If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
_____________________________
(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
...
And if there was one lesson Wenger had repeated often enough for every player to believe it completely, as the quickest way to lose momentum was to spend too long celebrating it.
The days that followed disappeared into the relentless rhythm that defined life at the highest level of football.
There was barely enough time to unpack one match before attention shifted to the next.
Recovery sessions replaced celebrations.
Video meetings replaced headlines.
Every victory was acknowledged, appreciated, and then quietly filed away.
That was the culture Arsène Wenger had built inside London Colney.
Enjoy the result.
Recover.
Prepare again.
Nothing more.
The quarter-final place in the Champions League remained a source of quiet pride around the training ground, but nobody spoke about Porto anymore.
The conversation had already moved elsewhere.
Brighton.
Leicester.
Watford.
Three matches.
Three different competitions.
Three more opportunities to keep Arsenal's remarkable momentum alive.
The first challenge arrived on a chilly Saturday afternoon at the Falmer Stadium.
Brighton, playing in front of an energetic home crowd, had no intention of becoming another comfortable Arsenal victory.
As the team coach arrived, the home supporters applauded their own side while giving Arsenal a respectful welcome.
The visitors had become one of the most talked-about teams in England.
Carabao Cup winners.
Champions League quarter-finalists.
Still competing on every front.
Walker looked through the coach window as Brighton supporters continued filing into the stadium.
"They're going to make this difficult."
Ramsey nodded.
"They always do here."
Francesco adjusted his headphones around his neck.
"Away matches usually are."
Wenger's team talk before kick-off reflected exactly that.
"No shortcuts.
No assumptions.
Brighton will make us earn everything."
They did.
From the opening whistle Brighton pressed aggressively, refusing to allow Arsenal the comfortable possession they usually enjoyed.
The opening twenty minutes became a physical contest.
Kanté chased everything.
Van Dijk and Koscielny won challenge after challenge.
Walker repeatedly sprinted back to stop Brighton's dangerous counter-attacks.
Eventually, Arsenal's quality began to tell.
Midway through the first half, Özil drifted into a pocket of space before sliding a delightful pass between two defenders.
Francesco timed his movement perfectly.
One touch.
One finish.
The ball skipped beyond the goalkeeper into the far corner.
0-1.
Walker sprinted over laughing.
"There it is again!"
"The Özil pass."
"The Francesco run."
Francesco smiled.
"It's becoming a habit."
Brighton refused to fold.
The home supporters roared their team forward, and shortly before half-time they found an equaliser after sustained pressure inside Arsenal's penalty area.
One-one.
The Emirates-style control Arsenal enjoyed most weeks simply wasn't possible.
This became a proper Premier League battle.
At half-time Wenger remained calm.
"This is exactly the type of match champions must learn to win."
His words stayed with the players.
Early in the second half Alexis Sánchez restored Arsenal's lead after collecting a loose ball inside the area and finishing emphatically into the roof of the net.
Brighton answered once more.
Another equaliser.
Two-two.
The atmosphere inside Falmer Stadium became electric.
Every tackle drew huge cheers.
Every attack carried danger.
With fifteen minutes remaining, Arsenal produced the decisive moment.
Kanté recovered possession in midfield before finding Ramsey.
Ramsey switched play beautifully toward Serge Gnabry on the right.
The German winger drove inside confidently before unleashing a low strike that nestled inside the bottom corner.
2-3.
The Arsenal bench erupted.
The final minutes felt much longer than they actually were.
Brighton launched crosses into the area.
Čech punched several deliveries clear.
Van Dijk headed away almost everything that entered the box.
When the final whistle finally arrived, Arsenal players embraced one another with visible relief.
Walker wiped sweat from his forehead.
"I think I aged five years."
Robertson laughed.
"It looked like it."
Francesco smiled.
"Three points."
"That's all that matters."
Wenger nodded quietly as he shook hands with Brighton's manager.
Another hurdle cleared.
Only a few days later came another away journey.
This time to the King Power Stadium.
The sixth round of the FA Cup.
Leicester City waited.
Unlike the league fixture, Wenger chose to rotate his squad.
Several regular starters received valuable rest after an exhausting schedule.
Giroud led the line.
Iwobi started.
Wilshere returned to midfield alongside Cazorla.
Francesco watched from the substitutes' bench wearing a thick Arsenal jacket, applauding every positive move.
There was no frustration.
Only understanding.
The season had entered its most demanding phase.
Rotation wasn't optional anymore.
It was essential.
Before kick-off Wenger had gathered the squad.
"Everyone contributes."
"Whether you start…"
"…or whether you finish the match."
Those words reflected Arsenal's unity perfectly.
The match itself proved controlled rather than spectacular.
Leicester competed well but struggled to break down Arsenal's organised shape.
Midway through the opening half Wilshere clipped an inviting cross into the area.
Giroud rose above his marker.
His powerful header left the goalkeeper rooted.
0-1.
The travelling Arsenal supporters erupted.
Giroud pointed toward Wilshere.
"What a ball."
Jack grinned.
"I knew you'd attack it."
Leicester improved after the interval, forcing David Ospina into several important saves.
Yet Arsenal never lost their composure.
With fifteen minutes remaining Iwobi sealed qualification.
Collecting possession from Cazorla, the young midfielder danced past one defender before calmly placing the ball into the bottom corner.
0-2.
The Arsenal bench exploded into applause.
Francesco stood alongside Alexis and Ramsey.
"Brilliant finish."
Iwobi jogged back wearing a huge smile.
The final whistle confirmed Arsenal's place in the FA Cup semi-finals.
Another competition.
Another objective still alive.
Inside the dressing room Wenger congratulated everyone equally.
"This is what squad depth looks like."
The players applauded one another.
Nobody cared who had scored.
Only that Arsenal were still fighting on every front.
The third match arrived back at the Emirates.
Watford.
Another Premier League fixture.
Another opportunity to keep pace in the title race.
The atmosphere before kick-off felt noticeably different.
Supporters sensed this Arsenal side possessed genuine momentum.
Scarves filled the North Bank.
The songs began long before the players emerged from the tunnel.
Walker looked around while adjusting his socks.
"They're louder every week."
Francesco smiled.
"We've given them reasons."
From the opening whistle Arsenal dominated possession.
Kanté hunted relentlessly in midfield.
Xhaka dictated the rhythm.
Özil floated effortlessly between Watford's defensive lines.
It didn't take long before the breakthrough arrived.
A trademark passing move ended with Özil slipping another perfectly weighted through ball into Francesco's path.
The striker remained composed.
One touch.
Low finish.
1-0.
The Emirates roared.
Near the end of the first half Arsenal doubled their advantage.
This time it was Gnabry.
Receiving possession from Walker near the edge of the area, he shifted onto his stronger foot before curling a magnificent strike into the far corner.
2-0.
The supporters applauded enthusiastically as the players disappeared for half-time.
Wenger's message remained familiar.
"Continue."
"No risks."
"Keep moving the ball."
His players obeyed.
Fifteen minutes after the restart Francesco struck again.
Alexis robbed a defender of possession before squaring unselfishly across goal.
Francesco simply guided the ball into the empty net.
3-0.
As the celebrations settled, Wenger looked toward his bench.
He had seen enough.
The fourth official raised the electronic board.
Francesco off.
Giroud on.
The Emirates rose together.
Another standing ovation.
Francesco applauded every corner of the ground before shaking Wenger's hand.
"Well played."
"Thank you, boss."
A few minutes later Giroud added his own name to the scoresheet.
Wilshere, introduced shortly beforehand, slipped a clever reverse pass into the French striker's path.
Giroud needed only one touch before driving his finish beyond the goalkeeper.
4-0.
The match ended comfortably.
Another clean sheet.
Another convincing victory.
Another three Premier League points.
As supporters slowly left the Emirates, one chant echoed around the stadium.
"We're by far the greatest team…"
The belief surrounding Arsenal continued growing.
Back at London Colney the following day, recovery once again replaced celebration.
Players completed light stretching sessions before moving into the gym.
Ice baths.
Massage tables.
Recovery drinks.
Everything followed its familiar routine.
As Francesco left the training ground that afternoon, Wenger briefly called his name.
"Francesco."
He turned.
"Yes, boss?"
The manager smiled.
"I imagine your phone will ring soon."
Francesco looked slightly confused.
"My phone?"
"For England."
Wenger's smile widened.
"I would be very surprised if Gareth Southgate wasn't watching."
Francesco laughed.
"I suppose we'll see."
"I think we already know."
That evening the Richmond mansion felt wonderfully peaceful.
Leah had prepared dinner while soft music played quietly from the kitchen.
For once, neither of them mentioned football immediately.
Instead they spoke about family.
About a film they wanted to watch.
About taking a walk if the weather improved.
Sometimes those ordinary conversations felt more valuable than anything happening inside a stadium.
After dinner Francesco settled into the living room.
A blanket rested across the sofa.
The television played quietly in the background, though he wasn't really watching.
His body still carried the familiar fatigue that followed weeks of constant football.
Leah arrived carrying two mugs of tea.
"You actually look relaxed."
"I think I'm finally slowing down."
"You've earned it."
Before he could reply, his mobile phone vibrated on the coffee table.
An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.
Francesco frowned.
"I don't recognise it."
Leah glanced toward him.
"You'd better answer."
He picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
A calm voice answered almost immediately.
"Good evening."
"Is that Francesco?"
"Speaking."
"It's Gareth Southgate."
Francesco instinctively sat a little straighter.
"Good evening, Gareth."
"I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Not at all."
"I'll keep this brief."
Southgate's tone remained warm and relaxed.
"First of all…"
"Congratulations."
"You've been outstanding."
"The performances for Arsenal over the last few weeks have been exceptional."
"Thank you very much."
"I appreciate that."
"We've been watching closely."
There was a brief pause before Southgate continued.
"I'd like to officially invite you to join the England senior squad."
A smile slowly spread across Francesco's face.
"We've got two international friendlies coming up."
"The Netherlands first."
"Then Italy."
"We'll be gathering at St. George's Park in two days."
"I'd like you there with the rest of the squad."
Francesco didn't hesitate.
"It would be an honour."
"Thank you."
"I'm looking forward to it."
"I thought you might say that."
Southgate chuckled softly.
"Recovery is important after your recent schedule, so make the most of the next couple of days."
"When you arrive, we'll get straight to work."
"Understood."
"We'll send all the travel details shortly."
"Safe journey."
"And congratulations again."
"Thank you, Gareth."
"See you in two days."
The call ended.
For a moment Francesco simply stared at the phone resting in his hand.
Leah was already smiling.
"England?"
He nodded slowly.
"England."
"They want me at St. George's Park in two days."
She immediately wrapped her arms around him.
"I'm so proud of you."
He hugged her back, smiling despite his exhaustion.
"Thank you."
Another challenge awaited.
Another shirt to wear.
Another opportunity to represent something bigger than himself.
The Arsenal chapter would pause briefly.
For the next fortnight, his focus would belong to England.
And in two days' time, the familiar gates of St. George's Park would open to welcome another group of players chasing success on the international stage.
Two days passed surprisingly quickly.
For once, Francesco's schedule wasn't dominated by club football.
There were no tactical meetings at London Colney.
No preparations for Premier League opponents.
No Champions League discussions.
Instead, the next chapter belonged to England.
The morning of the squad gathering arrived beneath a clear spring sky.
The roads were quieter than usual as Francesco guided his BMW north toward Staffordshire.
The journey gave him time to think.
Club football and international football always felt different.
At Arsenal, everyone knew each other's movements instinctively.
Months of training and matches had built that understanding.
England was different.
The quality remained incredibly high, but players arrived from different clubs, different systems, and different styles of football.
Everything had to come together quickly.
That challenge was part of what made international football special.
A little over two hours later, the familiar signs for St. George's Park began appearing beside the road.
The sprawling national football centre soon came into view.
Modern training pitches stretched across the landscape.
The main building stood proudly in the distance.
England flags fluttered gently in the breeze.
Francesco smiled to himself.
No matter how many times he arrived here, there was always something special about it.
This was England.
The place where every player dreamed of representing their country.
As he pulled into the designated parking area, he immediately noticed several familiar vehicles already parked nearby.
Clearly he wasn't the first to arrive.
He grabbed his bag from the back seat before heading toward the main entrance.
The moment he stepped through the doors, a familiar voice called out.
"There he is."
Francesco turned.
Kyle Walker was standing near reception with a coffee in one hand and a travel bag in the other.
"Morning."
Walker shook his head dramatically.
"I leave Arsenal for two days…"
"…and somehow I still end up seeing you."
Francesco laughed.
"You'll survive."
"I'm not sure I will."
Before Walker could continue, another voice joined the conversation.
"He's been complaining all morning."
Harry Kane approached carrying his England bag over one shoulder.
Francesco smiled and shook his hand.
"Good to see you."
"You too."
Kane glanced toward Walker.
"I think he's upset because nobody laughed at his jokes during breakfast."
Walker looked offended.
"My jokes are excellent."
"They really aren't," Kane replied.
The three of them laughed.
Around them, more England players continued arriving.
Raheem Sterling walked through the entrance moments later wearing headphones around his neck.
Marcus Rashford followed shortly behind.
Jordan Henderson arrived carrying a small backpack while speaking with one of the staff members.
Jesse Lingard entered with his usual energy, immediately greeting everyone in sight.
Jordan Pickford appeared not long after, joking with one of the goalkeeping coaches before spotting the group.
"Morning, lads."
"Morning," several voices answered together.
The atmosphere felt relaxed.
Comfortable.
Many of the players had known each other for years through previous England camps, youth tournaments, or Premier League matches.
Despite representing rival clubs during the season, international duty always created a different environment.
The club rivalries were temporarily forgotten.
Everyone wore the same badge now.
As more players arrived, small groups naturally formed around the reception area.
Some discussed recent matches.
Others compared recovery routines.
Several were already talking about the upcoming friendlies against the Netherlands and Italy.
Walker glanced around.
"Feels like everyone's here already."
"Almost," Henderson replied.
"Give it another ten minutes."
Sure enough, more arrivals followed.
John Stones.
Eric Dier.
Kieran Trippier.
Ben Chilwell.
Dele Alli.
The squad gradually filled the entrance hall.
Then the conversations quieted slightly as Gareth Southgate emerged from the corridor leading toward the coaching offices.
The England manager wore a warm smile.
Beside him walked several members of his coaching staff.
Steve Holland.
The fitness coaches.
The analysts.
The support staff who helped make every international camp run smoothly.
"Good morning, gentlemen."
The players responded immediately.
"Morning, boss."
"Morning."
Southgate looked around the room.
"First of all, welcome back."
His eyes moved across the assembled squad.
"For some of you, it's familiar."
Then they briefly settled on Francesco.
"For some of you, it's becoming familiar."
A few players smiled.
Southgate continued.
"I know many of you are arriving after busy schedules."
"Premier League."
"European football."
"Domestic cups."
"But for the next few days…"
"…our focus is England."
Several players nodded.
Nobody needed reminding.
Representing England remained one of the highest honours available to any player.
Southgate checked his watch.
"Let's get settled."
"Medical checks first."
"Then we'll head out to train."
The squad dispersed efficiently.
Everything at St. George's Park operated with impressive organisation.
Players checked in with medical staff.
Fitness data was reviewed.
Recovery information from clubs was shared.
Minor knocks were assessed.
Nothing was left to chance.
Francesco completed his assessments before making his way toward the dressing room assigned to the senior squad.
The familiar white England shirts hung neatly above each locker.
Training kits had already been prepared.
Boots and equipment waited in place.
Walker immediately claimed a seat nearby.
"Looks like you're stuck with me again."
Francesco dropped his bag beside his locker.
"I noticed."
Harry Kane sat on the opposite side.
"At least he'll keep the room entertained."
Walker nodded proudly.
"Exactly."
Henderson walked past shaking his head.
"That's one word for it."
The dressing room filled with laughter.
It didn't take long for the players to change into their England training gear.
White tops.
Navy shorts.
Training jackets.
Everything carried the Three Lions crest.
Even after years of professional football, there remained a special feeling whenever players pulled on England colours.
Francesco glanced down briefly at the crest across his chest.
It meant something.
It always would.
Nearby, Rashford tightened his boots.
"First session should be interesting."
Sterling nodded.
"Especially after everyone travelling yesterday."
Kane smiled.
"Southgate won't go too hard."
Walker immediately disagreed.
"He definitely will."
A member of staff appeared at the doorway.
"Five minutes, lads."
"Pitch time."
The conversations gradually faded.
Players grabbed water bottles.
Training jackets were zipped up.
Then, together, the squad made their way outside.
The training pitches of St. George's Park looked immaculate.
The grass seemed almost perfect.
Groundskeepers had clearly worked tirelessly to maintain every surface.
The morning air carried a slight chill, but the sunshine overhead made conditions ideal for football.
As the players stepped onto the main training field, Southgate gathered everyone into a circle.
"No heavy tactical work today."
A few relieved smiles appeared.
The manager noticed immediately.
"Don't celebrate yet."
That earned a ripple of laughter.
"We'll focus on intensity."
"Movement."
"And getting comfortable together again."
The players spread out across the pitch.
The warm-up began under the supervision of England's fitness coaches.
Light jogging came first.
Then mobility work.
Dynamic stretching.
Short acceleration runs.
The usual routine.
Despite the professionalism, the atmosphere remained relaxed.
International camps often felt slightly lighter than club football during the opening days.
There was time to reconnect.
Time to enjoy being around different teammates.
Walker jogged beside Rashford.
"I still think that second Porto goal was ridiculous."
Rashford immediately looked toward Francesco.
"I watched it."
"So did everyone else."
Francesco laughed.
"Can we leave that goal in the past now?"
"No," Walker answered instantly.
"Absolutely not."
Sterling joined in.
"He's right."
"We'll be talking about it for months."
Francesco shook his head while the group laughed again.
Eventually the footballs appeared.
The mood immediately lifted another level.
Nothing changed footballers.
No matter how experienced they became.
The moment a ball rolled onto the grass, everyone seemed happier.
Southgate divided the squad into possession groups.
Quick passing.
One-touch movement.
Constant communication.
The quality was immediately obvious.
Kane dropped deep before finding Sterling with a perfectly weighted pass.
Sterling flicked it first-time toward Rashford.
Rashford switched play.
Henderson recycled possession.
The ball barely stopped moving.
Nearby, Francesco worked with another group that included Walker, Lingard, Dele Alli and Stones.
The tempo remained high.
Every misplaced pass was immediately met with good-natured complaints.
"Too slow."
"Better."
"Again."
Southgate watched carefully from the touchline.
Occasionally he exchanged notes with Steve Holland.
The England manager wasn't merely evaluating technical quality.
He was studying partnerships.
Relationships.
Understanding.
The little details that often decided international matches.
After twenty minutes, the session progressed into tactical exercises.
The players were divided into two teams for small-sided games.
The intensity immediately increased.
Challenges became sharper.
Pressing became quicker.
Communication grew louder.
"Man on!"
"Turn!"
"Switch!"
Kane buried an excellent finish into the corner after a clever pass from Sterling.
Moments later Rashford responded with a goal of his own following excellent build-up play from Lingard.
The competitive edge began emerging.
Nobody wanted to lose.
Not even in training.
Especially not England internationals.
Walker eventually won possession before charging forward.
"Keep up!"
"I'm trying," Stones shouted back.
"You run too much."
"Occupational hazard."
The session continued for almost ninety minutes.
By the end, the players were breathing heavily despite the relatively light workload Southgate had promised.
The England manager gathered everyone together once more near the centre circle.
"I liked what I saw."
The players listened attentively.
"Energy."
"Communication."
"Intensity."
"That's a good start."
He looked around the group.
"The Netherlands won't care about our club form."
"They won't care about our reputations."
"They'll care about beating England."
Several players nodded.
Southgate continued.
"So we prepare properly."
"Starting now."
His gaze moved across the squad.
"We'll meet later this afternoon for video work."
"For now…"
A small smile appeared.
"…recovery."
That was a word every footballer loved hearing.
Walker immediately raised a hand.
"Best instruction you've given all day."
Laughter spread across the group.
Even Southgate smiled.
"I expected that from you."
As the players began walking back toward the training centre, conversations resumed naturally.
Some discussed the session.
Others spoke about the upcoming friendlies.
Ahead of them, St. George's Park stood beneath the afternoon sunshine.
England's preparations had officially begun.
The next few days would be filled with training, tactical meetings, and building the chemistry needed for international football.
And for Francesco, another challenge was waiting.
Not Arsenal red.
Not Champions League nights.
Not Premier League title races.
For the next chapter, it was the white shirt of England.
And two major tests against the Netherlands and Italy were drawing closer with every passing hour.
______________________________________________
Name : Francesco Lee
Age : 19 (2017)
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, 2016/2017 Champions League, and 2017/2018 Carabao Cup.
Season 17/18 stats:
Arsenal:
Match: 45
Goal: 56
Assist: 6
MOTM: 6
POTM: 0
England:
Match: 2
Goal: 2
Assist: 0
MOTM: 1
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