48. Againts Liverpool PT.1

If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead and more, be sure to check out my Patreon!!!

Go to https://www.patreon.com/Tang12

___________________________

With that final thought, he closed his eyes, letting the anticipation of the battle ahead carry him into a deep, restful sleep.

The next day, at 3 PM, Francesco stood in his hotel room, slipping into his Arsenal training suit. The dark blue tracksuit, adorned with the club's iconic cannon logo, fit him perfectly, as if it were made for the occasion. He tied his laces tightly, grabbed his headphones from the nightstand, and placed them over his ears. Music pulsed through the speakers—a mix of upbeat tracks to fuel his focus.

He glanced at himself in the mirror, nodding once as if to affirm he was ready. Today wasn't just any game; it was a defining moment. Slinging his backpack over one shoulder, he left the room and walked briskly down the hallway toward the lobby.

As he stepped into the lobby, Francesco found the rest of the team already gathered. Some players chatted in low voices, while others, like Alexis Sánchez and Theo Walcott, leaned casually against the walls, scrolling through their phones. Héctor Bellerín spotted Francesco first and gave him a quick nod.

"Looking sharp, Francesco," Héctor said with a grin.

Francesco smiled back, removing his headphones momentarily. "You too, mate. Ready for Anfield?"

"Always," Héctor replied confidently. "Though, it's not every day we have a player analyzing matches until midnight. You're setting the bar high."

Francesco laughed softly, shaking his head. "Just doing my part. It's a team effort."

The players exchanged a few more lighthearted remarks as Arsène Wenger walked into the lobby, his sharp gaze sweeping across the group. He clapped his hands together, instantly drawing everyone's attention.

"All right, gentlemen, it looks like we're all here," Wenger said, his calm voice carrying an underlying authority. "Let's head to the bus."

The players began filing out of the lobby, their cleats and gear bags slung over their shoulders. Francesco followed behind, his headphones back in place, the music drowning out the ambient noise of the hotel. As they exited the building, the crisp afternoon air greeted them, a subtle reminder of the intensity to come.

The team bus, emblazoned with Arsenal's logo and colors, waited just outside. One by one, the players climbed aboard, taking their seats toward the back. Francesco chose a window seat near Héctor and Theo, sliding his backpack under the seat in front of him. Wenger and the coaching staff were the last to board, taking their seats near the front.

As the bus pulled away, a quiet hum filled the air. Some players chatted in low voices, others leaned back with their headphones on, while a few closed their eyes, conserving their energy. Francesco gazed out of the window, watching the streets of Liverpool blur into a mix of familiar urban scenery and iconic landmarks. The journey felt surreal, the weight of the occasion settling in his chest.

The closer they got to Anfield, the more palpable the atmosphere became. Groups of Liverpool fans, decked out in red scarves and jerseys, lined the streets, some waving and others chanting songs of support for their team. Francesco couldn't help but admire their passion, even as it fueled his determination.

When the bus turned onto Anfield Road, a roar of anticipation greeted them. Fans crowded the sidewalks, their voices echoing through the narrow street. Francesco caught sight of a young Liverpool supporter holding a homemade sign that read, "Welcome to Anfield."

Inside the bus, the players sat up straighter, the mood shifting from casual camaraderie to steely focus. Wenger stood, steadying himself as the bus slowed to a stop outside the stadium.

"All right, everyone," he began, his voice calm but firm. "This is where the hard work begins. Remember everything we've prepared for. Stay focused, stay united, and give your all. Let's make this count."

The players nodded, their expressions serious. As they stepped off the bus and entered Anfield's historic halls, the weight of the occasion pressed down on them. The walk to the away dressing room felt like a journey through football history, the walls adorned with images of legendary Liverpool moments and players.

Francesco took it all in, his heart pounding. He had watched games at Anfield countless times on TV, but being here in person was something entirely different. The air seemed charged with electricity, a mix of history and expectation.

Inside the dressing room, the players found their kits laid out neatly, each name and number gleaming on the back of their shirts. Francesco's own jersey—number 35—hung proudly on the peg next to his locker. He ran a hand over the fabric, feeling the weight of responsibility and opportunity in equal measure.

As the team settled in, Wenger and the coaching staff began their final preparations. The tactical board was set up, with detailed diagrams showing Liverpool's expected formation and Arsenal's counter-strategies. Wenger addressed the group, his voice calm but filled with conviction.

"We know what we're up against," he said, gesturing to the board. "Liverpool will come at us with intensity. They will press high and try to disrupt our rhythm. But we've prepared for this. Stick to the plan, trust each other, and take your chances when they come."

Per Mertesacker, seated near the front, added a few words of encouragement. "This is our moment to show what we're made of. Anfield is loud, but let's make our football speak louder."

The players responded with a collective nod, their focus sharpening with every passing minute. Francesco felt the familiar adrenaline building within him, his nerves transforming into determination. He thought back to the hours he had spent analyzing Liverpool's matches, the notes he had taken, and the conversations he had shared with Héctor.

As the players began changing into their kits, Francesco glanced around the room. Everyone was locked in, ready to give their all. This wasn't just another match—it was a chance to leave a mark on one of football's greatest stages.

When it was time to head out for the warm-up, the players filed out of the dressing room and into the tunnel. The roar of the crowd grew louder with every step, a deafening reminder of the challenge that awaited them.

The Arsenal players jogged onto the pitch for their warm-up, their boots crunching lightly against the pristine Anfield grass. The stadium was already alive with anticipation, the stands filling with fans whose cheers echoed in the cool autumn air. Francesco joined the team in their stretching routine, his eyes occasionally wandering to the other side of the pitch where Liverpool's squad was also warming up.

Liverpool's players moved with the precision of a well-oiled machine, their drills mirroring the intensity of their playing style. Francesco caught sight of Philippe Coutinho executing a flawless strike into the top corner during a shooting drill, while Jordan Henderson barked orders to his teammates. The sight only fueled his focus further.

For 45 minutes, Arsenal's players worked through their warm-up routine. Francesco focused on his sprints, short passes, and shooting drills, feeling the rhythm of the ball with every touch. He wanted to ensure that his first touch was perfect, his movements sharp, and his mindset unshakable. When he practiced a few crosses into the box, he visualized Giroud rising above the defenders to nod the ball home.

From the stands, Arsenal's traveling fans made their voices heard, chanting songs of support that competed with the Liverpool faithful. Francesco felt a wave of pride knowing he'd soon play for them, giving everything to make their trip worthwhile.

As the warm-up concluded, the players began making their way back to the locker room. Francesco stole one last glance at the Anfield stands, his heart pounding as he envisioned the noise when the match kicked off. He followed his teammates into the tunnel, the atmosphere growing more intense with every step.

The locker room buzzed with quiet energy as the players toweled off and started changing into their match kits. Wenger stood near the tactical board, waiting patiently for everyone to settle. His calm demeanor carried a quiet authority that immediately captured their attention.

Francesco slid into his seat, his Arsenal jersey already on. He adjusted the socks on his shins and tied his laces tighter, focusing on Wenger as the manager stepped forward.

"Good work out there during the warm-up," Wenger began, his voice steady. "Now, the real challenge begins."

Wenger turned to the tactical board, where a 4-3-3 formation was laid out in precise detail. He tapped on the defensive line first.

"Szczęsny you will be the goalkeeper then Kieran, Per, Mathieu, Calum—you'll need to remain compact and disciplined. Liverpool's front three will press you relentlessly. Be prepared to play out from the back when it's safe, but don't take unnecessary risks. Clear the lines if you have to."

The defenders nodded, their faces set in determination.

"For the midfield," Wenger continued, pointing to Flamini, Oxlade-Chamberlain, and Cazorla, "Mathieu, you're the anchor. Your job is to protect the back line and disrupt their build-up play. Alex, Santi, you'll be our engines. Link up with the defense and the attack, and don't be afraid to take risks in the final third. Santi, your creativity will be key in unlocking their defense."

Wenger's tone shifted slightly as he addressed the forwards. He gestured to the three attacking positions on the board.

"Alexis, Olivier, Francesco—you are our weapons tonight," Wenger said, his voice gaining a spark of passion. "Alexis, your pace and ability to cut inside will stretch their defense. Olivier, you'll hold the line, win aerial duels, and finish chances when they come. Francesco…"

Francesco sat a little straighter as Wenger's gaze fell on him.

"This is your chance to shine," Wenger said. "You've studied Liverpool's weaknesses, and I trust you to exploit them. Use your pace and intelligence to find the gaps. Don't hesitate to take on their full-backs, and remember, you're not alone. Trust your teammates."

Francesco nodded, feeling a surge of confidence. He glanced around the room and saw his teammates looking at him with respect and encouragement.

Wenger clapped his hands together, signaling the end of his speech. "The starting eleven will be as follows: Kieran, Per—our captain tonight—Mathieu, and Calum in the back. Flamini as our defensive midfielder. Oxlade-Chamberlain and Santi in midfield. Alexis on the left, Olivier up front, and Francesco on the right. Everyone knows their roles. Let's do this."

The room filled with murmurs of approval and quiet determination as the starting eleven began their final preparations. Francesco adjusted his jersey one last time, the number 35 shining brightly under the fluorescent lights.

The sound of studs clicking against the concrete floor filled the tunnel as the Arsenal players lined up. Francesco stood between Giroud and Oxlade-Chamberlain, the roar of the crowd growing louder with every second. On the other side of the tunnel, Liverpool's players waited, their red kits a stark contrast to Arsenal's deep blue.

Francesco caught a glimpse of Steven Gerrard, Liverpool's captain, standing tall at the front of the line. His presence was commanding, a reminder of the history and rivalry that defined this fixture.

The referee signaled, and both teams began walking out onto the pitch. The noise from the Anfield crowd was deafening, a sea of red and white scarves swirling in the stands. Francesco kept his focus on the grass ahead, his heart pounding in rhythm with the chants echoing around him.

As the players lined up for the pre-match handshakes, Francesco exchanged brief glances with Liverpool's defenders. He could sense their determination, but it only fueled his own resolve.

When the formalities were over, the players took their positions on the pitch. Francesco jogged to his spot on the right wing, taking a deep breath as he scanned the field. The atmosphere was electric, the kind of moment every footballer dreamed of.

As the referee's whistle blew to signal the start of the game, Francesco's mind sharpened. This was it—the chance to prove himself, to make his mark on Anfield, and to take another step toward fulfilling his potential.

The whistle pierced through the roaring atmosphere, and the match began with an intensity that matched the charged air at Anfield. Both teams surged forward immediately, neither side willing to concede an inch of dominance. Arsène Wenger, his familiar composed figure on the touchline, observed every movement with a calculated gaze, occasionally gesturing instructions to his players. On the opposite sideline, Brendan Rodgers was equally animated, barking orders and waving his arms to orchestrate Liverpool's high press.

Arsenal moved the ball confidently in the opening minutes, with Flamini anchoring the midfield and Cazorla weaving intricate passes to create space. Francesco found himself involved early, his first touch a smooth turn past Liverpool's Alberto Moreno, drawing cheers from the traveling Arsenal fans. He quickly sent a low cross into the box, but Martin Škrtel's towering figure cleared the danger before Giroud could connect.

Liverpool responded with their own brand of ferocity. Gerrard, the heartbeat of their midfield, sprayed a long pass out wide to Raheem Sterling, who danced his way past Debuchy with a burst of pace. The crowd erupted as Sterling surged toward the byline and whipped in a cross, but Per Mertesacker rose like a fortress, heading the ball away to safety. It was a tense exchange, a chess match played at breakneck speed.

By the 15th minute, the game had settled into a pattern of quick transitions. Arsenal's defensive line stayed compact, with Mertesacker and Chambers communicating constantly to keep Liverpool's forwards in check. On the other side, Liverpool's defense was put to the test when Alexis Sánchez received the ball on the left flank. With a shimmy and a feint, he skipped past Steven Gerrard and Martin Škrtel then unleashed a curling shot aimed at the far corner. Brad Jones, Liverpool's goalkeeper, leapt acrobatically, tipping the ball just wide of the post.

"Unlucky, Alexis!" Francesco shouted, jogging over to offer encouragement.

Minutes later, Francesco himself was in the thick of the action. Flamini intercepted a loose pass from Henderson and immediately threaded the ball through to Oxlade-Chamberlain, who carried it forward with pace. Spotting Francesco darting down the right wing, Oxlade-Chamberlain delivered a precise through-ball. Francesco controlled it perfectly and cut inside, driving toward the edge of the box.

The crowd held its breath as he unleashed a low, driven shot aimed at the bottom corner. It had power, it had placement—but Brad Jones, once again, was equal to the task, diving low to push the ball away.

"Keep going, Francesco!" Wenger called out, his voice carrying over the noise of the crowd.

Liverpool, too, came agonizingly close to breaking the deadlock. In the 25th minute, Coutinho picked up the ball just outside Arsenal's penalty area, shimmying past Flamini with a burst of creativity. He unleashed a stinging shot that looked destined for the top corner, but Szczęsny flew across his goal, palming the ball away with a stunning save.

The Liverpool fans groaned in unison, while the Arsenal supporters broke into chants of Szczęsny's name. The Polish goalkeeper pumped his fist in response, his confidence visibly growing.

By the 30th minute, the game became a midfield battle. Gerrard and Henderson pressed high, attempting to disrupt Arsenal's rhythm, while Flamini and Cazorla worked tirelessly to retain control. Francesco found himself dropping deeper at times to help with the defensive workload, intercepting a pass intended for Moreno and springing a quick counterattack.

The chance came when Giroud held up the ball brilliantly near the halfway line, shrugging off Škrtel's challenge and laying it off to Cazorla. With a deft touch, Cazorla played a perfectly weighted ball into Francesco's path. Francesco sprinted forward, his eyes scanning the options as he entered the final third. He spotted Giroud making a run toward the near post and floated a cross into the box.

Giroud rose to meet it, but his header skimmed just wide of the upright. Francesco clapped his hands in frustration but quickly shook it off, jogging back into position.

"Good delivery, Francesco!" Giroud called out, giving him a thumbs-up.

As the match approached the 35th minute, the deadlock remained. Both goalkeepers—Szczęsny and Jones—were in outstanding form, denying every effort that came their way. The players on both sides were relentless, their determination evident in every challenge, every run, and every shot.

From the sideline, Wenger remained calm but animated, gesturing for his team to maintain their composure and take their chances. Rodgers, on the other hand, was more vocal, urging his players to press harder and capitalize on Arsenal's occasional lapses in possession.

The game was finely poised, and Francesco could feel the tension mounting. Every touch of the ball carried weight, every decision on the pitch held the potential to shift the balance. He stole a glance at the scoreboard—still 0-0—and tightened his focus.

This was the kind of match that separated the good from the great, and Francesco was determined to make his mark before the half-time whistle. The next ten minutes would be crucial.

________________________________________________

Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 16 (2014)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal First Team

Championship History : None

Match Played: 3

Goal: 4

Assist: 1

MOTM: 1