ready.
He didn't sit.
Didn't wait.
Just stood there, present, letting the final pieces fall into place around him.
A few more players finished.
Boots tapped lightly against the floor as they stood.
Bottles were picked up.
Small stretches started.
Nothing excessive.
Just enough.
Then—
the shift.
It came naturally.
No call needed.
The door opened again.
And the group began to move.
Out of the dressing room.
Back into the corridor.
Then toward the pitch.
The moment they stepped outside again, the heat wrapped around them.
Stronger now.
More direct.
But this time, it wasn't something to adjust to.
It was something to play in.
Francesco felt it immediately.
Didn't react.
Just absorbed it.
Because that's what mattered.
Not avoiding conditions.
Understanding them.
The pitch stretched out ahead again.
Clear.
Ready.
And already occupied.
Gareth Southgate stood near the center, his coaching staff positioned around him, cones already set, balls lined neatly along the side.
Everything prepared.
Everything waiting.
They hadn't arrived early.
They had arrived on time.
And that was the point.
Francesco stepped forward with the group, boots pressing into the grass again, feeling the surface beneath him.
Different.
Slightly firmer.
Slightly quicker.
Just like Rashford had said.
He adjusted without thinking.
Because that's what he did.
Southgate looked up as they approached, his gaze moving across the squad, taking everything in.
Not rushing.
Not overanalyzing.
Just observing.
"Alright," he said.
Same tone.
Same calm.
The players spread out slightly, forming a loose shape without instruction.
Francesco took his place naturally.
Not searching.
Not guessing.
Just where he needed to be.
Southgate stepped forward once, hands loosely together.
"Short session."
Clear.
"Sharp."
Always.
He glanced toward one of his assistants, who nodded back.
"Conditions are different," Southgate continued, his voice carrying just enough.
"Ball moves quicker."
A few players exchanged brief looks.
Nothing said.
Because they already knew.
Southgate's eyes moved again.
"Adjust."
Simple.
Then.
"Warm-up."
And just like that, it started.
They moved into a light jog first.
Nothing intense.
Just enough to bring the body into rhythm.
Francesco fell into stride immediately.
Step.
Step.
Breathing steady.
The sound of boots brushing against grass.
The low, controlled movement of the group.
No talking.
Not yet.
Just focus.
The heat was there.
But it didn't disrupt anything.
It just existed.
And they worked within it.
After a few laps, the transition came.
Dynamic stretching.
Controlled movements.
Leg swings.
Hip rotations.
Opening everything up.
Francesco moved through each one with precision.
Not rushing.
Not dragging.
Every motion measured.
Because even this part mattered.
Especially this part.
Walker moved beside him, stretching out his legs.
"Different surface," Walker muttered.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Walker looked down briefly, then back up.
"Fast."
Francesco didn't respond.
He didn't need to.
He already felt it.
The drills shifted.
Balls came into play.
Pairs forming quickly.
Francesco found himself opposite Harry Kane again.
A brief nod.
Then movement.
Short passes.
Clean.
Controlled.
One touch.
Back.
Again.
Again.
The rhythm built quickly.
The ball moved faster than usual.
Skimming slightly across the grass.
Forcing sharper control.
Quicker decisions.
Francesco adjusted instantly.
No hesitation.
Touch.
Release.
Movement.
Kane nodded once.
"Good."
They kept going.
The tempo increased.
Two touches.
Then one.
Angles shifting.
Positions changing.
Everything tightening.
Around them, the rest of the squad worked the same way.
Raheem Sterling moving quickly, feet light, adjusting effortlessly.
Dele Alli creating space with small movements.
Jordan Henderson organizing, voice low but clear.
Marcus Rashford keeping it simple, sharp, effective.
Southgate watched.
Always watching.
Not interrupting unless needed.
"Quicker!"
The call came.
Not loud.
But enough.
Francesco responded instantly.
Faster release.
Sharper movement.
No extra touches.
No wasted time.
Because that's what was being demanded.
The drill shifted again.
Small-sided possession.
Tight space.
Limited touches.
Pressure.
Francesco stepped into it without hesitation.
Ball at his feet.
Pressure closing.
One touch away.
Turn.
Release.
Move.
Everything fast.
Everything controlled.
"Good tempo," Southgate said from the side.
The intensity lifted.
Voices started.
"Man on!"
"Switch!"
"Here!"
Francesco didn't raise his voice.
He didn't need to.
His movement spoke for him.
Positioning.
Timing.
Awareness.
Everything aligned.
Walker intercepted once again, grinning as he played it forward.
"Too easy!"
Francesco took it back seconds later.
"No."
Walker laughed.
"Alright."
The drill continued.
Sweat building.
Breathing heavier.
But controlled.
Always controlled.
Because this wasn't about pushing to exhaustion.
It was about sharpening.
Perfecting.
Adjusting.
Southgate raised a hand.
"Reset."
The players slowed.
Stepped back.
Francesco placed his hands lightly on his hips, breathing steady, eyes still focused.
Not drifting.
Not switching off.
Because there was more.
Always more.
Southgate stepped forward again.
"Final phase."
The tone shifted slightly.
More direct.
More specific.
"Positioning."
Players adjusted.
Formation shaping.
Roles becoming clearer.
Francesco moved into his space without hesitation.
Between lines.
Always aware.
Always ready.
Southgate walked along the edge.
Observing.
"Play."
And it started again.
Faster now.
More realistic.
More demanding.
Francesco moved instinctively.
Receiving.
Turning.
Releasing.
Everything tied to purpose.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
Because this wasn't about showing ability.
It was about fitting into something bigger.
Working within the system.
Executing under pressure.
The ball came again.
Touch.
Shift.
Forward.
Move.
Again.
Again.
The rhythm held.
Built.
Flowed.
Until.
"Enough."
Southgate's voice cut through cleanly.
The session stopped.
Not abruptly.
But fully.
Players slowed.
Stepped back.
Breathing heavier now.
Sweat visible.
But no one dropped.
No one switched off.
They stayed present.
Francesco exhaled slowly.
Not tired.
Not drained.
Just locked in.
Another step done.
Another layer built.
The session didn't end with noise.
It never did.
There were no cheers, no dramatic reactions, no sudden collapse into exhaustion. Just a collective slowing down. Breathing steadied. Movements softened. The intensity that had built over the last hour didn't disappear as it settled into the body, into the mind, into something that stayed.
Francesco stood where he was for a moment longer.
Hands resting lightly on his hips.
Chest rising and falling in a controlled rhythm.
Around him, the others began to drift apart in small movements. Some walked toward the sideline. Others exchanged quick words that short, sharp, nothing unnecessary.
It wasn't relief.
It was acknowledgment.
Work done.
For now.
Harry Kane jogged past again, slower this time, brushing sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist.
"Good," he said, not looking for anything more.
Francesco nodded once.
"Yeah."
Kane didn't linger.
He never did.
Kyle Walker came through next, still carrying that light edge of energy even after the session.
"Hot, fast, and not fun," Walker muttered, then smirked. "So perfect."
Francesco glanced at him.
"Yeah."
Walker laughed under his breath.
"You really don't give much, do you?"
Francesco didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Because what mattered wasn't what he said.
It was how he played.
—
The walk back to the dressing room came naturally.
No one rushed.
But no one wasted time either.
Boots brushed against the grass, then onto the harder surface near the entrance. The heat still sat in the air, but now it felt earned. Part of the work.
Inside, the cooler air wrapped around them again.
Zippers opened.
Boots loosened.
Water bottles lifted.
The sounds of recovery began.
Francesco sat down briefly this time, unlacing his boots just enough to ease the pressure. Not fully off. Not yet. Just enough.
Across from him, Marcus Rashford leaned back slightly.
"Quick pitch," Rashford said quietly.
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Rashford exhaled lightly.
"Good for us."
Francesco met his gaze briefly.
"Yeah."
That was enough.
The day didn't stretch.
It moved.
Recovery sessions.
Short tactical briefings.
Hydration.
Rest.
Everything structured.
Everything deliberate.
There were no wasted hours.
No empty time.
Even the quiet moments carried purpose.
And then another day.
And another.
Time didn't slow.
It tightened.
Each morning came a little sharper than the last.
Each session a little more focused.
Each conversation a little more specific.
The rhythm built.
Layer by layer.
Francesco moved through it all without breaking his pattern.
Wake early.
Train.
Recover.
Reset.
Repeat.
No distractions.
No unnecessary noise.
Just progression.
Jordan Henderson began to take a stronger voice during sessions, guiding positioning, adjusting spacing.
Raheem Sterling sharpened his movement, timing runs more precisely with each drill.
Dele Alli found pockets quicker, adapting to the faster surface.
Eric Dier held structure.
Gary Cahill kept the defensive line organized.
Everything started to click.
Not perfectly.
But clearly.
And through it all, Francesco didn't change.
He didn't try to become louder.
Didn't force himself into leadership.
Didn't chase recognition.
He just kept working.
Sharper.
Cleaner.
More efficient.
Each day.
And then, the day arrived.
It didn't announce itself loudly.
There was no dramatic shift in the air.
No sudden weight pressing down on the morning.
But everyone felt it.
Because this was different.
This wasn't preparation anymore.
This was execution.
Francesco woke before the alarm again.
Of course.
His eyes opened slowly.
The ceiling unfamiliar, but the feeling beneath it wasn't.
Match day.
He didn't move immediately.
Just lay there for a second.
Letting it settle.
"Alright."
Quiet.
Same word.
Different meaning.
He sat up.
Feet to the floor.
Movement began.
The routine stayed the same.
Because it always did.
Shower.
Clothes.
Bag checked.
Everything in place.
No changes.
No superstition.
Just consistency.
Downstairs, the lobby carried a different kind of quiet.
Not empty.
Not silent.
But focused.
Players gathered gradually.
Not all at once.
But steadily.
Harry Kane was already there.
Standing.
Still.
Eyes forward.
Jordan Henderson nearby, scanning the room.
Raheem Sterling adjusting his sleeves slightly.
Marcus Rashford off to the side, calm as ever.
Francesco stepped in quietly.
Bag over his shoulder.
No announcement.
No attention needed.
Kane glanced at him.
"Ready?"
Francesco nodded.
"Yeah."
Kane gave a small nod back.
Nothing more.
Gareth Southgate stepped forward shortly after.
Same calm.
Same presence.
"Bus is here."
That was it.
No speech.
No buildup.
Because none was needed.
Outside, the heat was already there.
Stronger than the previous days.
The kind that didn't wait.
Didn't ease in.
It was just there.
Francesco stepped into it without reaction.
Because now, it didn't matter.
The bus waited.
Door open.
Engine running.
Players moved forward.
One by one.
Francesco stepped on.
Same seat.
Window.
Always.
Walker dropped in beside him again.
"Game day," Walker muttered.
Francesco looked ahead.
"Yeah."
Walker leaned back.
"No more talking now."
Francesco didn't respond.
Because he understood.
The bus moved.
Through the streets.
Past buildings.
Through the rhythm of Malta.
But inside everything narrowed.
Focus tightened.
No one was relaxed now.
Not really.
Not outwardly tense.
But locked in.
Ready.
The stadium came into view.
Ta' Qali National Stadium.
Standing open under the sun.
Not massive.
But significant.
Because it was where everything now mattered.
—
The bus slowed.
Then stopped.
Engine cut.
Silence.
Then movement.
Players stepped off.
One by one.
The air hit harder here.
More direct.
But no one reacted.
They walked straight in.
No lingering.
No distractions.
Down the tunnel.
Into the building.
Toward the dressing room.
The door opened.
And the space inside was already prepared.
Shirts laid out.
Boots ready.
Everything in place.
Francesco walked to his spot.
Same process.
Bag down.
Unzipped.
Kit out.
No one spoke much.
They didn't need to.
Shirt on.
Shorts.
Socks.
Boots.
Tight.
Secure.
Checked.
Across the room, Kane adjusted his captain's armband.
Henderson spoke quietly to Cahill.
Sterling sat still for a moment, head slightly lowered.
Rashford tied his laces.
Walker bounced lightly on his feet.
Different ways.
Same focus.
Francesco stood up.
Rolled his shoulders once.
Looked around the room.
Then nothing.
No speech.
No moment.
Because the next step was already waiting.
The tunnel.
The pitch.
They moved together.
Out of the dressing room.
Down the corridor.
Boots tapping.
Echoing.
Then light.
The pitch opened in front of them.
Bright.
Wide.
Waiting.
Then warm-up.
They spread out naturally.
No instruction needed.
Francesco stepped onto the grass.
Felt it immediately.
Slightly firm.
Fast.
Just like training.
Balls were already placed.
Staff ready.
Everything in position.
They began.
Light jogging first.
Loosening the body.
Breathing steady.
Francesco moved cleanly.
No stiffness.
No hesitation.
Then stretching.
Dynamic.
Controlled.
Opening everything up.
The crowd noise in the background.
Not overwhelming.
But there.
Building.
Slowly.
Ball work came next.
Short passes.
Touches.
Movement.
Everything sharper now.
More precise.
Kane moved closer again.
Short exchange.
Clean.
Controlled.
"Good," Kane said quietly.
Francesco didn't respond.
Just kept moving.
Shots.
Runs.
Final touches.
The rhythm built.
Faster.
Sharper.
More intense.
Everything aligned.
Body.
Mind.
Movement.
Francesco took a ball at the edge.
Touch.
Set.
Strike.
Clean.
No celebration.
No reaction.
Just reset.
Again.
Because this wasn't the match.
Not yet.
But it was close.
Very close.
He stepped back slightly.
Hands resting at his sides.
Breathing steady.
Eyes forward.
The stadium around him.
The team beside him.
The work behind him.
Everything pointed to one thing now, as the kickoff was coming.
______________________________________________
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: 1
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