116. The Round 16 Of Champions League PT.1

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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.

Francesco leaned back in the driver's seat of his Honda Civic, one hand resting lightly on the wheel as he navigated the familiar route to the Arsenal Training Centre. The early morning London traffic was steady but not unbearable, and the hum of the car's engine was the only sound accompanying him on the drive. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Today was a big day. A huge day.

February 25, 2015. The first leg of the Champions League Round of 16 against Monaco.

It was still surreal in some ways. Playing in the Champions League had always been a dream, something he had imagined as a kid while kicking a ball around in the park. And now, here he was, about to step onto the pitch under the lights of the Emirates Stadium, with thousands of fans roaring in the stands. This was the kind of night that defined careers.

As he neared the training ground, his phone buzzed in the passenger seat. A quick glance at the screen showed a message from Aaron Ramsey

Aaron: You awake, mate? Or you still dreaming about that goal you scored last week?

Francesco smirked, shaking his head as he reached a red light. He typed a quick response.

Francesco: Wide awake, mate. Unlike you, I don't need a morning nap before training.

A reply came almost immediately.

Aaron: You'll wish you had one when Wenger makes us run drills for two hours.

Francesco chuckled to himself as he put his phone back down and pulled into the training ground. He parked in his usual spot, turned off the engine, and sat there for a moment, taking another deep breath. It was game day. Time to lock in.

The Arsenal Training Centre was buzzing with energy as he walked inside. The scent of fresh coffee lingered in the air, mixing with the subtle scent of cut grass from the nearby pitches. Francesco made his way to the Players' Lounge, where a few of his teammates were already gathered.

Theo Walcott was the first to greet him, grinning as he leaned against the couch. "Morning, superstar. Ready for tonight?"

Francesco dropped his gym bag onto the floor and stretched his arms. "Always. You?"

Theo nodded. "Yeah. We need to make a statement tonight. Monaco's a good side, but we're better. We just have to prove it."

Before Francesco could respond, Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain called out from the other side of the lounge. "You see what Ian Wright said about you on Sky Sports?"

Francesco rolled his eyes with a small smile. "Yeah, caught some of it."

Aaron Ramsey, who was scrolling on his phone, glanced up. "He's got a point, you know. You should be in the England squad."

"I appreciate it," Francesco said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I'm just focused on Arsenal right now. If the call-up comes, it comes."

Before the conversation could continue, Arsène Wenger walked into the lounge, dressed sharply as always in his navy Arsenal tracksuit. The room fell silent as he glanced around at his players.

"Alright, gentlemen," Wenger said, his voice calm yet authoritative. "The bus leaves for the Emirates in ten minutes. Make sure you have everything you need."

There was a collective movement as the players grabbed their bags, downed the last of their drinks, and made their way toward the exit. Francesco felt the familiar pre-match nerves settle in—not overwhelming, just enough to keep him sharp.

As he stepped onto the team bus, he found his usual seat near the middle, next to Santi Cazorla. The Spanish midfielder smiled warmly at him. "Big game today, amigo."

Francesco nodded. "Yeah. Feels different, doesn't it? Champions League nights."

Santi chuckled. "Oh, you'll see. These games are special. Just play your game, and you'll be fine."

The bus pulled out of the training ground, heading towards the Emirates. Through the tinted windows, Francesco watched the London streets blur past, his thoughts focused on what lay ahead.

By the time they arrived at the stadium, the atmosphere outside was electric. Fans had already started gathering, waving scarves and chanting Arsenal songs. The sight of it sent a surge of adrenaline through Francesco's veins.

Inside the dressing room, the mood was focused yet relaxed. Players went through their routines—some listening to music through headphones, others chatting quietly. Francesco laced up his boots, taking a deep breath as he stared at his jersey hanging in front of him.

Francesco Lee. No. 35.

Francesco took a deep breath, his eyes locked on his jersey hanging in the locker. The weight of the night settled in—not as pressure, but as purpose. This was the kind of match that could cement his name in Arsenal history. With a final glance, he turned and joined the rest of the squad as they headed out to the pitch for the pre-match warm-up.

The cold London air hit him as he stepped onto the perfectly manicured grass. The stadium was already filling up, the murmur of anticipation growing as fans trickled in. Floodlights bathed the pitch in a bright glow, making everything feel more surreal. Francesco adjusted his training kit, rolling his shoulders as he jogged onto the field.

Warm-up started with some light jogging and stretching to loosen up. Then came the more intense drills—45 minutes of high-intensity training. They worked on their physiques first, doing quick bursts of sprints and agility drills. Francesco pushed himself, his body feeling sharp and ready. Then came the technical drills—shooting, dribbling, and passing.

As he received a crisp pass from Santi Cazorla, Francesco took a quick touch before curling a shot toward the top corner. It smacked against the crossbar and bounced in. A few of his teammates whistled in approval.

"Save some of that for the match, mate," Aaron Ramsey called out with a grin.

Francesco smirked but didn't respond. He knew he was ready.

The warm-up wrapped up, and the team headed back inside. The atmosphere in the locker room was focused. No unnecessary talking—just players going through their own pre-match rituals. Francesco swapped his training kit for the match kit, pulling on the red and white Arsenal shirt.

As everyone settled in, Arsène Wenger stepped forward for his final briefing. His presence alone commanded attention, and the room fell silent.

"Alright, gentlemen," Wenger began, his calm yet firm tone filling the space. "We know what's at stake tonight. The Champions League is not just about skill—it's about mentality. We are facing a strong, disciplined Monaco team, but we have the quality to win. Stay patient, play our football, and take your chances when they come."

He moved toward the tactics board and pointed to the formation.

"We're going with our 4-2-3-1 setup," Wenger continued. "Ospina in goal. Back four: Monreal, Mertesacker, Koscielny, and Bellerín. Coquelin and Cazorla as the defensive midfielders, with Özil ahead of them pulling the strings. Sánchez and Francesco on the wings. Giroud up top."

Francesco nodded to himself. He had played this role enough times to know exactly what was expected of him.

"For the substitutes," Wenger continued, "Szczęsny, Chambers, Gabriel, Gibbs, Oxlade-Chamberlain, Rosický, and Walcott."

He let the information sink in before giving his final words.

"Stay disciplined. Control the tempo. Make them chase the game. And most importantly, believe in yourselves."

With that, Wenger stepped back, signaling the players to get ready. Francesco took one last deep breath before standing up. The energy in the room had shifted—focused, determined.

The walk to the tunnel was quiet, the only sounds being the clicks of studs against the concrete floor and the occasional deep exhale from a player mentally preparing themselves. Francesco could hear the muffled roar of the Emirates crowd growing louder.

As they reached the tunnel, they lined up beside the Monaco players. Francesco found himself standing next to Anthony Martial. The young Frenchman gave him a small nod, which Francesco returned. They were both young talents on big stages—tonight, only one would shine.

The referee turned to both teams. "Alright, let's go."

With that, they marched onto the pitch.

The roar from the crowd was deafening, Arsenal fans waving their scarves and belting out The Wonder of You. Francesco's chest swelled with pride as he stepped onto the grass. He had dreamed of this moment. Now it was reality.

As the teams lined up, the commentator's voice echoed through the stadium speakers.

"Arsène Wenger has opted for a 4-2-3-1 formation tonight. Ospina in goal, a back four of Monreal, Mertesacker, Koscielny, and Bellerín. Coquelin and Cazorla sitting deep, allowing Özil to create. On the wings, Alexis Sánchez and Francesco Lee provide pace and creativity, with Olivier Giroud leading the line."

The camera panned to Monaco's lineup as the commentator continued.

"Leonardo Jardim is going with a more aggressive 4-3-3 setup. Danijel Subašić in goal, a defense of Elderson, Abdennour, Wallace, and Touré. Fabinho as the holding midfielder, with Moutinho and Kondogbia in central roles. Up front, a dangerous trio—Martial, Dirar, and Berbatov."

Francesco clenched his fists, his pulse quickening.

This was it.

The referee blew his whistle, signaling the start of the Champions League Round of 16.

The match kicked off under the bright Emirates Stadium lights, the energy from the crowd reverberating through Francesco's bones. The first few minutes were tense, both teams pressing aggressively, neither willing to concede control. The ball zipped across the pristine pitch, each pass and tackle executed with intensity.

Arsenal started on the front foot, moving the ball quickly through Özil in midfield. The German playmaker, as silky as ever, threaded a pass to Alexis Sánchez on the left. The Chilean took a sharp touch, cutting inside before unleashing a powerful shot toward the top corner.

Subašić reacted instantly, diving to his right and palming the ball away. The rebound fell to Giroud, but Monaco's defense scrambled to clear before he could get a clean strike.

Monaco immediately countered. Moutinho picked up the ball in midfield and sprayed a pass out wide to Anthony Martial, who took off like a bullet down the left flank. Francesco sprinted back, tracking him, but the Frenchman's pace was electric. He whipped a dangerous cross into the box, where Berbatov lurked, waiting.

Mertesacker, ever the calm presence, rose high and nodded the ball away, but it only fell to Kondogbia outside the box. The Monaco midfielder struck a venomous shot through the crowd of bodies. Ospina reacted superbly, diving low to his left and pushing the ball away.

For the opening twenty minutes, it was a battle of attrition. Arsenal and Monaco exchanged attacks like heavyweight boxers trading punches, each side trying to land the first blow. Every time Arsenal surged forward, Monaco hit back just as hard.

Francesco was heavily involved on the right wing, linking up with Bellerín to create overlaps. He received the ball in space and drove at Elderson, the Monaco left-back, his quick feet shifting the ball side to side. With a sudden burst, he cut inside and curled a shot toward the far post.

Subašić was alert, stretching his frame to tip it wide. Francesco ran a hand through his hair in frustration but quickly reset his focus. He knew chances like that would keep coming.

On the other end, Martial was a constant threat. His movement off the ball was sharp, and he had the confidence to take defenders on. In the 22nd minute, he dribbled past Coquelin and played a neat one-two with Berbatov at the edge of the box. The return pass put Martial through on goal, and for a brief second, the Emirates held its breath.

Ospina charged off his line, making himself big. Martial tried to chip it over him, but the Colombian goalkeeper reacted brilliantly, swatting the ball away with his outstretched arm. The crowd erupted in cheers as Ospina's teammates rushed to pat him on the back.

The tension was thick, the game finely poised. Arsenal needed to find a breakthrough.

Then, in the 28th minute, they came agonizingly close. Özil danced past his marker in midfield and slipped a pass through to Giroud, who used his strength to hold off Wallace. The French striker swiveled and unleashed a shot toward the bottom corner.

It was destined for the net—until Subašić, once again, pulled off a remarkable save, diving low to get a fingertip on the ball.

Francesco exhaled, hands on his hips. They were knocking on the door. They just needed one moment.

And then, against the run of play, disaster struck.

In the 32nd minute, Monaco caught Arsenal on the break. Fabinho intercepted a pass from Cazorla and quickly released Moutinho. The Portuguese playmaker had time to lift his head and send a perfect through-ball into space.

Berbatov, with his effortless movement, timed his run to perfection. Koscielny and Mertesacker were caught flat-footed, and suddenly, the Bulgarian was one-on-one with Ospina.

The Emirates fell silent.

Berbatov didn't hesitate. He opened his body and slotted the ball past Ospina with cold precision, the ball nestling into the bottom corner.

0-1.

Monaco celebrated as Arsenal players stood frozen in place.

Francesco clenched his jaw. They had been the better side, but one mistake had cost them.

Wenger was animated on the touchline, urging his players to stay calm and stick to the plan. Arsenal responded with immediate urgency, pushing forward with more aggression.

In the 38th minute, Francesco nearly crafted the equalizer. He received the ball from Özil near the edge of the box, feinted past Elderson, and delivered a teasing cross into the six-yard area. Giroud met it with a powerful header, but it skimmed just over the bar.

The frustration was growing.

Just before halftime, Arsenal had one more chance. Alexis cut inside and fired a low drive that Subašić could only parry. Francesco reacted first to the rebound, striking it on the volley—but his shot flew inches wide of the post.

Halftime. Arsenal 0-1 Monaco.

The players walked off the pitch, heads down. The home crowd was restless, murmurs of disbelief filling the stadium.

Inside the locker room, Wenger's voice was firm but measured.

"We're creating the chances, but we need to be more clinical," he said, his gaze sweeping across the squad. "Keep moving the ball quickly. Stay disciplined at the back. If we play our game, we will score."

Francesco sat on the bench, wiping sweat from his forehead. He knew they had played well, but football was cruel—one mistake, one lapse, and the scoreline didn't reflect their dominance.

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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