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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
And in Francesco's experience, those lessons often lasted far longer than anything that happened on a football pitch.
The next morning arrived with the familiar rhythm of a football season that never truly slowed down.
The previous evening's dinner with Saka and Smith Rowe already felt strangely distant.
Not forgotten.
Just filed away.
Another memory added to an ever-growing collection.
Because football never stopped moving.
Another training session waited.
Another opponent was approaching.
By the time Francesco arrived at London Colney, the training ground was already alive.
Staff members moved between buildings carrying equipment.
Coaches discussed drills near the pitches.
Medical personnel checked rehabilitation schedules.
Players arrived one by one.
Some energetic.
Some still half asleep.
Some pretending coffee counted as nutrition.
The usual.
Training itself passed smoothly.
Nothing particularly dramatic.
Nothing headline-worthy.
Tactical work.
Possession drills.
Finishing exercises.
Recovery sessions.
The normal building blocks of another Arsenal week.
Sánchez looked sharp.
Very sharp.
The Chilean always seemed to train with the same intensity regardless of circumstances.
Five-a-side games.
Champions League finals.
Monday morning recovery sessions.
Everything received maximum effort.
It was one of the reasons Francesco respected him so much.
Alexis simply didn't know how to do things halfway.
Nearby, Özil glided through possession drills with ridiculous ease.
Walker talked too much.
Robertson complained about something.
Van Dijk ignored most of it.
And Wenger observed everything with the calm expression of a man who had spent decades around football.
By early afternoon the session came to an end.
Players gradually headed home.
The usual goodbyes echoed around the parking area.
See you tomorrow.
Drive safe.
Don't be late.
The same conversations repeated every day.
Francesco climbed into his BMW and began the drive back toward Richmond.
The roads were relatively quiet.
Gray clouds hung above London.
Not quite rain.
Not quite sunshine.
Typical English weather.
The kind that never fully committed to any decision.
The drive gave him time to think.
Not about football.
At least not immediately.
About normal life.
About dinner with Leah later.
About the conversation with Saka and Smith Rowe.
About how quickly the younger players were developing.
By the time he reached his mansion, the afternoon had settled comfortably over the city.
The large house stood peacefully behind its gates.
Quiet.
Private.
A welcome contrast to the constant noise surrounding professional football.
As he entered through the front door, his phone vibrated.
A message from Leah.
Simple.
Direct.
Exactly like her.
Training ran longer than expected. Going out with some teammates afterward. I'll be late.
A second message followed.
Don't wait for me.
Francesco smiled.
Then typed a quick response.
No problem. Be safe.
A few seconds later:
Always.
That was that.
Conversation complete.
Simple.
Easy.
One of the things he appreciated most about Leah.
No unnecessary drama.
No endless texting.
Just communication.
Healthy communication.
An increasingly underrated skill.
The house felt particularly quiet after he put his phone away.
Not lonely.
Just quiet.
The kind of silence that existed when nobody else was around.
Francesco dropped his keys onto the kitchen counter and opened the refrigerator.
Immediately a decision needed to be made.
Order food.
Or cook.
Normally the answer varied.
Today he felt like cooking.
Not because he was an amazing chef.
He wasn't.
Not even close.
But over the years he had become reasonably competent.
Good enough to prepare a proper meal without accidentally poisoning himself.
That counted as progress.
The kitchen gradually came alive.
Ingredients appeared across the counter.
Vegetables.
Chicken.
Rice.
Various seasonings.
Nothing particularly complicated.
Nothing worthy of a television cooking show.
Just a solid lunch.
The sort of meal athletes appreciated.
Nutritious.
Simple.
Reliable.
As music played quietly from a speaker nearby, Francesco settled into the familiar routine.
Chopping vegetables.
Preparing ingredients.
Checking cooking times.
Occasionally muttering complaints at vegetables that refused to cooperate.
A surprisingly common occurrence.
The process was oddly relaxing.
Football was filled with pressure.
Expectations.
Noise.
Cooking was different.
Cooking didn't care about league tables.
Cooking didn't care about goals scored.
Cooking didn't care about media headlines.
Either the food tasted good or it didn't.
Simple.
Manageable.
Comforting.
About forty minutes later lunch was finally finished.
Steam rose from the plate.
The smell alone confirmed success.
Or at least something close to success.
Before he could sit down, however, another responsibility appeared.
Four legs.
A wagging tail.
And absolutely no patience.
Cheddar had arrived.
The dog had apparently been monitoring kitchen activity for quite some time.
Waiting.
Watching.
Planning.
Francesco looked down.
Cheddar looked up.
The stare lasted several seconds.
One understood exactly what was happening.
The other pretended not to.
"You're not getting my lunch."
Cheddar remained unconvinced.
The tail continued wagging.
"Absolutely not."
Still unconvinced.
The dog took two hopeful steps forward.
Francesco sighed dramatically.
"You are impossible."
Cheddar considered this a victory.
A few moments later dog food was poured into a bowl.
Immediately Cheddar attacked the meal with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn't eaten in approximately three years.
Despite having eaten earlier.
Francesco watched for a moment.
Shook his head.
Then finally carried his own lunch into the living room.
The television switched on.
More for background noise than anything else.
Sports channels dominated his viewing habits.
An occupational hazard.
Eventually he settled onto the sofa with his plate balanced comfortably nearby.
For several minutes he simply enjoyed the rare peace.
Good food.
Quiet house.
Dog eating nearby.
No meetings.
No interviews.
No training.
No obligations.
Moments like these became increasingly valuable during long seasons.
Professional football often consumed every hour of every day.
When opportunities for normality appeared, smart players appreciated them.
The television continued cycling through football coverage.
Highlights.
Analysis.
Predictions.
The endless twenty-four-hour football conversation.
Francesco paid only partial attention.
Until one particular segment caught his ear.
The familiar Sky Sports studio appeared on screen.
Several presenters sat behind a desk discussing Arsenal.
Immediately that was enough to attract his attention.
Because discussions about Arsenal rarely remained boring for long.
The host adjusted several papers before speaking.
"We've received information regarding the contract situation of Alexis Sánchez."
Francesco stopped eating.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to listen more carefully.
The studio atmosphere immediately shifted.
The panelists straightened slightly.
Interested.
Attentive.
The host continued.
"Sources close to the situation suggest negotiations between Arsenal and Alexis Sánchez are not progressing particularly well."
A graphic displaying Sánchez appeared on screen.
Photos from recent matches.
Goals.
Celebrations.
Highlights.
The kind of visuals television producers always loved.
The host spoke again.
"According to the information we've received, there is growing belief that Sánchez may be considering leaving Arsenal."
The statement lingered.
Not presented as fact.
Presented as speculation.
Rumors.
Possibilities.
Still.
It was enough to generate discussion.
One analyst immediately jumped in.
"We need to be careful."
A sensible response.
"There has been no official statement from Alexis."
He pointed toward the camera.
"And no official statement from Arsenal."
Another panelist nodded.
"Exactly."
The discussion remained measured.
Professional.
Nobody claimed certainty.
Nobody pretended to possess all the answers.
But the story itself was significant enough to dominate conversation.
Because Alexis Sánchez wasn't just another player.
He was one of Arsenal's most important players.
One of their biggest stars.
One of their leaders.
A footballer capable of changing matches entirely on his own.
The host continued.
"Again, this remains a developing story."
"No confirmation."
"No official announcement."
"But sources suggest there is concern regarding his long-term future."
Francesco leaned back against the sofa.
Thoughtful.
Not worried.
Not yet.
Football rumors existed every day.
Every single day.
Especially involving elite players.
Most never became reality.
Many were exaggerated.
Some were completely invented.
That was simply modern football.
Still.
The report felt different.
Perhaps because Sánchez's contract situation had quietly existed in the background for some time.
Perhaps because the media now seemed increasingly interested.
Or perhaps because the Chilean was talented enough that virtually every major club in Europe would happily sign him if given the opportunity.
The television continued.
One former player offered his perspective.
"If you're Arsenal, you want Alexis staying."
A statement so obvious it barely required saying.
Yet everyone agreed.
"He scores goals."
"He creates goals."
"He works incredibly hard."
"Players like that are difficult to replace."
Another analyst nodded.
"Especially in today's market."
The discussion continued.
Various theories.
Various possibilities.
Various opinions.
No certainty.
Just conversation.
Eventually footage from training appeared on screen.
Sánchez smiling.
Running drills.
Working normally.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing suggesting imminent drama.
The contrast almost made Francesco laugh.
Television speculation often looked far more dramatic than reality.
Inside football clubs, things were usually simpler.
Not easy.
But simpler.
Contracts involved negotiations.
Negotiations involved disagreements.
Disagreements didn't automatically mean departures.
Still, the conversation remained stuck in his head.
Not because of media panic.
Because of Alexis himself.
Francesco had shared a dressing room with Sánchez for years.
He knew the Chilean better than most journalists ever would.
Alexis cared deeply about winning.
Obsessively.
Sometimes to ridiculous levels.
The man treated training matches like World Cup finals.
He hated losing.
Hated it.
Whether the opponent was Barcelona.
Chelsea.
Or a youth player during practice.
Defeat irritated him equally.
That competitiveness was part of what made him special.
Part of what made him valuable.
Part of what made teammates love playing alongside him.
Because players trusted people who cared that much.
Cheddar eventually wandered into the living room after finishing his own meal.
The dog immediately jumped onto his favorite spot near the sofa.
Curled into a comfortable position.
And began what appeared to be an extremely demanding nap schedule.
Francesco absentmindedly scratched behind the dog's ears while continuing to watch the broadcast.
The discussion had now expanded.
Potential replacements.
Potential destinations.
Financial considerations.
The usual transfer speculation machine.
One analyst finally summarized the situation.
"The important thing is this."
He looked directly into the camera.
"Right now, nobody truly knows."
That was probably the most accurate statement made all afternoon.
Because football rumors often existed in a strange space between possibility and fiction.
Sometimes they revealed future truths.
Sometimes they vanished completely within a week.
The host nodded.
"Until either Sánchez or Arsenal speaks publicly, everything remains speculation."
Again.
Fair.
Reasonable.
Professional.
Eventually the segment ended.
The broadcast moved on to other stories.
Other clubs.
Other rumors.
Other debates.
Football never lacked material.
Yet even after the conversation disappeared from television, Francesco found himself staring thoughtfully at the screen.
Not because he believed every rumor.
Because uncertainty always created questions.
And questions naturally lingered.
The house remained quiet.
The afternoon gradually drifting toward evening.
Outside, the winter sky darkened slightly.
Inside, Cheddar was already asleep.
Completely unconcerned by contract negotiations, league tables, or transfer rumors.
Probably the healthiest attitude in the entire household.
Francesco smiled faintly.
The next day arrived beneath a sky of pale gray clouds hanging low over Hertfordshire.
Cold.
Still.
Quiet.
The kind of morning where frost clung stubbornly to patches of grass around London Colney.
By the time the first players began arriving, the training ground was already operating at full speed.
Groundskeepers were preparing pitches.
Coaches were carrying equipment.
Members of the medical department moved between buildings.
Everything felt normal.
At least on the surface.
But beneath that normality, there was something else.
Something subtle.
Something almost impossible to avoid.
The Alexis Sánchez story.
Overnight, what had begun as a television discussion on Sky Sports had exploded across Europe.
Now it was everywhere.
Every sports website.
Every newspaper.
Every football program.
Every radio station.
Every social media platform.
The story had grown larger with each passing hour.
Rumors had become debates.
Debates had become speculation.
Speculation had become headlines.
Some articles claimed Sánchez was unhappy.
Others claimed negotiations had stalled.
Some claimed major European clubs were monitoring the situation.
Others claimed Arsenal remained confident of reaching an agreement.
Nobody seemed entirely sure.
Yet everyone seemed willing to talk about it.
That was modern football.
Information moved fast.
Rumors moved even faster.
Francesco parked his BMW and climbed out into the cold morning air.
As he approached the main building, he immediately noticed something unusual.
The media presence.
There were more journalists gathered outside the training ground than normal.
Not dramatically more.
But enough to notice.
Camera crews.
Reporters.
Photographers.
Everyone hoping for something.
A comment.
A reaction.
A clue.
Anything.
One reporter spotted Francesco walking toward the entrance.
Almost instantly, several others followed.
"Francesco!"
The captain didn't even slow down.
Experience had taught him better.
"Any comment on Alexis?"
Nothing.
"Have you spoken to him?"
Still nothing.
"Do you expect him to stay?"
Francesco simply raised a hand in polite acknowledgment before continuing inside.
The questions followed him all the way to the door.
Then disappeared once he entered the building.
The warm air inside felt like a relief.
A few teammates were already gathered near the dressing room.
Walker.
Robertson.
Van Dijk.
Gnabry.
Several others.
Coffee cups were everywhere.
A sure sign the day had only recently begun.
Walker looked up first.
"Congratulations."
Francesco frowned.
"For what?"
"You've officially survived twenty-four hours without being linked to Real Madrid."
"Remarkable achievement."
"I know."
"Truly inspiring."
Robertson rolled his eyes.
"Can we go one morning without you talking nonsense?"
Walker considered that.
"No."
"Fair enough."
The room chuckled.
Normal dressing-room conversations.
Normal footballer behavior.
Yet even here, the topic couldn't be avoided forever.
Eventually Robertson glanced around the room.
Then frowned.
"Where's Alexis?"
Several players instinctively looked toward Sánchez's usual seat.
Empty.
His training gear remained untouched.
No bag.
No boots.
No Alexis.
Van Dijk noticed it too.
"Not here yet."
That alone wasn't particularly unusual.
Players occasionally arrived later than teammates.
Meetings happened.
Medical appointments happened.
Life happened.
Still.
Given everything currently surrounding Sánchez, his absence immediately stood out.
A few moments later another player entered.
Then another.
Gradually the dressing room filled.
But still no Sánchez.
And no Wenger.
That was when people started noticing.
Not worrying.
Not panicking.
Just noticing.
Because Arsène Wenger was almost always around.
If not on the training pitch, then moving between departments.
Meeting staff.
Reviewing plans.
Doing something.
Yet this morning he was nowhere to be seen.
Walker looked around dramatically.
"I've solved it."
Nobody asked.
He continued anyway.
"Aliens."
Robertson immediately threw a roll of athletic tape at him.
The projectile struck his shoulder.
A direct hit.
Walker looked offended.
"Violence."
"Deserved violence."
"Still violence."
The room laughed.
But then the dressing-room door opened again.
This time one of Wenger's assistants stepped inside.
Several heads turned automatically.
The coach smiled politely.
"Morning, gentlemen."
A chorus of greetings followed.
The assistant glanced around briefly.
Almost as if confirming who was present.
Then spoke.
"Training starts in twenty minutes."
Normal.
Then:
"The manager will join you later."
That attracted attention.
Not because it sounded alarming.
Because it was unusual.
The assistant continued.
"Until then, we'll begin as scheduled."
Nobody questioned it.
Professional footballers learned long ago not to obsess over every little detail.
Still, once the coach departed, the conversations resumed.
And naturally they all circled back toward the same subject.
Sánchez.
The Chilean's absence.
The media reports.
The manager's absence.
The obvious connection between them.
Walker leaned toward Van Dijk.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Unfortunately."
"They're talking."
"Obviously."
Robertson nodded.
"Has to be."
Because the explanation made perfect sense.
The story had become enormous.
Arsenal's biggest star was suddenly at the center of transfer speculation across Europe.
Of course Wenger would want a conversation.
Of course the manager would want clarity.
That wasn't drama.
That was leadership.
Meanwhile, several corridors away, inside the main administrative building, a very different atmosphere existed.
Far removed from jokes and training-ground banter.
Far removed from footballs and cones.
Far removed from reporters outside the gates.
Inside Wenger's office, the curtains were partially open.
Morning light filtered softly through the windows.
The room felt calm.
Organized.
Professional.
Exactly like its owner.
Arsène Wenger sat behind his desk.
Not angry.
Not frustrated.
Simply thoughtful.
Across from him sat Alexis Sánchez.
The Chilean looked exactly as he always did.
Focused.
Serious.
Intense.
His training gear remained untouched for now.
Because football could wait.
At least for a few minutes.
The conversation had already been ongoing for some time.
Not confrontational.
Not emotional.
Just honest.
Two professionals discussing a situation that had suddenly become public.
Wenger folded his hands together.
"I imagine you've seen the headlines."
Alexis smiled faintly.
A humorless smile.
"Impossible not to."
That was certainly true.
The story had reached a point where avoiding it was practically impossible.
Television.
Phones.
Newspapers.
Social media.
Everywhere.
Wenger nodded slowly.
"Most of it is speculation."
Alexis didn't disagree.
Because that was true as well.
The manager leaned back slightly.
"What concerns me isn't the media."
That caught Sánchez's attention.
Wenger continued calmly.
"What concerns me is distraction."
The Chilean understood immediately.
Distractions could destroy seasons.
Not just for individuals.
For entire teams.
And Arsenal were in the middle of something important.
Top of the league.
Competing in Europe.
Chasing trophies.
This was not the time for unnecessary chaos.
For several seconds neither man spoke.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable.
It was the silence of mutual respect.
The silence of people who had worked together for years.
Eventually Alexis exhaled.
"They're making it sound worse than it is."
Wenger nodded.
"I suspected as much."
Because he knew Sánchez.
Knew how fiercely competitive he was.
Knew how deeply he cared about football.
And most importantly, knew that media narratives rarely captured the full picture.
Alexis shook his head.
"Every day there is a new story."
"Every day someone claims they know what I'm thinking."
A small smile appeared on Wenger's face.
"The burden of being important."
That earned the slightest laugh from Sánchez.
A rare achievement on a morning like this.
Outside the office, meanwhile, training preparations continued.
The Arsenal squad eventually made its way onto the pitches.
Cold air greeted them immediately.
Breath visible.
Grass sparkling faintly beneath the winter sun.
The training session began without Wenger.
Unusual.
But not unprecedented.
The assistant coaches took charge.
Warm-ups.
Passing drills.
Possession exercises.
Everything proceeded normally.
At least outwardly.
Yet every now and then players glanced toward the main building.
Instinctively.
Waiting.
Wondering.
Not because they were concerned.
Because humans were naturally curious.
Especially footballers.
Especially when one of their teammates was involved.
Francesco participated in drills as usual.
Sharp passing.
Quick movement.
Professional focus.
But even he occasionally found his eyes drifting toward the administrative offices.
The previous afternoon's television report remained fresh in his mind.
Not because he trusted rumors.
Because he cared about teammates.
There was a difference.
Alexis wasn't merely another player.
He was part of the core of this Arsenal team.
Part of the dressing room.
Part of the culture.
Losing someone like that would matter.
Eventually nearly forty-five minutes passed.
Then an hour.
The session continued.
And finally, movement appeared near the far side of the training ground.
Several players noticed it immediately.
A familiar figure emerging from the building.
Training gear on.
Boots in hand.
Walking toward the pitches.
Alexis Sánchez.
The reaction was almost comical.
Not dramatic.
Just subtle.
Heads turning.
Eyes following.
Conversations briefly pausing.
The Chilean looked completely normal.
No visible frustration.
No visible tension.
No dramatic expressions.
Just Alexis.
The same Alexis everyone knew.
A few seconds later another figure emerged behind him.
Wenger.
Calm as ever.
The manager exchanged a few words with one of the coaches before turning toward the training session.
Business as usual.
At least publicly.
At least for now.
And perhaps that was the most important thing.
Because while Europe debated rumors, transfer stories, and contract negotiations…
Inside Arsenal, training still had to happen.
Matches still had to be won.
Trophies still had to be chased.
And regardless of what newspapers claimed to know, those realities remained unchanged.
For the moment, Alexis Sánchez was still here.
Still wearing Arsenal colors.
Still walking onto the training pitch.
Still preparing for the next match.
And as Francesco watched his teammate jog toward the group, one thing became obvious.
Whatever conversation had taken place behind closed doors between Wenger and Sánchez, it wasn't over.
Not yet.
But neither man looked like someone preparing for war.
They looked like professionals trying to solve a complicated problem. And sometimes in football, that distinction made all the difference.
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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: 28
Goal: 35
Assist: 1
MOTM: 4
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 2
Goal: 2
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