115. After the Celebration

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He grabbed his bag and headed for the door, his mind already turning to the days ahead. The Champions League was calling, and he was ready to answer. But for now, as he stepped out into the cool night air, he allowed himself a small smile. Tonight had been perfect, and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Francesco grabbed his bag from the sofa, slinging it over his shoulder as he made his way to the door. The night had been long, but it had been a good one—filled with laughter, camaraderie, and the kind of memories that would stay with him for a long time. As he stepped out into the cool night air, he took a deep breath, savoring the quiet stillness of the training center grounds. The lights from the facility cast long shadows across the parking lot, and the faint hum of the city in the distance reminded him that, even at this hour, the world was still moving.

He walked over to his car, a sleek Honda Civic that had become his trusty companion since moving to London. Sliding into the driver's seat, he tossed his bag onto the passenger side and started the engine. The familiar purr of the car was comforting, and as he pulled out of the parking lot, he felt a sense of calm settle over him. The streets were relatively quiet, the late hour meaning most of the city had already retreated indoors. Francesco rolled down the window slightly, letting the cool breeze brush against his face as he drove.

The drive back to his apartment was uneventful, the city lights passing by in a blur. He found himself replaying the evening in his mind—the victory, the Man of the Match award, the laughter in the players' lounge. It had been a perfect way to cap off a great performance, but now, as he navigated the familiar streets, his thoughts began to shift. The upcoming Champions League match against Monaco loomed large in his mind. He knew it would be a tough game, and he couldn't afford to let himself get too comfortable. Still, for now, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment.

When he arrived at his apartment building, he parked his car in the basement garage, the familiar surroundings giving him a sense of routine. He grabbed his bag and headed for the lift, pressing the button for his floor. The ride up was quick, and soon he was stepping into his apartment, the soft glow of the lights welcoming him home.

Francesco dropped his bag on the sofa and stretched, feeling the tension in his muscles from the match. A shower was definitely in order. He made his way to the bathroom, turning on the water and letting it warm up before stepping in. The hot water was a relief, washing away the sweat and grime of the game. He stood under the stream for a few minutes, letting the warmth seep into his bones, before reaching for the shampoo. As he washed his hair, his mind wandered back to the match—the passes, the goals, the moments of brilliance. It had been a good day, but he knew there was still work to be done.

After finishing his shower, Francesco wrapped a towel around his waist and padded back into the living room. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from his bedroom, pulling them on before heading to the kitchen. Despite the pizza and McDonald's earlier, he was still hungry. The life of a professional athlete meant his body was always burning through energy, and he needed to refuel.

He opened the fridge, scanning its contents. There wasn't much—some eggs, a few vegetables, and a packet of chicken breast. He decided to keep it simple, whipping up a quick omelette with some spinach and tomatoes. As he cooked, the smell of the food filled the apartment, making his stomach growl in anticipation. He grabbed a plate from the cupboard and slid the omelette onto it, adding a slice of whole-grain bread on the side.

With his dinner ready, Francesco carried the plate over to the living room and settled onto the sofa. He reached for the remote and turned on the TV, flipping through the channels until he found a news program. The screen was filled with images of the day's events—some crime reports, political updates, and, of course, sports news. He paused when he saw the familiar faces of Ian Wright and Gary Neville on Sky Sports, discussing the latest Premier League action.

Francesco leaned back, taking a bite of his omelette as he listened to the pundits dissect the weekend's matches. They were talking about Arsenal's victory over Crystal Palace, and he couldn't help but smile when they mentioned his name.

"Francesco was absolutely brilliant today," Ian Wright was saying, his enthusiasm evident. "One goal, two assists—he's been a revelation for Arsenal this season. I don't think anyone expected him to hit the ground running like this, but he's proving to be a key player for them."

Gary Neville nodded in agreement. "He's got that something special, doesn't he? The way he reads the game, his movement off the ball—it's top class. And let's not forget his work rate. He's not just a flashy player; he puts in the hard yards too."

Francesco felt a swell of pride at their words, but he also knew better than to let it go to his head. Pundits could be fickle—one week they were singing your praises, the next they were tearing you down. Still, it was nice to hear, especially from someone like Ian Wright, who was an Arsenal legend in his own right.

As the discussion continued, Francesco found himself drawn into the analysis. They talked about the title race, the upcoming fixtures, and the challenges Arsenal would face in the coming weeks. The mention of Monaco brought him back to reality, and he felt a flicker of anticipation. The Champions League was a different beast altogether, and he knew it would be a test of everything he had learned so far.

Francesco leaned back on the sofa, his plate now empty, as he continued to watch the pundits on Sky Sports. The conversation had shifted slightly, and Ian Wright was now voicing a question that had been on the minds of many Arsenal fans—and perhaps even Francesco himself, though he tried not to dwell on it too much.

"I'll tell you what," Ian Wright said, leaning forward in his chair, his expression earnest. "I don't understand why Trevor Bayliss hasn't called Francesco up to the England squad yet. I mean, look at what he's doing week in, week out for Arsenal. One goal, two assists today—that's not a fluke. The lad's got talent, and he's proving it in the Premier League, which is one of the toughest leagues in the world. If he's not in the conversation for the England squad ahead of the 2016 Euros in France, then I don't know what more he needs to do."

Gary Neville, sitting across from Wright, nodded thoughtfully. "It's a fair point, Ian. Francesco's been exceptional since he arrived at Arsenal. His versatility, his work rate, his ability to influence games—it's all there. But you know how it is with England. There's always a lot of competition for places, and sometimes it takes a bit longer for new faces to break through. That said, if he keeps performing like this, it's going to be hard for Bayliss to ignore him."

Wright wasn't having it, though. He shook his head, his passion for the topic evident. "I get that there's competition, Gary, but come on. We're talking about a player who's making a real difference for a team that's challenging for the title. He's not just a flash in the pan; he's consistent. And let's be honest, England could use someone like him. He's got that creativity, that spark, that can change a game. If we're serious about doing well at the Euros, we need to be looking at players like Francesco."

Francesco felt a strange mix of emotions as he listened. On one hand, it was incredibly flattering to hear someone like Ian Wright, a legend of the game, advocating for him to be called up to the England squad. On the other hand, he knew better than to get carried away. International football was a different beast, and he was still relatively new to the Premier League. There were plenty of talented players vying for those spots, and he knew he had to keep proving himself if he wanted to be in the conversation.

The discussion on TV moved on, shifting to the broader landscape of the Premier League. Wright and Neville began dissecting the title race, which was shaping up to be one of the most competitive in recent memory. Arsenal, Manchester City, and Chelsea were all in the mix, each with their own strengths and weaknesses.

"It's going to be a fascinating few months," Neville said, his tone analytical. "Arsenal are looking strong, no doubt about it. They've got depth in their squad, and players like Francesco, Alexis Sánchez, and Mesut Özil are in top form. But let's not forget about Manchester City. Manuel Pellegrini's got that team playing some incredible football, and with players like David Silva and Sergio Agüero, they're always a threat."

Wright nodded, but he was quick to defend his former club. "Absolutely, City are a force to be reckoned with. But I think Arsenal have something special this season. There's a real sense of belief in that squad, and they're playing with a confidence that we haven't seen in a while. Francesco's been a big part of that, but it's not just him. The whole team is clicking."

Neville raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "And what about Chelsea? They're right up there too, you know. Jose Mourinho's got them organized, and they've got that winning mentality. Diego Costa is in the form of his life, and Eden Hazard is just a machine in the left wing. You can't count them out."

Wright conceded the point, but he wasn't ready to back down entirely. "Chelsea are definitely in the mix, no question. But I still think Arsenal have the edge. They've got the experience, the quality, and the momentum. If they can keep this up, I really believe they can go all the way."

Francesco found himself engrossed in the discussion, even though he knew he probably shouldn't be paying too much attention to what the pundits were saying. It was easy to get caught up in the hype, but he knew the reality was far more complicated. The Premier League was unpredictable, and anything could happen between now and the end of the season. One bad result, one injury, one moment of bad luck—it could all change the course of the title race.

As the pundits continued to debate, Francesco's mind began to wander. He thought about the upcoming Champions League match against Monaco, the challenges that lay ahead, and the pressure of performing on the biggest stage. He thought about the possibility of playing for England, of representing his country at the Euros. It was a dream he had harbored for as long as he could remember, but he knew it was still a long way off. For now, his focus had to be on Arsenal, on continuing to improve, on helping his team achieve their goals.

He turned off the TV, the room suddenly quiet. The plate on the coffee table was empty, the remnants of his omelette long gone. He stood up, stretching his arms above his head, feeling the fatigue of the day finally catching up with him. It had been a long, eventful day, but it had also been a good one. He had played well, his team had won, and he had been recognized for his efforts. That was all he could ask for.

Francesco carried his plate to the kitchen, rinsing it off before placing it in the dishwasher. He made his way to the bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light across the room. He pulled back the covers and climbed into bed, the cool sheets a welcome relief after the long day.

As he lay there, his mind began to drift. He thought about the match, the laughter in the lounge, the words of the pundits. But most of all, he thought about the journey he was on. It had been a whirlwind since joining Arsenal, but he wouldn't trade it for anything. The challenges, the triumphs, the moments of doubt and the moments of joy—they were all part of the story.

With a deep breath, Francesco closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion finally take over. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities to prove himself. But for now, he allowed himself to rest, knowing that he had given everything he had today. And that, in itself, was something to be proud of.

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The next morning, Francesco woke up early, the sunlight streaming through the curtains. He stretched, feeling the stiffness in his muscles from the match, but it was a good kind of stiffness—a reminder of the effort he had put in. He got out of bed and headed to the kitchen, brewing a cup of coffee before sitting down at the table with his laptop.

He opened it up, checking the news and the reactions to the match. The headlines were full of praise for Arsenal's performance, and his name was mentioned more than a few times. He smiled to himself, but he didn't let it go to his head. He knew how quickly things could change in football.

As he sipped his coffee, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Theo Walcott, suggesting they meet up later for a light training session. Francesco replied quickly, agreeing to the plan. He knew he couldn't afford to rest on his laurels, not with the Champions League match against Monaco just around the corner.

After finishing his coffee, Francesco got dressed and headed out the door. The streets were quiet, the early morning calm giving him a chance to clear his head. He walked to the training ground, the familiar route helping him focus on the task ahead.

When he arrived, Theo was already there, warming up on the pitch. "Morning, superstar," Theo called out, a grin on his face. "Ready to put in some work?"

Francesco laughed, jogging over to join him. "Always," he replied. "Let's get to it."

As they began their session, Francesco felt a sense of determination settle over him. The road ahead was long, and there would be no room for complacency. He knew he had to keep pushing himself, keep improving, if he wanted to help Arsenal achieve their goals.

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Name : Francesco Lee

Age : 16 (2014)

Birthplace : London, England

Football Club : Arsenal First Team

Championship History : None

Match Played: 13

Goal: 20

Assist: 10

MOTM: 6